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WBM.KE OF ROBERT BURNS, 

C©KOIP0,ETE ON ©ME /'.)!," iVJE „ 

OOiith life I ii > 
: . LA R C LJ N ! X| 




Condon, 

G. BOH. TOBJi STREET, COTEIT GARDEI 



hiXc^j' //<<fc/^'*^. 



THE 



WORKS 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS. 

WITH LJFE 

BY 

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, 



GILBERT BURNS, 
LORD BYRON, 
THOMAS CAMPBELL, 
THOMAS CARLISLE, 
ROBERT CHAMBERS, 
COWPER, 

&c. 



AND NOTES BY 

CROMEK, 

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, 

DR. CURRIE, 

HAZLITT, 

JAMES HOGG, 

LORD JEFFREY, 



T. LANDSEER, 

LOCKHART, 

MOTHERWELL, 

SIR WALTER SCOTT, 

PROFESSOR WILSON 

WORDSWORTH, 

&c. 



Farewell, High Chief of Scottish song ! 
That couldst alternately impart 
Wisdom and rapture in thy page, 
And brand each vice with satire strong ; 
Whose lines are mottoes of the heart, 
Whose truths electrify the sage :— 



Farewell! and ne'er may envy dare 
To wring one balrtful poison-drop 
From the crush 'd laurels of thy bust ; 
But while the lark sings sweet in air, 
Still may the grateful pilgrim stop 
To bless the spot that holds thy dust ! 

CAMPB2T.&. 



Nefo lEfcttton, 



L ONDON : 

HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 

1860. 



3° 



LONDON : 
RICHARD CLAY, PRINTER, BREAD STREET Hit 



Gift, 

MR. HUTCHESON. 
Ie'05 



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PEEFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. 



With something of hope and fear, I offer this work to my country. I have en- 
deavoured to relate the chequered fortunes, delineate the character, and trace the 
works of the Illustrious Peasant with candour and accuracy : his farming specu- 
lations — excise schemes — political feelings and poetic musings — are discussed with 
a fulness not common to biography: and his sharp lampoons and personal sallies 
are alluded to with all possible tenderness to the living, and respect for the dead. 
In writing the Poet's life I have availed myself of his unpublished journals — pri- 
vate letters, manuscript verses, and of well-authenticated anecdotes and traits of 
character supplied by his friends ; and I have arranged his works as much as 
might be in the order of their composition, and illustrated them with such notes, 
critical, historical and biographical, as seemed necessary. Of verse, one hundred 
and odd pieces will be found in this edition, which are not in Currie's octavos. 
The number of letters, too, is materially increased — but nothing is admitted 
which bears not the true Burns' stamp. 

A. C. 
Belgrave-Place, 
January 1, 1834. 



PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 



When this Memoir and chronological Edition of the works of Burns were first 
announced, a friend observed that the learned part of the world, he was afraid, 
might think they had enough of the Peasant Poet already, and look coldly on any 
attempt to associate him in beauty of embellishment and elegance of exterior 
with bards 

" Far seen in Greek, deep men of letters." 

" My chief dread is," I replied, "that my labours in the cause of the Poet may 
not be acceptable : I have no fear for Burns — he will take care of himself." It 
has not happened otherwise with the Poet than I anticipated : nor have my own 
exertions been, it appears, unwelcome : six thousand copies of the Life have been 
disposed of, and a new edition is called for: I now give it to the world, with 
some of the errors in tha first edition corrected, and all such new intelligence 
added as seemed useful and characteristic. 

A. C. 

Belgrave-Place, 
September, 1835. 



CONTENTS. 



V THE PASSAGES OF THE LIFE WITHIN BRACKETS ARE INCORPORATED FOR THE 
FIRST TIME IN THIS EDITION. 



%ih Qi Burn*. 



PART I.— AYR-SHIRE. 

PAGE 

His parentage ...... 1 

Picture of his early days, by himself . . 3 
His secret school of study .... 4 

His first love 5 

[Narrative of his residence at Kirkoswald in 

1777] 6 

His melancholy — Letter to his father . .10 
Mrs. Stewart of Afton, his first patroness . 13 
Bachelors' Club, Tarbolton . . .17 

Old and New Light Factions . . .19 
Person and manners of the young Poet- 
Sketches by Henry M c Kenzie — David 
Sillar, and Professor Walker . 
The maidens of Kyle .... 

[His attachment to Jean Armour] 
First appearance of his Poems 
His friendship for Mrs. Dunlop . 
Adventure at Ballochmyle — Miss Alexander 
Dr. Blacklock — his encouraging letter 

PART II.— EDINBURGH. 



Burns's first appearance there . . .40 
[Description of his manners and conduct, by 

Dugald Stewart] . . . . .41 
Testimony of Professor Walker . 
[Recollections of the Poet by John Richmond 

by Sir Walter Scott] 

Kindness of Henry M c Kenzie . 
The beautiful Duchess of Gordon 
Anecdotes of the Poet, in Edinburgh . 
[Lockhart's description of Burns among the 

Literati and Lawyers] .... 
[Burns's Border Tour, in company with 

Robert Ainslie] 53 

A love adventure ..... 54 

A jaunt to England 57 

His return to Mossgiel in 1787 . . .58 
His first Highland Tour . . . .59 

An adventure 60 

Return to Mauchline . . . . ib. 

Renews his intercourse with Miss Armour . ib. 
His second Highland excursion with Dr. 

Adair 6) 



LIFE OF BURNS. 

PAGE 

His residence at Harvieston . . .62 

Visit to a descendant of Robert Bruce . ib. 

The fairest Maid of Devon Banks— Char- 
lotte Hamilton 63 

Burns's third Highland Tour, in company 

with Nicol 64 

His visit to Bannockburn . . . . ib. 

to the Duke of Athole, at Blair . 65 

to Mrs. Rose, at Kilravock . . 67 

to the Duke and Duchess of Gor- 
don 68 

[His return to Edinburgh] . . . .69 

Dangerous accident . . . . . ib. 

His friendship with Clarinda . . .70 

He contributes to Johnson's Musical Mu- 
seum . . . . . . .71 

Jacobitism of Burns — His Ode to Prince 

Charles . 73 

Burns erects a monument to Fergusson . ib. 
His connexion with Creech . . .74 

His appointment to the Excise . . .75 
His Common -place Book — Sketches of 

Character 76 

His return to Mauchline, and Marriage . 78 

PART III.— ELLISLAND. 

His appearance as a farmer in Nithsdale, in 

1788 79 

[State of his mind, described by himself . 81 
His increasing cares . . . . .83 

[Domestic Sketch of the Poet, by Sir Eger- 
ton Brydges] ...... 84 

Friars-Carse Hermitage . . . . 85 j 

Picture of his mind and feelings, by himself 87 
[His favourite walk on the banks of the 

Nith] 88 

He establishes a Subscription Library . . 89 
Anecdotes while in the Excise . . .90 

His Highland Mary 92 

[His perambulations over the moors of Dum- 
fries-shire] 93 

The story of the Whistle ... 96 

His adventure with Ramsay of Ochtertyre . ib. 
The Earl of Buchan's invitation to Burns to 

visit Dryburgh 99 

[His final visit to Edinburgh — Anecdotes] . 100 
He relinquishes his farm . . . .101 



CONTENTS. 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



PART IV.— DUMFRIES. 



His residence at the Bank- Vermel 
His engagement with George Thomson 
Conduct of the Board of Excise towards 

Burns 

His Nithside beauties 

[His excursion with Syme of Galloway] 

His dislike of epauletted puppies 

Story of the sword-cane 

The beautiful Maria Woodleigh 

His removal to Mill-hole-Brae, in 1794 

Death of Glendinning 

Testimonials of Gray and Findlater r( 

specting the Poet .... 
Visit of Professor Walker . 
Illness of the Poet . 
His residence at Brow 
Affecting Interview with Mrs., Riddel 
His letter to Erskine of Mar 
His return from Brow in a dying state 
Melancholy spectacle of his household 
Death of Burns — his Funeral 
[His personal character, by a Lady] . 
His personal strength and conversation 
Anecdotes of Burns .... 
His character as a Poet 
[The excellence of Burns, by Thos. Carlyle] 
[The widow, children, and brother of the 

Poet] 

Sale of his household effects (note) 

APPENDIX. 

Rules and Regulations of the Bachelors' 

Club 

[Letter of Gilbert Burns on Education] 
[The last three years of the Poet's life, by 

Mr. Gray] 

[Phrenological developement of Burns] 
[Poem addressed to Burns, by Mr. Telford] 
Poem on the Death of Burns, by "William 
Roscoe ....... 

Ode to his Memory, by Campbell 
Address to the Sons of Burns, by Words- 
worth ....... 

Lines to a Friend, by Coleridge . 
[On Burns's Anniversary, by James Mont- 
gomery] 

[Robin's Awa ! by the Ettrick Shepherd] . 
On his Anniversary, by Hugh Ainslie . 
Verses to his Memory by Halleck 

by Andrew Mercer 

On his Anniversary, by Mrs. Richardson . 

To the Memory of Burns, by Edward 

Rushton ...... 

Sonnet to the Shade of Burns, by Charlotte 

Smith 

Verses to his Memory, by T. H., Dunfermline 



PAGE 

102 
103 



Stanzas for the Anniversary of Burns, by 
David Vedder 16& 



POEMS OF BURNS. 

* # * The Poems marked thus * are not included in the 
Eight- volume Edition. 

PAGE 

Preface to the First, or Kilmarnock, Edition 164 
Dedication to the Second, or Edinburgh, 

Edition 165 

Winter, a Dirge . . . • .166 

Death, and dying words, of Poor Mailie . ib. 
Poor Mailie's Elegy . . . . .167 
First Epistle to Davie, a brother poet . 168 

[Davie's reply] ..... 170 

Second Epistle to Davie . . . .171 

Address to the De'il 172 

[Explanatory notes by Thomas Landseer] ib. 
[The De'il's answer, by Lapraik] . . 174 
The Auld Farmer's salutation to his auld 

mare, Maggie . . . . .175 

Address to a Haggis . . . . .176 

A Winter Night . . . . 177 

The Jolly Beggars . . . . 179 

Tune : Soldier's joy .... 180 

Soldier laddie . . . .181 

Auld Sir Simon .... ib. 

O an ye were dead, guidman . ib. 

Whistle o'er the lave o't . .182 

Clout the cau'dron . . . ib. 

For a' that, an' a' that . . .183 

Jolly mortals, fill your glasses . ib. 

Death and Dr. Hornbook . . .185 

The Kirk's Alarm. A satire . 187 

The Twa Herds, or the Holy Tulzie . .190 

Holy Willie's Prayer . . . .192 

Epitaph on Holy Willie . . . .193 

The Inventory. In answer to a mandate by 

the surveyor of taxes .... 194 

Adam A 's prayer . . . .195 

The Holy Fair ib. 

[Letter from a blacksmith to the ministers 
and elders of the church of Scotland] . 1 99 

The Ordination 200 

The Calf. To the Rev. James Steven . 202 
[Reply to Burns's Calf, by an Unco Calf] . ib. 
Epistle to James Smith .... 203 
The Vision. Duan first . . . .205 
The Vision. Duan second . . . 206 

Hallowe'en 208 

Man was made to mourn. A Dirge . . 213 
[The Life and Age of Man] . . .214 
Epistle to John Goudie, Kilmarnock . .215 
Epistle to John Lapraik, an old Scottish bard ib. 
* There's naething like the honest nappy . 216 
[Lapraik's reply to Burns's Epistle] . .217 
Second Epistle of Burns to Lapraik . . 218 



CONTENTS. 



POEMS OF BURNS. 

PAGE 

Epistle to William Simpson, Ochiltree .219 

Postscript 220 

Third Epistle to John Lapraik . . .221 
Epistle to the Rev. John M'Math . . 222 
Verses to a Mouse, on turning her up in 

her nest with the plough .... 223 

Scotch Drink 224 

The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer to the 

Scotch representatives in the House of 

Commons 226 

Postscript 228 

Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly 

Righteous ib. 

Tam Samson's Elegy 230 

Epitaph. — Per Contra .... ib. 
The Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate 

issue of a friend's amour . . . .231 
Despondency. An Ode . 232 

The Cotter's Saturday Night . . .233 
[Lines by Mrs. Hemans] .... 234 

The First Psalm 236 

[The ancient version] .... ib. 

The first six verses of the Ninetieth Psalm . 237 
[The ancient version] .... ib. 

Ode to Ruin ib. 

A Prayer under the pressure of violent 

anguish 238 

A Prayer in the prospect of death . . ib. 
Stanzas on the same occasion . . . ib. 
Stanzas to a Mountain Daisy on turning one 

down with the plough .... 239 
Epistle to a young friend [Andrew Aiken] 240 
Verses to a Louse, on seeing one on a lady's 

bonnet at church ..... 241 
Epistle to John Rankine .... 242 

* Verses to the same, on his writing to the 

Poet, that a girl in that part of the coun- 
try was with child by him . . . 243 
*The Poet's welcome to his illegitimate child ib. 
Verses on a Scotch Bard, gone to the West 
Indies 244 

* Verses written under violent grief . . 245 

The Farewell ib. 

A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. . 246 
Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux . 247 
Epistle to James Tait, of Glenconner. . 248 
Stanzas on the birth of a Posthumous Child 249 
Lines to Miss Cruikshanks, a very young 

lady, written on the blank leaf of a book ib. 
Verses to Willie Chalmers .... 250 
A Prayer, left at a Reverend Friend's house 251 
Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq., recom- 
mending a boy . . . . . ib. 
Epistle to Mr. M'Adam, of Craigengillan . 252 
•Nature's Law, a Poem, humbly inscribed 

to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. . . . ib. 

Answer to a Poetical Epistle, sent to the 
Author by a Tailor . . . .253 



POEMS OF BURNS. 

i-t-1 . PAGE 

[Epistle from a Tailor (Thomas Walker, 

Ochiltree) to Robert Burns] . . . 253 
Lines written on a Bank note . . . 254 

A Dream ib. 

A Bard's Epitaph 256 

* Remorse, a Fragment . . . . ib. 
The Twa Dogs, a Tale . . . .257 

* Address to the Owl 260 

Address to Edinburgh . . . .261 

. 262 
. 263 
. 264 



267 



Lines on meeting with Lord Daer 

Epistle to Major Logan .... 

The Brigs of Ayr, a Dialogue . 

Verses to an old Sweetheart after her mar- 
riage ....... 

Elegy on the Death of Robert Dundas, of 
Arniston, Esq., late Lord President of the 
Court of Session , . . . . ib. 

Verses on the Death of John M'Leod, Esq. ib. 

Verses to Miss Logan, with Beattie's 
Poems 268 

The American War, a Fragment . . ib. 

The Dean of Faculty, a new Ballad . . 269 
* Additional Stanza . . . . . ib. 

Verses to Clarinda with a present of a pair 
of drinking glasses ..... 270 

Verses to the same, on the Poet's leaving 

Edinburgh ib. 

to the same (I burn, I burn, &c.) . 271 

- to the same (Before I saw Clarinda's 



face) 



Verses written under the Portrait of Fergus- 
son, the Poet ib. 

Prologue spoken by Mr. Woods on his Be- 
nefit night ib. 

Epistle to the Guidwife of Wauchope 
House 272 

[The Guidwife of Wauchope House to Ro- 
bert Burns] 273 

Epistle to William Creech, written at Sel- 
kirk ....... ib. 

* The Hermit, written on a marble Sideboard 
in the Hermitage belonging to the Duke 
of Athole, in the Wood of Aberfeldy . 275 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to 
the Noble Duke of Athole . . . ib. 

Lines on scaring some Water-fowl in Loch- 
Turit, a wild scene among the Hills of 
Ochtertyre 276 

Lines written in the Parlour of the Inn at 
Kenmore, Taymouth .... 277 

Lines written while standing by the Fall of 
Fyers, near Loch-Ness . . . . ib. 

Poetical Address to Mr. William Tytler, 
with the Bard's Picture .... 278 

Lines written in Friars'-Carse Hermitage, 
on the Banks of Nith. First Version . ib. 

Second Version 279 

Extempore Lines to Captain Riddel, of 
Glenriddel, on returning a Newspaper . 280 



CONTENTS. 



POEMS OF BURNS. 

PAGE 

A Mother's Lament for the Death of her Son 280 

First Epistle to Robert Graham, of Fintray ib. 

Verses on the Death of Sir James Hunter 
Blair 281 

Epistle to Hugh Parker . . . .282 

Elegy on the year 1 788. A sketch . . ib. 

Address to the Tooth-ache, written when the 
author was grievously tormented by that 
disorder 283 

Ode, sacred to the memory of Mrs. Oswald . ib. 

Sketch inscribed to the Right Hon. Charles 

James Fox ib. 

*Additional lines 284 

Verses on seeing a wounded hare limp by 
me, which a fellow had just shot . . ib. 
*Dr. Gregory's criticism on ditto . . 285 

Epistle to Dr. Blacklock, in answer to a 
letter ib. 

[Dr. Blacklock's verses] .... 286 

Delia. An Ode 287 

Verses to John M'Murdo, Esq. . . . ib. 

To the same ...... ib. 

Prologue spoken at the Theatre, Dumfries, 
on New-year's day evening . . . ib. 

Scots prologue for Mr. Sutherland's benefit- 
night, Dumfries . . . . . 288 

[Letter to Mr. Sutherland] . . . ib. 

[Scene from Grahame's drama of Queen 
Mary] 289 

New Year's Day, a sketch of the fire-side 
of Mrs. Dunlop ib. 

Lines to a Gentleman who had sent the 
Poet a newspaper, and offered to continue 
it free of expense 290 

* The Ruined Maid's Lament . . . ib. 

* Verses on the destruction of the woods near 

Drumlanrig . . . . . . ib. 

* Stanzas on the Duke of Queensberry . .291 
*On an evening view of the ruins of Linclu- 

den Abbey ib. 

*The Discreet Hint 292 

*The Tree of Liberty ib. 

* Verses to my Bed 293 

Elegy on Peg Nicholson . . . . ib. 
Elegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson, a gen- 
tleman who held the patent of his honours 

immediately from Almighty God . . 293 

The Epitaph 294 

The Five Carlins. A Scottish ballad . . 295 
*The Laddies by the banks o' Nith. An elec- 
tion ballad 297 

Second Epistle to Robert Graham, of Fintray, 
Esq., at the close of the disputed election 
for the Dumfries boroughs . . . ib. 

Verses on Captain Grose's perigrinations 
through Scotland, collecting the antiqui- 
ties of that kingdom .... 299 

Lines written in a wrapper, enclosing a letter 
to Captain Grose ..... 300 



POEMS OF BURNS. 

PAGK 

Sir John Malcolm (an old Song). . . ib. 

Tarn o' Shanter. A tale .... ib. 

[A poetical petition of the auld Brig of 
Doon, by the Rev. Hamilton Paul] . 304 

[Criticisms on Tarn o' Shanter, by Sir Walter 
Scott, Lord Byron, Campbell, and Words- 
worthj ....... ib. 

Address of Beelzebub to the President of the 
Highland Society 305 

Verses to John Taylor respecting 'frosting' 
the shoes of the poet's mare . . 306 

Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots, on the 
approach of Spring ib. 

The Whistle 307 

Elegy on Miss Burnet, of Monboddo . . 308 

Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn . . 309 

Lines to Sir John Whitefoord, Bart. . .310 

Address to the shade of Thomson, on crown- 
ing his bust, at Ednam, with bays . . ib. 

[Interesting variations from the Poet's MS.] 311 

Third Epistle to Robert Graham, of Fintray, 
Esq ib. 

Sketch of a character. (' A little, upright, 
pert, tart, tripping wight.') . . .312 

Fourth Epistle to Robert Graham, of Fintray ib. 

A vision of Liberty, evoked among the ruins 
of Old Lincluden ..... 313 

Verses to John Maxwell, of Terraughty, on 
his birth-day ib. 

The Rights of Woman, an Occasional Ad- 
dress spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her 
benefit night . . . . . .314 

[The Poet's Letter to Miss Fontenelle] . ib. 

Monody on a Lady famed for her caprice. 
(Mrs. Riddel of Woodlee Park) . . ib. 

The Epitaph 315 

Epistle from iEsopus to Maria. (William- 
son the actor and Mrs. Riddel) . . ib. 

[Inscription for a Hermitage, by Mrs. Rid- 
del] . . . . . . . ib. 

[Verses to the Grave of Burns, by the same] ib. 

Poem on Pastoral Poetry . . . .316 

* Verses on the illness of a favourite child . ib. 
Sonnet on hearing a Thrush in a morning 

walk ib. 

Sonnet on the death of Robert Riddel, of 
Glenriddel, Esq 317 

Impromptu on Mrs. Riddel's birth-day . ib. 

Liberty, a Fragment, on American Inde- 
pendence ...... ib. 

* Tragic Fragment, an Exclamation from a 

great character 318 

Verses to Miss Graham, of Fintray, with a 
present of Songs ib. 

* Fickle Fortune— A Fragment . . . ib. 
The Vowels — A Tale. (Literary Scoldings 

and Hints sent to a Critic who had taken 
the Author to task for obscure language, 
&c.) ib. 



CONTENTS. 



POEMS OF BURNS. 

PAGE 

Verses to John Rankine, of Adamhill, sug- 
gested by his odd sarcastic dream of being 
refused admission to the Infernal Regions 319 

"Verses on Sensibility, addressed to Mrs. 
Dunlop ....... ib. 

* Verses on the Death of a Favourite Child . 310 

Lines sent to a Gentleman whom the Poet 
had offended ib. 

Address spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her 
Benefit Night ib. 

Lines on seeing Miss Fontenelle in a Favou- 
rite Character . . . . .321 

Verses to Chloris. (Miss Jean Lorimer, of 
Craigieburn-wood) . . . . . ib. 

Poetical Inscription for an Altar to Inde- 
pendence ...... ib. 



THE HERON BALLADS. 

N° 1. Here's Heron yet for a' that 

2. The Election .... 

" Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright' 1 

3. An excellent new Song 

" Buy braw Troggin." 

* 4. John Busby's Lamentation . ' 
Poem addressed to Mr. Mitchell, Collector 

of Excise, Dumfries 

Postscript 

Poetical Invitation to John Kennedy . 
Lines to Mrs. C * * *, on receiving a work 

of Hannah More .... 
Lines to Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries, with 

a present of books .... 
Poem on Life, addressed to Colonel De 

Peyster, Dumfries, 1796, during the last 

illness of the Bard .... 

* Verses to a Kiss .... 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, &c. 

1. On the Author's Father 
* 2. On Tarn the Chapman 

3. On Robert Aiken, Esq. 

4. A Farewell. (To John Kennedy) 

5. On a Friend .... 

6. On Gavin Hamilton 

*7. On the Poet's horse being impounded 

8. On Wee Johnny .... 

*9. On Bacon (the landlord at Brownhill) 

10. On John Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchline 

11. On a Wag in Mauchline 

12. On a celebrated Ruling Elder 

13. On a Noisy Polemic . 
*14. On a noted Coxcomb . 

15. On Miss Jean Scott, of Ecclefechan 

16. On a Hen-peck'd Country Squire 

(Campbell of Netherplace) 
\7. On the same .... 

18. On the same 

19. The Highland Welcome 

20. Extempore on William Smellie, F.R.S.E, 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, &c. 

21. Lines written on the Window of the 

Inn at Carron 

22. On Viewing Stirling Palace 

23. The Reproof .... 

24. Lines written under the Portrait of thi 

celebrated Miss Burns 
*25. Johnny Peep .... 

26. The Henpeck'd Husband . 

27. On Incivility shewn to the Bard at In 

verary ..... 

28. On Elphinstone's Translations of Mar- 

tial's Epigrams 

29. On a Schoolmaster 

30. On Andrew Turner 

31. A Grace before Dinner 

32. On Mr. William Cruikshanks 

33. On Wat 

34. On Captain Francis Grose . 

35. On the Kirk of Lamington, in Clydes- 

dale 

Lines written on a Pane of Glass in th 

Inn at Moffat .... 
Lines spoken extempore on being ap^ 

pointed to the Excise 
Verses addressed to the Landlady of 

the Inn at Roslin 
On Grizzel Grim 
Epitaph on W * * * . 
On Mr. Burton .... 

42. On Mrs. Kemble 

43. Extempore to Mr. Syme, on refusing to 

dine with him 

44. Lines to Mr. Syme, with a present of 

Porter ..... 

45. Inscription on a Goblet (belonging to 

Sj r me of Ryedale) . 

46. Poetical Reply to an Invitation . 

47. Another 

*48. A Mother's Address to her Infant 

49. The Creed of Poverty 

50. Lines written in a Lady's Pocket-book 

51. The Parson's Looks 

*52. Extempore Lines pinned to a Lady' 
Coach 

53. Epitaph on Robert Riddel . 

54. The Toast (in reply to a call for 

Song) 



36. 



37. 



*39. 
*40. 
*41. 



329 



55. On a Person nick- named the Marquis "^5 
56. 



*57. 



58. 



On Excisemen, written on a Window in 

Dumfries ..... 

Lines on occasion of a National 

Thanksgiving for a Naval Victory 
Lines written on a Window of the 
Globe Tavern, Dumfries 
*59. Invitation to a Medical Gentleman to 
attend a Masonic Anniversary 

*60. Lines on War 

*6l. On Drinking 

62. The Selkirk Grace .... 



CONTENTS. 



EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS, &c. (Continued) 

63. Lines on Innocence 

64. On the Poet's Daughter 

65. On Gabriel Richardson, Brewer, Dum 



fries 



66. On the Death of a Lap-Dog, named 

Echo 

67. On seeing the beautiful Seat of Lord 

Galloway 

68. On the same 

69. On the same 

70. To the same on the Author being threat- 

ened with his resentment 

71. On a Country Laird 

72. On John Bushby 

73. The True Loyal Natives 

74. On a Suicide .... 

75. Lines to John Rankine 

76. To Miss Jessy Lewars 

77. The Toast (Lovely Jessy) . 

78. On the sickness of Miss Jessy Lewars 

79. On her recovery .... 
*80. The Black-headed Eagle, a Fragment 
*81. A Bottle and an Honest Friend . 
*82. Grace after Dinner 

*83. Another 

*84. Lines to the Editor of the Star . 

SONGS AND BALLADS. 

* # * The Songs marked * are either now published for the 
first time, or were not included in the former Edition. 

1. My handsome Nell . . . .339 

The Poet's own criticism on the song. 340 

2. Luckless Fortune . . . . ib. 

3. I dream'd I lay where Flowers were 

springing ..... 

4. O Tibbie, I hae seen the day 

5. My Father was a Farmer 

6. John Barleycorn, a Ballad . 
[Additional Stanzas. Note] 

7. The Rigs o' Barley 

8. Montgomery's Peggy 

[M'Millan's Peggy] 

9. The Mauchline Lady 

10. The Highland Lassie 

11. Peggy (Now westlan' winds, &c.) 
*12. O that I had ne'er been married . 

13. The Ranting Dog the Daddie o't 

14. My heart was aince as blithe and free 
*15. Guid e'en to you Kimmer 

(We're a' noddin) 

16. My Nannie, O ... 

[Version of the old lyric. Note] 

17. One night as I did wander (a Fragment) 348 
*18. O why the deuce should I repine . ib. 
*19. Robin sure in hairst . . . . ib, 
*20. Sweetest May, let love inspire thee 



ib, 

. 341 

. ib. 

. 342 

. 343 

. ib. 

. ib. 

. 344 

. ib. 

. ib. 

. 345 

. ib. 

. ib. 

. 346 

. ib, 

. 347 

. ib, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



PAGE 

348 

349 

b. 



*21. When I think on the happy days 

22. Bonny Peggy Alison 

23. Green grow the Rashes, O ! . 

[Ancient Version] .... ib. 

24. My Jean (Though cruel fate should 

bid us part) ..... 
[The Northern Lass] (Ancient version) 

25. Rantin' Rovin' Robin (There was a 

lad was born in Kyle) 

26. Her flowing locks, the raven's wing 

27. Mauchline Belles (O leave novels, &c.) 351 

28. The Belles of Mauchline (In Maucb 

line there dwells, &c.) 
*29. A hunting song (I rede you beware at 

the hunting, young men) . . ib. 

30. Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass 352 

31. The cure for all care. With a Stanza 

added in a Mason Lodge . 

32. Eliza (From thee, Eliza, I must go) . 

33. The Sons of old Killie 

34. Menie (Again rejoicing Nature sees) . 
*35. Katharine Jaffray (There liv'd a lass 

in yonder dale) 

36. The Farewell to the Brethren of Saint 

James's Lodge, Tarbolton (Adieu ! 
a heart- warm fond adieu ! ) 

37. On Cessnock Banks there lives a Lass 
*38. Improved version 

39. A Prayer for Mary (Powers celes- 
tial ! whose protection) 

40. The Lass o' Ballochmyle 

41. The Bonnie Banks of Ayr (The 

gloomy night is gath'ring fast) 

42. Bonnie Dundee . 

[Another Version. Note]. 

43. The Joyful Widower . 
*44. There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen 

Scroggam . . 
45. O whistle, and I'll come to you, my 

lad 

*46. There's news, lasses, news . 
47. I'm owre young to marry yet 
Damon and Sylvia 
The Birks of Aberfeldy 
[Ancient Version] . 

50. Macpherson's Farewell 

[Macpherson's Lament] . 
[Notice of Macpherson] . 

51. Braw Lads of Galla Water 

52. Stay, my Charmer, can you leave me ? 

53. Strathallan's Lament (Thickest night, 

o'erhang my dwelling!) . 

54. My Hoggie (What will I do gin my 

Hoggie die ?) . 

55. Jumping John. (Her daddie forbad, &c. 

56. Up in the morning early 

[Additional Stanzas] 
[Ancient Version] . 



*48. 
49. 



ib. 
353 

ib. 
354 

ib. 



ib. 
355 
356 

ib. 
357 

358 
359 

ib. 

ib. 



ib. 



360 

ib. 

ib. 
361 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 
362 
363 
364 

ib. 

ib. 



365 
ib. 
ib. 

366 

66. 



CONTENTS. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



57. 

58. 
*59. 

60. 

*61. 

62. 

63. 

64. 

65. 
66, 



Ancient Version of dp in the morning 

early ...... 

The Young Highland Rover. (Loud 

blaw the frosty breezes) . 
Hey, the Dusty Miller 
Bonnie Peg. (As I came in by our 

gate end) .... 

Duncan Davison. (There was a lass, 

they ca'd her Meg) . 
Shelah O'Neil. (When first I began 

for to sigh and to woo her) 
Theniel Menzie's bonny Mary. (In 

coming by the brig O'Dye) 

Ancient Version 
The Banks of the Devon . 
Duncan Gray .... 

The original Version 
The Ploughman he's a bonnie lad 

Ancient Version 
Landlady, Count the lawin. (Hey, Tutti 

Taiti) 

Ancient Version 
Ye hae lien a'wrang, Lassie 
Raving winds around her blowing, 

(Macgregor of Ruara's Lament — 

Translation) .... 
For a'that, and a' that. (Though women': 

minds like winter winds) . 
How lang and dreary is the night ! 
Musing on the Roaring Ocean 
Blithe, blithe, and merry was she 
To Daunton me, and me so young 

Ancient Version 
O' the water to Charlie 
A rosebud by my early walk 
Rattlin' Roarin' Willie 

Ancient Version 
Where braving angry winter's storms 
Sweet Tibbie Dunbar. (0 wilt thou go 

with me, &c.) .... 

Additional Verses 
Streams that glide in Orient Plains. 

(Bonny Castle Gordon) . 
My Harry was a gallant gay. (Highland 

Harry) ..... 

Ancient Version 
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 

an' a' 

Ancient Version 
Simmer'sapleasantTime. (Aye waukin 

°') 

Beware o' Bonnie Ann. (Ye gallants 
bright, &c.) .... 

When rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
(The gardener with his paidle) . 

Blooming Nelly. (On a bank of flowers) 

Ancient Version 
The day returns, my bosom burns. 



376 

ib. 



377 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 
87. 



PAGB 

379 

ib. 

ib, 

ib. 



99. 
100. 



102, 
103, 

*104 
105, 
106. 

*107, 

108. 
*109. 
110. 
111. 



112, 

113, 



*114, 



115. 
116. 



117, 
118. 



119. 
120, 



♦121, 



My love she's but a lassie yet 

Variations to Do 
Jamie, come try me . 

Variations to Do 
My bonnie Mary. (Go fetch to me a 

pint o' wine) . . . . . ib 

Version of the old song . . . 380 
The lazy mist hangs from the brow of 

the hill ib. 

The Captain's Lady. (O mount and go) 381 
Wee Willie Gray .... -ib. 
O guid ale comes .... ib, 
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw . ib. 
Whistle owre the lave o't . . . 382 
O can ye labour lea, young man . . ib. 
To thee, Lov'd Nith . . . .383 

First Version ib, 



O were I on Parnassus' Hill ! . ib. 

O were my love yon lilac fair . . ib, 
There's a youth in this city . . 384 

My heart's in the Highlands . . ib 

Ancient Version . . . . ib 
John Anderson, my Jo, John. . . 385 

Additional Stanzas . . . . ib. 

Ancient Version . . . . ib. 
Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair. 

(Awa, whigs, awa.) .... 
Ca' the ewes to the knowes. (As I gaed 

down the water side) 
O gie my love, brose, brose 
O merry hae I been teething a heckle . 
The braes of Ballochmyle . 
Lament for Mary. (O'er the mist- 
shrouded cliffs, &c.) .... 
Mary in Heaven. (Thou lingering star, 

with less'ning ray) . 
Evan Banks. (Slow spreads the gloom 

my soul desires) .... ib. 
Eppie Adair. (An' O ! my Eppie, my 

Jewel, my Eppie !) . . . .389 
The battle of Sheriff- Muir. (O cam ye 

here the fight to shun) 

Ancient Version 
Young Jockey was the blithest lad 
O'Willie^brew'd a Peck of Maut 
Sequel to Do .... 
Happy Friendship. (Here around the 

ingle bleezing) . 
The battle of Killiecrankie. 
The blue-eyed lass. (I gaed a waefu' gate 

yestreen) 
The banks of Nith . 
Tarn Glen. (My heart is a breaking, 

dearTittie!) .... 
Frae the friends and land I love . 
Sweet closes the evening onCraigie-burn 

wood 395 

Come rede me, dame . . . . ib. 



ib. 

387 
ib. 
ib. 

308 

ib. 



CONTENTS. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



122. Cock up your beaver . 

123. My tocher's the jewel . 

124. Guidwife count the lawin . 

125. There'll never be peace tillJamie comes 

hame .... 

126. O'er the hills and far avva' . 

127. I do confess thou art sae fair 

Old Version 

128. Yon wild mossj'' mountains 

129. It is na, Jean, thy bonny face 
*130. O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab, 

131. Wha is that at my bower door? . 

132. What can a young lassie do ? 

Old Version .... 

133. Bonnie wee thing 

134. The tither morn when I forlorn . 

135. Ae fond kiss, and then we sever 

136. Lovely Davies 

137. The weary pund o' tow 

138. I hae a Wife o' my ain 

139. for ane-and-twenty, Tarn 

140. O, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie 

141. My Collier Laddie . 

The original version 

142. Nithsdale's welcome hame 

143. The merry Ploughman 

144. As I was a wand'ring ae Midsummer 

e'ening ..... 

145. Bess and her spinning wheel 

146. O luve will venture in. (The Posie) 

Another version 

147. Country Lassie. (In simmer, when th 

hay was mawn) 

148. Fair Eliza .... 

1 49. Ye Jacobites by name 

150. The Banks of Doon . 

151. Second version. (Ye banks and braes 

o' bonny Doon) 

152. Sic a wife as Willie had. (Willie 

Wastle dwalt on Tweed) . 

153. Lady Mary Ann 
The ancient ballad 

154. Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, 

(Such a parcel of rogues in a Nation) 

155. The Carle of Kellyburn braes 

Additional Verses . 

156. Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss 
*157. Coming o'er the braes o' Cupar 

158. Lady Onlie, honest Lucky 
Additional verses 

159. The Chevalier's Lament. (The small 

birds rejoice) .... 

160. The Song of Death,— a War Son 

(Farewell, thou fair day) . 

161. Afton Water. (Flow gently, sweet 

Afton!) 

162. Smiling Spring comes in rejoicing 



PAGK 

396 
ib, 

ib. 

397 

ib. 
398 

ib, 

ib. 
399 

ib. 

ib. 
400 

ib. 

ib. 
401 

ib. 
402 

ib. 
4 03 

ib 

ib. 
404 

ib. 
405 

ib. 



416 

ib. 
ib. 
41 
ib. 

ib. 

41S 

ib. 

ib. 
41 

ib. 
ib. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

163. The Carles of Dysart. (Hey, ca' thro', 

ca' thro') ..... 

164. The gallant Weaver. (Where Cart 

rins rowin' to the Sea) 

165. The Deuk's dang o'er my Daddie, O 

166. She's fair and fause 

167. The Deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman 

168. The lovely lass of Inverness 

169. O, my luve's like a red, red rose . 
The ancient version .... 

170. Jeannie's bosom. (Louis, what reck I 

by thee) 

171. Had I the wyte she bade me 

172. Coming through the rye 

173. The winter it is past 

174. Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain 42 

175. Out over the Forth . . . . ib. 

176. The Lass of Ecclefechan . 

177. The Cooper o' Cuddie 
*178. Ah, Chloris ! since it may na be 

179. For the sake o' Somebody 

180. The card in' o't. (I coft a stane o' has- 

lock woo') 

181. The lass that made the bed to me. 

(When Januar' wind was blawing 
cauld) 

182. Sae far awa. (O sad and heavy should 

I part) 

183. I'll aye ca' in by yon town . 

184. O wat ye wha's in yon town 

185. The mirk night of December. (O May, 

thy morn was ne'er sae sweet) , 

186. O lovely Polly Stewart! 

187. The Highland Laddie. (The bonniest 

lad that e'er I saw) .... 

188. Anna, thy charms my bosom fire . 

189. Cassillis' Banks. (Now bank and brae 

are claith'd in green) 

190. To thee, lov'd Nith. Second Version . 

191. Bannocks o' Barley .... ib 

Ancient Version . . . , ib 

192. Hee Balou ! my sweet wee Donald . ib, 

193. Wae is my heart .... 428 

194. Here's his health in water. (Altho'my 

back be at the wa') . . . . ib. 

195. My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form . ib 

196. Gloomy December . . . . ib, 

197. My lady's gown, there's gairs upon't . 429 

198. Amang the trees where humming bees. ib. 

199. The gowden locks' of Anna. (Yestreen 

I had a pint o' wine) . . .430 
Postscript ib. 

*200. O wat ye what my Minnie did . . ib, 

*201. There came a Piper out o' Fife (a frag- 
ment) . . . . . .431 

*202. Jenny M'Craw (a fragment) . . ib. 

*203. The last braw bridal (a fragment) . ib. 
204. Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass . ib. 



423 

424 
ib. 

ib. 
425 

426 
ib. 

ib 

427 



CONTENTS. 



SONGS AND BALLADS 
205. 



206. 

207. 

208. 
209. 
210. 
211. 
212. 

213. 
214. 

215. 

216. 

217. 

218. 

219. 
220. 

221. 
222. 



The Farewell (It was a' for our rightful 

King) 431 

Ancient Version .... ib, 
O steer her up and haud her gaun . 432 
O aye my wife she dang me . . ib. 

Ancient Version . . . . ib. 
O, wert thou in the cauld blast . . 433 
O, wha is she that lo'es me . . ib. 

Caledonia. (There was once a day, &c.) 434 
O, lay thy loof in mine, lassie . . ib. 
The Fete Champetre. (O, wha will to 

St. Stephen's house) . . . 435 

Here's a health to them that's awa . ib. 
Meg o' the Mill. (O ken ye what Meg 

o' the Mill has gotten) . . . 436 
The Dumfries Volunteers. (Does 

haughty Gaul invasion threat ?) . ib. 

The Winter of Life. (But lately seen 

in gladsome green) .... 437 
Mary ! (Could aught of song declare 

my pains) ib. 

The Highland Widow's Lament. (Oh ! 

I am come to the low countrie) . 438 

Welcome to General Dumourier, . ib. 
Bonny Peg-a-Ramsay. (Cauld is the 

e'ening blast) 439 

There was a bonnie lass. (A sketch) . ib. 
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet . . ib. 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 
BURNS with GEORGE THOMSON. 

Autobiographical Notice 

1792. 

No. I. Thomson to Burns, requesting the Bard 
to write twenty- five songs suited to particular 
melodies, &c - 

II. Burns to Thomson, stating that by comply- 
ing it will positively add to his enjoyments . 

III. Thomson to Burns, sending some tunes . ■ 

IV. Burns to Thomson, with " The Lea-rig," 
and " Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary ?" 
[Original Version of " The Lea-rig"] . 

V. Burns to Thomson, with " My wife's a win- 
some wee thing," and " O saw ye bonnie 
Lesley?" 

VI. Burns to Thomson, with "Highland Mary" 
Notice of " Highland Mary" 

VII. Thomson to Burns — Critical observations 

VIII. Burns to Thomson, enclosing an addi- 
tional Stanza to " The Lea-rig" . 

IX. Burns to Thomson, with " Auld Rob 
Morris" and " Duncan Gray" 

X. Burns to Thomson, with " O'Poortith 
cauld," and " Galla Water" 

Original song of " Galla Water" 
1793. 

XI. Thomson to Burns, requesting anecdotes of 
particular songs— Tytler of Woodhouselee— 



OF 



SONGS AND CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

Pleyel — Peter Pindar's Lord Gregory 

— Postscript from the Hon. A. Erskine . ib. 

XII. Burns to Thomson — complies with his re- 
quest, and encloses his own " Lord Gregory" 452 

XIII. Burns to Thomson, with "Mary Morison" 453 

XIV. Burns to Thomson, with " Wandering 
Willie" 454 

XV. Burns to Thomson, with " Open the door 

to me, Oh !" . . . . . . ib. 

XVI. Burns to Thomson, with "Young Jessie" 455 

XVII. Thomson to Burns, enclosing a list of 
songs, and Wandering Willie altered . . ib. 

XVIII. Burns to Thomson, with " The poor 
and honest Sodger" and " Meg o' the 
Mill" "456 

XIX. Burns to Thomson — Voice of Coila, 
Criticism on various songs — Anecdote re- 
specting The lass o' Patie's Mill . . . 457 

XX. Thomson to Burns — Rejoices to find that 
ballad-making continues his hobby-horse . 458 

XXI. Burns to Thomson — Simplicity requisite 
in a song — Sacrilege in one poet to mangle 

the words of another . . . . .459 

XXII. Burns to Thomson — wishes that the 
national music may preserve its native fea- 
tures ........ ib. 

XXIII. Thomson to Burns — Thanks, and ob- 
servations on Scottish Songs «... 460 

XXIV. Bui'ns to Thomson — Fraser the haut- 
boy player — sends "Blithe hae I been on yon 
hill" ib. 

XXV. Burns to Thomson, with " O Logan, 
sweetly didst thou glide" . . . .461 
Original song of " Logan Braes" . . ib. 
" O gin my love were yon red rose," and two 

additional verses . . . . .462 

XXVI. Thomson to Burns — Encloses the Poet 

a small mark of his gratitude . . . ib. 

XXVII. Burns to Thomson, with " Bonny 
Jean," (There was a lass and she was fair) . 463 

XXVIII. Burnsto Thomson — Hurt atthe idea 

of pecuniary recompense — Remarks on Songs 464 
[Fair Helen of Kirkconnell] . . . ib. 

XXIX. Thomson to Burns — In the way cer- 
tain songs are frequently sung, one must be 
contented with the sound without the sense . 465 

XXX. Burns to Thomson — Holds the pen for 
his friend Clarke, who, at present, is studying 
the music of the spheres at his elbow . . ib 

XXXI. Burns to Thomson, with " Phillis the 
Fair" 466 

XXXII. Thomson to Burns — Robin Adair — 
David Allan's drawing from John Anderson 

my Jo , ib. 

XXXIII. Burns to Thomson, with " Had I a 
cave on some wild distant shore" — shrewdly 
suspects that some favourite airs might be 
common both to Scotland and Ireland , 467 

XXXIV. Burns to Thomson, with "By Allan 
stream I chanc'd to rove" . t . < ib. 

XXXV. Burns to Thomson, with " Whistle 



CONTENTS. 



SONGS AND CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

and I'll come to you my lad," and " Adown 
winding Nith" ...... 468 

XXXVI. Burns to Thomson, with " Come let 

me take thee to my breast" . . . 469 

XXXVII. Burns to Thomson, with " Dainty 
Davie" ....... ib. 

XXXVIII. Thomson to Burns, Delighted 
with the productions of the Poet's muse, and 
whilst she is so propitious requests the favour 

of no fewer than twenty-three more Songs ! 470 

XXXIX. Burns to Thomson, with " Bruce's 
address to his Army at Bannockburn" . .471 

XL. Burns to Thomson, with " Behold the 
hour the boat arrives" .... 472 

XLI. Thomson to Burns — Submits with great 
deference some alterations in Burns's Ode of 
" Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled" . . ib. 

XLI I. Burns to Thomson — Alteration in 
" Down the burn, Davie" — Remarks on 
songs — his own method of composition, with 
" Thou hast left me ever, Jamie," and " Auld 
lang syne" ....... 474 

Ancient Version of " Auld lang Syne" . ib. 

XLIII. Burns to Thomson, with an improved 
Version of " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled" 476 
Letter to Captain Miller of Dalswinton. 
[Notice of Sir William Wallace] . . ib. 

XLIV. Thomson to Burns, Remarks on Scot- 
tish Songs — again suggests alterations in the 
heroic Ode of Bannockburn . . . 477 

XLV. Burns to Thomson, — Remains firm 
with regard to his Ode — sends "Fair Jenny" 578 

XL VI. Burns to Thomson — " Deluded Swain 
the Pleasure," and Remarks on Irish Airs . 479 

XLVII. Burns to Thomson, with " Thine am 

I, my faithful fair" 480 

And three songs by Gavin Turnbull : " O 
condescend, dear charming maid," " The 
Nightingale," and " Laura" . . . 481 

XLVII I. Thomson to Burns — Apprehension 
from long silence, and thanks for an English 
Song ib. 

XLIX. Burns to Thomson, with "Husband, 
husband, cease your strife" . . . . ib. 
And "Wilt thou be my Dearie?" . . 482 

1794. 

L. Thomson to Burns — Melancholy compari- 
son between Burns and Carlini — Allan's 
Sketch from The Cotter's Saturday Night . ib. 

LI . Burns to Thomson — Praise of David Allan, 
and encloses " The Banks of Cree" . . 483 

LII. Burns to Thomson — Anxious to hear news 
of Pleyel — encloses his " Address to Miss 
Graham of Fintray," " Here where the Scot- 
tish muse immortal lives" . . . . ib. 

LIII. Thomson to Burns — Fears he shall have 
no more songs from Pleyel, but is desirous, 
nevertheless, to be prepared with the poetry. 

LIV. Burns to Thomson, with " On the Seas 
and far away" 484 



ib. 



SONGS AND CORRESPONDENCE. 

VAM 

LV. Thomson to Burns — Criticism on the last 
Song 484 

LVI. Burns to Thomson, with "Ca' the yowes 
to the Knowes" ...... ib. 

LVII. Burns to Thomson, with " She says she 
lo'es me best of a' " Stanza to Dr. Maxwell 485 

LVIII. Thomson to Burns — Thinks he might 
produce a Comic Opera in three Acts, that 
would live by the poetry .... 487 

LIX. Thomson to Burns — Ritson, Peter Pin- 
dar, and John Pinkerton— the Scottish Col- 
lections of Airs and Songs . . . . ib. 

LX. Burns to Thomson — Glorious recipe for a 
love Song — encloses " Saw ye my Phely" 
Remarks and Anecdotes — " How lang and 
dreary is the night" — " Let not woman e'er 
complain" — " The lover's morning salute 
to his mistress" and — a musical curiosity, an 
East Indian Air, " The Auld man" . . 488 
[Song of " Donocht-Head"] . . . ib. 

LXI. Thomson to Burns, Wishes to know the 
inspiring fair one of so many fine Songs — 
Ritson — Allan — Maggie Lauder . . .491 

LXII. Burns to Thomson — Has begun his 
Anecdotes — Visits his fair one, and sends 
" My Chloris, mark how green the groves" . ib. 
Remarks on Conjugal love, &c. . . . 492 
" The charming month of May" — " Lassie 
wi' the lint-white locks" .... ib. 

LXIII. Burns to Thomson — " Farewell thou 
stream that winding flows" — Recipe for com- 
posing a Scots Air — The black keys — Difficult 
to trace the origin of our Scottish Airs — Re- 
quests a copy of his songs for Chloris . . 493 

LXI V. Thomson to Burns — Remarks on Song, 
with three copies of the Scottish melodies . 494 

LXV. Burns to Thomson, with "O Philly, 
happy be that day" — Remarks . . . 495 
" Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair" . 496 
XVI. Burns to Thomson, with " Canst thou 
leave me thus, my Katy ?" — Reply by Mrs. 
Riddel — Stock and Horn - — [Dr. Ley den's 
dissertation on ancient musical instruments] 497 

LXVII. Thomson to Burns — Unqualified praise 
of his songs — Requests more of a hu- 
morous cast — Picture of the Soldier's Return 498 

LXVII I. Burns to Thomson, with " My Nan- 
nie's Awa" ....... 499 

1795. 

LXIX. Burns to Thomson, with " Is there for 
honest poverty" and — " Craigie-burn wood" 500 
Ancient Version . . . . . ib 

LXX. Thomson to Burns, Thanks for the 
many delightful songs sent him . . . ib. 

LXXI. Burns to Thomson, with " O Lassie art 
thou sleeping yet ?"..... 501 
And her answer . "O tell na me o' wind and 
rain" ....... ib. 

LXXII. Burns to Thomson — The unfortunate, 
wicked, little village of Ecclefechan ! . . 502 

LXXIII. Thomson to Burns— His two last 



CONTLNTS. 



SONGS AND CORRESPONDENCE. 

] 

epistles prove that, drunk or sober, his " mind 

is never muddy" 

LXXIV. Burns to Thomson, " Address to the 

wood-lark" ...... 

" On Chloris being ill" . 

"Their groves o' sweet myrtle" . 

" 't was na herbonnie blue e'ewas my ruin" 
LXXV. Thomson to Burns, with Allan's 

picture from the " Cotter's Saturday Night" 
LXXVI. Burns to Thomson, with " How cruel 

are the parents," and " Mark yonder pomp of 

costly fashion" 

LXXVII. Burns to Thomson— Thanks for his 

elegant present of Allan's picture 
LXXVIII. Thomson to Burns— Thinks he 

never can repay him for his kindness . 
LXXIX. Burns to Thomson, with an im- 
provement in — " Whistle and I'll come to 

ye, my lad" — "O, this is na my ain lassie" . 

" Now spring has clad the grove in green" . 

"O bonnie was yon rosy brier" . 

"'Tis friendship's pledge, my fair, young 
friend" ....... 

LXXX. Thomson to Burns — His eyes feasted 

with his last packet — Introducing Dr. 

Brianton ....... 

LXXXI. Burns to Thomson, with " Forlorn, 

my love, no comfort near" .... 
LXXXII. Burns to Thomson, with " Last May 

a braw wooer cam down the lang glen," and 

" Why, why tell thy lover" 
LXXXIII. Thomson to Burns — For what we 

have received, Lord, make us thankful ! 



1796. 

LXXXIV. Thomson to Burns— Awful pause! 
laments the poet's afflicted state . 

LXXXV. Burns to Thomson — Thanks for 
the remaining vol. of Peter Pindar, and 
sends — ■" Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher" 

LXXXVI. Thomson to Burns — Allan has 
designed and etched about twenty plates for 
an Octavo edition of the " Songs" 

LXXXVII. Burns to Thomson— Afflicted by 
sickness, and counts time by the repercussions 
of pain ! Is pleased with Allan's etchings . 

LXXXVIII. Thomson to Burns — Sympa- 
thises in his sufferings, but beseeches him 
not to give up to despondency 

LXXXIX. Burns to Thomson, with " Here's 
a health to ane I lo'e dear" 

XC. Burns to Thomson — Introducing Mr. 
Lewars — Has taken a fancy to review his 
songs — Hopes to recover . 

XCI. Burns to Thomson — Dreading the hor- 
rors of a jail, solicits the advance of five 
pounds, and encloses his last song " Fairest 
maid on Devon banks" .... 

XCI I. Thomson to Burns — Sends the exact 
sum the poet requested — Advises a volume 
of poetry to be published by subscription . 
[Pope published the Iliad so.] 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG 
WITH ANECDOTES, &c. 



24. 
25. 
26. 
27. 
28. 
29. 
30. 
31. 
32. 
33. 
34. 
35. 
36. 
37. 
38. 
39. 
40. 
41. 
42. 
43. 
44. 
45. 

46. 
47. 
48. 
49. 
50. 
51. 



The Highland Queen . 


PAGE 

. 518 


Bess the Gawkie .... 


519 


Oh, open the door, Lord Gregory . 


ib. 


The Banks of the Tweed . 


. 520 


The beds of Sweet Roses 


ib. 


Roslin Castle .... 


. ib. 


Ditto Second Version . 


. 521 


Saw ye Johnnie cummin ? quo' she 


ib 


Clout the Caldron 


. ib. 


Saw ye nae my Peggy . 


. 522 


The Flowers of Edinburgh . 


. 523 


[Highland Laddie. Note] 


. ib. 


Jamie Gay ..... 


. 524 


My Dear Jockey .... 


. ib. 


Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae 


. ib. 


Ramsay's Version of Horace's ninth Od 


i ib. 


The Lass o' Livingston 


. 525 


The last time 1 came o'er the Moor 


526 


Johnny's grey Breeks . 


. ib. 


The happy marriage 


. ib. 


The lass of Patie's Mill 


. 527 


The Turnimspike .... 


. 528 


The Auld Highland Laddie . 


ib. 


Another Version 


. 529 


The Highlander's Prayer at Sheriff-Mui 


r ib. 


The Gentle Swain 


. ib. 


He stole my tender heart away . 


. ib. 


The Fairest of the Fair 


ib. 


The Blaithrie o't . 


530 


May Eve, or Kate of Aberdeen . 


ib. 


Tweed Side 


531 


The Posie 


532 


Mary's Dream .... 


ib. 


The maid that tends the goats 


533 


I wish my love were in a mire 


ib. 


Allan Water .... 


534 


There's nae luck about the house . 


ib. 


Tarry Woo 


535 


Gramachree .... 


ib. 


The Collier's bonny lassie . 


536 


My Ain kind Dearie, 


ib. 


Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow 


537 


Down the burn, Davie . 


ib. 


Blink o'er the burn, sweet Bettie . 


538 


The blithesome bridal . 


ib. 


John Hay's bonny lassie 


539 


The bonnie brucket lassie 


ib. 


Notice of Balloon Tytler . 


ib. 


Sae merry as we twa hae been 


5U 


The banks of Forth . 


ib 


The bush aboon Traquair 


ib. 


Cromleck's Lilt 


542 


My dearie, if thou die . 


54S 


She rose and let me in . 


ib 



CONTENTS. 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG, WITH 
ANECDOTES, &c 



54. 
55. 
56. 
57. 
58. 
59. 



Second 



Additional Verses . 
52. Will ye go to the Ewe-bughts, Marion 
.53. Lewis Gordon 

The wauking o' the fauld 
Oh ono Chrio 
I'll never leave thee 
Corn Rigs are bonnie . 
The mucking o' Geordie's byre 
Bide ye yet .... 
The Poet's Preface to the 
Volume of the Museum 

60. Tranent Muir 

6 1 . Polwart on the Green . 

62. Strephon and Lydia 

63. My Jo, Janet 

64. Love is the cause of my mourning 

65. Fife and a' the lands about it 

66. Were na my heart light I wad die 

67. The young man's Dream 

68. The Tears of Scotland . 

69. Ah ! the poor Shepherd's mournful fate 

70. The Mill, Mill, O 

71. We ran and they ran . 

72. O Waly, waly, up yon bank 

73. Duncan Gray 

74. Dumbarton Drums 

75. Cauld Kail in Aberdeen 

76. For lack of Gold she's left me Oh 

77. Here's a health to my true love 
73. Hey, Tutti, Taiti 

79. Tak your auld cloak about ye 

80. Ye Gods, was Strephon's picture 

81. Since robb'd of all that charm 

view .... 

Young Damon 
Kirk wad let me be 

[Auld Glenae] 
Blythe was she 
85. Johnny Faa, or the Gypsie Laddie 
8.6. To Daunton me . 

87. The Bonnie Lass that made the 

me . ... 

88. Absence .... 

89. I had a horse and I had nae mair 

90. Up and warn a' Willie . 

91. Auld Rob Morris . 

92. Nancy's Ghost 

93. Tune your Fiddles, &c. 

94. Gil Morice . 

95. When I upon thy bosom lean 

96. The Highland Character 

97. Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 

98. Burn the Violer . 

99. This is no my Ain house 
100. Laddie, lie near me 



32. 



84. 



blest 
d my 



bed to 



559 
ib. 
560 



ib. 

ib. 
561 

ib. 

ib. 
562 

ib. 
563 

ib. 
564 

ib. 
565 
566 

ib. 



101. The Gaberlunzie Man . 

1 02. The black Eagle . 

1 03. Johnny Cope 

104. Cease, cease, my dear friend to explore 

105. Auld Robin Gray. 

106. Donald and Flora. 

107. The Captive Ribband . 

108. The Bridal o't . 

109. Todlen haine 

110. The Shepherd's Preference . 

111. John o'Badenyond 

112. A Waukrife Minnie . 

113. Tullochgorum 

114. Auld lang Syne . 

115. The Ewie wi' the crooked horn 

116. Hughie Graham . 

117. A Southland Jenny 

118. My Tocher's the Jewel 

119. Then, Guidwife, count the lawin 

120. The Sodger Laddie 

121. Where wad Bonnie Annie lie ? 

122. Galloway Tam . 

123. As I cam down by yon castle wa' 

124. Lord Ronald, my Son . 

125. O'er the Moor among the heather 

126. To the Rosebud . 

127. Thou art gane awa' 

128. The tears I shed must e'er fall 

129. Dainty Davie 

130. Lucky Nansy 

131. Bob o' Dumblane 



THE AYR-SHIRE BALLADS. 

132. The dowie dens of Yarrow . . .581 

133. Rob Roy 582 

134. Young Hyndhorn . . . . ib. 

135. [Ancient Version. Note.] . .583 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

[The letters marked * now appear for the first time.] 

585 

ib. 

ib. 
586 

ib. 
587 



Remarks by Sir Walter Scott 

Francis, Lord Jeffrey 

Professor Wilson . 

Lockhart 

Professor Walker . 

— „ Dr. Currie 

1781. 

No. I. To William Burness, Dec. 27— Weak- 
ness of his nerves — heartily tired of life — 
inspired by reading the 7th Chapter of 
Revelations 588 



CONTENTS. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

1783. 

II. To John Murdoch, Jan. 15 — His present 
studies and temper of mind . . . 589 
Murdoch's Reply 590 

III. To James Burness, Montrose, June 21 — 
His father's illness — wretched state of the 
country ....... ib. 

IV. To Miss Eliza B * * * Lochlea, on love . 591 

V. To the same, on ditto .... 592 

VI. To the same, on ditto . . . . ib. 

VII. To the same — On her refusal of his 
hand 593 

1784. 

VIII. To James Burness, Montrose, Feb. 17 

— Death of his father ib. 

IX. To the same, Aug. — Account of the Bu- 
chanites ib. 

1786. 

X. To John Richmond, Feb. 17 — His poetical 
progress 594 

XI. To Robert Muir, Kilmarnock, March 20 

— Enclosing his " Scotch Drink" . .595 

XII. To Mr. Aiken, April 3— Enclosing lines 

to Mrs. C- ib. 

XIII. To Mr. M'Whinnie, Ayr, April 17— 
Sending copies of his prospectus . . . ib. 

XIV. To John Kennedy, April 20— Enclos- 
ing " The Gowan, or Mountain Daisy" . ib. 

XV. To John Kennedy, May 17— Enclosing 

the " Epistle to Rankine" .... 596 

XVI. To JohnBallantyne, Ayr, June — Aiken's 
coldness — Armour's destruction of his mar- 
riage certificate . . . . . . ib. 

XVII. To David Brice, June ] 2 — Jean Armour 

— Her perjury— is printing his Poems . ib. 

XVIII. To Robert Aiken, July— Wilson de- 
clines printing a Second Edition of his poems 
■ — Excise appointment — His belief in the 
immortality of the soul — Disclaims 
misanthropy ...... 597 

XIX. To Mrs. Dunlop, July— Thanks for her 
kind notice of his poems — Sir William 
Wallace 598 

[Account of Mrs. Dunlop.] Note . . ib. 

XX. To David Brice, Glasgow, July 17 — Jean 
Armour — Now fixed to go to the West 
Indies 599 

XXI. To John Richmond, July 30 — Intended 
departure for Jamaica ib. 

XXII. To James Smith, Mauchline, Aug. — 
His voyage delayed — Woman, lovely 
woman ! . . . . # . ib. 

XXIII. To John Kennedjr, Aug. — Farewell. COO 

XXIV. To Robert Muir, Kilmarnock, Sep. 
— Poor Jean Armour repays him double — 
His poem of the Calf ib. 

XXV. To Mr. Burness, Montrose, Sep. 26— 
Domestic affections — His departure un- 
certain fa. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

Page 

XXVI. To Dr. Arch d . Lawrie, Nov. 13— The 
peaceful unity of St. Margaret's Hill . .601 

XXVII. To Miss Alexander, Nov. 18— Scene 
—The bonny lass of Ballochmyle . . ib 

XXVIII. To Mrs. Stewart of Stair, Nov.— 
Enclosing the Song of *' Ettrick banks" — 
as a grateful recollection of his kind recep- 
tion at Stair 602 

XXIX. To Robert Muir, iVcw. 18— Enclosing 

" Tarn Samson" — His Edinburgh expedition ib. 

XXX. To Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline, Nov.— 
On dining with Lord Daer — Character of 
Dugald Stewart 603 

XXXI. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Dec. 7— 
His rising fame — Dalrymple of Orangefield, 
and other kind patrons .... ib. 

XXXII. To John Ballantine, Esq. Ayr, Dec. 
13 — The Caldonian Hunt subscribe each for 

a copy of his poems — " The Lounger, &c." ib. 

XXXIII. To Robert Muir, Dec. 20— On his 
subscribing for sixty copies of his poems . 604 

XXXIV. To William Chalmers, Ayr, Dec. 27 
— A humourous sally — the heavenly Miss 
Burnet 605 

1787 

*XXXV. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Jan. 7— 
Jean Armour — Meets with a Lothian farmer's 
daughter — delicious ride from Leith . . ib. 

XXXVI. To the Earl of Eglinton, Jan.— 
Gratitude for his Lordship's munificence . ib. 

XXXVII. To John Ballantyne, Esq. Jan. 14 
— Not so far gone as Willie Gaw's skate — 
Miller's offer of a farm — the Grand Lodge 

of Scotland dub him " Caledonia's Bard" . ib. 

XXXVIII. To the same, Jan. — Encloses his 
song of " Bonnie Doon" — while sitting sad 
and* solitary in a little country inn . . 606 

XXXIX. To Mrs. Dunlop, Jaw. 15— Miserably 
awkward at a fib — Kindness of Dr. Moore — 
trembles for the conseqi;ences of his popu- 
larity ......... ib. 

XL. To Dr. Moore, Jan. — Thanks for his 
kind notice — not vain enough to hope for 
distinguished poetic fame . . . .607 
[Notice of Dr. Moore. Note] . . ib. 

XLI. To the Rev. G. Laurie, Feb. 5— Grati- 
tude for his friendly hints — Compliments 
paid to Miss Lawrie by the Man of Feeling . 608 
[Letter of Dr. Lawrie to the Poet. Note] ib. 

XLI I. To Dr. Moore, Feb. 15— Scorns the 
affectation of seeming modesty to cover self- 
conceit — Helen Maria Williams . . . 609 
Reply to the Poet ib. 

XLIII. To John Ballantine, Esq. Feb. 24— 
Is getting his phiz done by an eminent en- 
graver 610 

XLIV. To the Earl of Glencairn, Feb.— En- 
closes Stanzas for a picture of his Lordship, 
and requests permission to publish them . ib 

XLV. To the Earl of Buchan, Feb.— Grate- 
ful for his Lordship's advice — it touches the 



CONTENTS. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

i 
darling chord of his heart — Wisdom dwells 
with Prudence — must return to his humble 
station at the plough tail .... 

*XLVI. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., Mar. 8— 
Poor Capt n . Montgomery — his sympathy for 
the hapless fair one — His two Songs on Miss 
Alexander and Miss Kennedy tried by a 
jury of literati, and declared defamatory 
libels ........ 

XLVII. To James Candlish, Mar. 21— Still 
" Tho old man with his deeds" . 

XLVIII. To William Dunbar, W. S. Mar.~ 
Acknowledges the present of Spenser's Poems 
— about to return to his shades . 

XLIX. To On Fergusson's Head- 
stone — Conscience 



L. To Mrs. Dunlop, Mar. 22— Wishes to sing 
of Scottish scenes and Scottish story — Uto- 
pian thoughts — Intends returning to the 
plough, but not to give up poetry . .614 

LI. To the same, April 15 — Gratitude for her 
goodness — about to appear in print . . ib. 

LI I. To Dr. Moore, April 23 — Gratitude for 
the honour done to him — about to return to 
his rural shades ...... ib. 

[Dr. Moore's Reply] 615 

LI II. To Mrs. Dunlop, April 30— Happy that 
his own favourite pieces are distinguished by 
her approbation . . . . . .616 

LIV. To the Rev. Dr. Hugh Blair, May 3— 
On leaving Edinburgh — thanks for hi3 
patronage ....... ib. 

[Dr. Blair's Reply] ib. 

LV. To Mr. Pateson, Bookseller, Paisley, May 
11 — Acknowledging payment for ninety 
copies of his Poems 617 

LVI. To William Nicol, Edinburgh, June 1 
— A humorous description of his journey qn 
his favourite mare, Jenny Geddes . . ib. 

LVI I. To James Smith, Linlithgow, June 11 
Disgusted with the mean, servile compliance 
of the Armour family . . . .618 

LVIII. To William Nicol, June 18— Charmed 
with Dumfries' folks — carries Milton per- 
petually about with him . . ,. . ib. 

LIX. To James Candlish, June — Dissipation 
and business engross every moment — engaged 
in assisting an honest Scotch enthusiast 
(Johnson, the engraver of the Museum) — 
begs the song of " Pompey's Ghost" . .619 

LX. To William Nicol, June — Ramsay of 
Auchtertyre 620 

LXI. To ^lliam Cruikshank, Edinburgh, 
June — Storm-staid two days at the foot of 
the Ochill-hills ib. 

LXII. To Miss -June — Her piano 

and herself have played the deuce about his 
heart ........ ib. 

*LXII. To Robert Ainslie, June 28— Written 
from Arrachar [LIFE, p. 60.] . 

**LXII. To James Smith, June 30—Adven- 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PA6B 

ture with a Highlandman — drinking, danc- • 
ing, &c. [LIFE, p. 60-1.] . . " . 

LXIII. To John Richmond, July 7— On the 
death of an old confound er of right and 
wrong — runs a drunken race and tumbles 
off Jenny Geddes ..... 621 

LXIV. To Robert Ainslie, Esq., July— Strug- 
gles with the world, the devil, and the flesh — 
farming ib. 

LXV. To Dr. Moore, Aug. 2 — Containing his 
own Autobiography ..... 622 

LXA r I. Robert Ainslie, Jun r . Dunse, Aug. 23 
— Determined henceforth to prefix a kind 
of test to his letters from some classic 
Authority — Nicol gabbling Latin . . 627 

LXVII. To Robert Muir, Aug. 26— Kneels 
at the tomb of Sir John the Graham — utters 
a fervent prayer at Bannockburn . . 628 

LXVIII. To Gavin Hamilton, Aug. 28— 
Pleasant party to see the famous Caudron- 
linn — the Harvieston family — Charlotte 
Hamilton ....... ib. 

LXIX. To Mr. Walker, Blair of Athole, Sep. 5 
— The noble family of Athole — prays sin- 
cerely for the "little Angel band, at the 
Fall of Fyers" 629 

LXX. To Gilbert Burns, Sep. 17 — Giving an 
account of his Highland journey . . ib. 

LXXI. To Miss Margaret Chalmers, Sep. 26 
— Determined to pay Charlotte Hamilton 
a poetic compliment — The Author of " Tul- 
lochgorum" — looks on the sex with admira- 
tion 630 

LXXII. To the same— Charlotte Hamilton 
and " the Banks of the Devon" . . . ib. 

LXXIII. To James Hoy, Esq., Gordon Castle, 
Oct. 20 — Will certainly bequeath his latest 
curse on that obstinate son of Latin prose 
[Nicol] for tearing him away from Castle 
Gordon — Johnson's Museum . . . 631 
[Hoy's Reply] 632 

LXXIV. To the Rev. John Skinner, Oct. 25 
— Regrets he had not the pleasure of paying 
his respects to the Author of the best song 
Scotland ever saw — the Museum . . . ib. 
[Skinner's Reply] . . . 633 

LXXV. To James Hoy, Esq. Gordon Castle, 
Nov. 6 — The Duke of Gordon's song — 
" Cauld Kail in Aberdeen" . . . ib. 

LXX VI. To Miss M n, iVow.--Compli- 

ment, a miserable Greenland expression — the 
hinge of her box like Willy Gaw's Skate, 
past redemption 634 

LXXVII. To Miss Chalmers, Nov. 21— Has 
found out at last two girls who can be lux- 
uriantly happy with one another — The 
Wabster's grace 635 

LXXVIII. To Robert Ainslie, Edinburgh, 
Nov. 23 — The idea of his friendship neces- 
sary to his existence . . . . . ib. 

LXXIX. To the same— Sets him down as 
the staff of his old age , . . . ib. 



CONTENTS. 



xv 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

LXXX. To James Dalrymple, Esq. Orange- 
field — Is naturally of a superstitious cast — 
the noble Earl of Glencairn . . . 635 

LXXXf. To the Earl of Glencairn, Dec — 
Requests his assistance respecting the Excise 636 

LXXXII. To Miss Chalmers, Dec. 12— Is 
under the care of a surgeon, with a bruised 
limb extended on a cushion — has taken tooth 
and nail to the Bible ib 

LXXXIII. To the same, Dec. 19— His motto 
is — I dare — his worst enemy — " Lui-meme" 637 

LXXXIV. To Charles Hay, Esq., Advocate, 
Dec. — The wailings of the rhyming tribe 
over the ashes of the great are cursedly sus- 
picious . . ib. 

LXXXV. To Sir John Whitefoord, Dec— 
Gratitude for his kind interposition in his 
behalf ib. 

LXXXVI. To Miss Helen Maria Williams, 
Dec. — Criticisms on her poem of the " Slave 
Trade" 638 

LXXXVII. To Richard Brown, Irvine, Dec. 
30— His Will-o'-wisp fate— Clarinda . . 639 

LXXXVHI. To Gavin Hamilton, Dec— Ad- 
vises him to have a reverend care of his 
health — never to drink more than a pint of 
wine at one time, &c. . . . . .640 

L XXXIX. To Miss Chalmers, Dec— Sheepish 
timidity — Selfishness — his affairs with 
Creech 641 

1788. 

XC. To Mrs. Dunlop, Jan. 21— His illness- 
Has a hundred times wished that one could 
resign life as an officer resigns a commission ib. 

XCI. To the same, Feb. 12 — Religion not 
only his chief dependence, but his dearest 
enjoyment . . . . . . ib. 

XCII. To the Rev. John Skinner, Feb. 14 — 
Tullochgorum, &c. — Cruikshank maintains 
that the author of that song writes the best 
Latin since Buchanan. .... 642 

XCIII. To Richard Brown, Feb. 15— Hurried, 
as if hunted by fifty devils, else he should 
meet him at Greenock . . . . ib. 

XCIV. To Miss Chalmers, Feb. 15— Has en- 
tered into the Excise after mature delibera- 
tion — the question is not at what door of 
fortune's palace we shall enter in, but what 
doors does she open to us ? . . . . ib. 

XCV. To Mrs. Rose of Kilravock, Feb. 17— 
Glowing recollections of the beautifully wild 
scenery of Kilravock, the venerable grandeur 
of the Castle, &c 643 

XCVI. To Richard Brown, Feb. 24— Life 
is a fairy scene ; almost all that deserves the 
name of enjoyment is only a charming delu- 
sion ........ 644 

* XCVII. To Feb.— Dares not be- 
come security on a large scale for his brother 
Gilbert . . #. 

XCVI II. To William Cruikshank, Mar. 3— 
Has fought his way severely through the 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

savage hospitality of the country — Mr. 
Miller's farm 644 

XCIX. To Robert Ainslie, Esq., Mar. 3— Has 
been in sore tribulation — Jean Armour re- 
conciled to her fate, and to her mother — 
Clarinda 645 

C. To Richard Brown, Mar. 7 — Reason comes 
to him like an unlucky wife to a poor devil 
of a husband 646 

CI. To Mr. Muir, Kilmarnock, Mar. 7— Life 
is no great blessing on the whole, but an 
honest man has nothing to fear . . . ib. 

CII. To Mrs. Dunlop, Mar. 17— Hates an 
ungenerous sarcasm as he does the devil — 
highly flattered by the news of Coila . . ib. 

CHI. To Miss Chalmers, Mar. 14— Trusts in 
Dr. Johnson's observation, "Where much is 
attempted, something is done" . . . 647 

CIV. To Richard Brown, Mar. 26 — Has been 
racking shop accounts with Creech . . ib 

CV. To Robert Cleghorn, Mar. 31— Is so har- 
assed with care and anxiety that his muse 
has degenerated into the veriest prose-wench 
that ever followed a tinker .... 648 

CVI. To William Dunbar, W. S. Edinburgh, 
April 7 — Skill in the sober science of life 
his most serious and hourly study — never 
again will intimately mix with the world of 
wits, and gens comme ilfaut . . . ib. 

CVII, To Miss Chalmers, April 7— How apt 
we are to indulge prejudices in our judgments 
of one another ! . . . . . . ib 

*CVII. To the same — " Wishes he were dead, 
but he's no like to die," fears he is undone . 649 

CVIII. To Mrs. Dunlop, April 28— Thinks 
five and thirty pounds a year no bad dernier 
ressort for a poor poet — delighted with Virgil, 
Dryden, and Tasso . . . . . ib 

CIX. To James Smith, Linlithgow, April 28— 
Lets him a little into the secrets of his peri- 
cranium — orders a present for his bonny Jean, 
to whom he has given a matrimonial title to 
his corpus ....... ib. 

CX. To Dugald Stewart, May 3— Shall ever 
regard his patronage as the most valued con- 
sequence of his late success in life . . 650 

CXI. To Mrs. Dunlop, May 4 — Disappointed 
in the iEneid — thinks Virgil a servile copier 
of Homer, and Dryden Pope's master . ib. 

CXI I. To Robert Ainslie, May 26— His bonny 
Jean has the most sacred enthusiasm of at- 
tachment to him 651 

CXIII. To Mrs. Dunlop, May 27— Reflections 
on human life — light be the turf upon his 
breast who taught " Reverence thyself !" . ib 

CXI V. To the same — June 13— Her surmise is 
* just — he is indeed a husband — to jealousy or 
infidelity he is an equal stranger — praise of 
his bonny Jean ...... ib. 

CXV. To Robert Ainslie, June 14 — His farm 
gives him many cares, but he hates the lan- 
guage of complaint — Looks upon the Excise 



CONTENTS. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

scheme as a certainty of maintenance — a 
luxury to what either Mrs. Burns or he were 
born to 652 

CXVI. To the same, June 23 — Requests him 
to sit to Miers for his profile . . . ib. 

CXVII. To the same, June 30— Man is na- 
turally a kind, benevolent animal — has every 
possible reverence for the much-talked-of 
world beyond the grave .... 653 

CXVIII. To George Lockhart, Glasgow, July 
18 — Elegant compliment to the charms of 
the Misses Baillie . . . . . ib. 

CXIX. To Peter Hill, Edinburgh— Indiges- 
tion is the devil — prescribes a bit of his ewe- 
milk cheese to various friends as a remedy . 654 

CXX. To Robert Graham, Esq. of Fintray— 
Begs his patronage in the Excise . . 655 

CXXI . To William Cruikshank, A ug.— Creech 
and Nicol — dares not interpose between them, 
as the former still owes him fifty pounds . ib. 

CXXII. To Mrs. Dunlop, Aug. 2— Sends her 
his first crude thoughts of his Epistle to 
Robert Graham of Fintray . . . . ib. 

CXXIII. To the same, Aug. 10— The happi- 
ness or misery of his bonny Jean was in his 
hands — and who could trifle with such a 
deposit ? 656 

CXXIV. To the same, Aug. 16— "Kings chaff 
is better than ither folks' corn" — " casting- 
pearls, &c." — "The Life and Age of Man" 657 

CXXV. To Mr. Beugo, Engraver, Sep. 9 — 
As to social communication he is at the very 
elbow of existence — could tell a long story 
about his fine genius ..... 658 

CXXVI. To Miss Chalmers, Edinburgh, Sep. 
16 — Has married "his Jean" — poem in 
the manner of Pope's moral Epistles . . 659 

CXXVII. To Mr. Morison, Mauchline, Sep. 
22 — Furnishing his new house, &c. . . ib. 

CXXVIII. To Mrs. Dunlop, Sep. 27— What 
a life of solicitude is the life of a parent ! — ■ 
her criticisms the judicious observations of 
animated friendship 660 

CXXIX. To Peter Hill, Edinburgh, Oct. 1 — 
Criticism on the "Address to Lochlomond" 
— thinks it fully equal to the " Seasons" . ib. 

CXXX. To the Editor of " The Star," Nov. 
8— The House of Stuart .... 661 

CXXXI. To Mrs. Dunlop, Nov. 13— Gra- 
titude for the present of a heifer from her 
son Major Dunlop 662 

CXXXII. To James Johnson, Engraver, 
Nov. 15 — Sends two more songs for the Musi- 
cal Museum — and is preparing a flaming 
preface for the third volume . . . 663 

CXXXIII. To Dr. Blacklock, Nov. 15-Is 
more and more pleased with the step he took 
respecting " his Jean" — a ivife's head imma- 
terial compared with her heart . . . ib. 

CXXXIV. To Mrs. Dunlop, Dec. 17— Her 
friendship — light be the turf on the breast of 
the poet who composed the glorious fragment 
of " Auld lang Syne" . .... 664 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

CXXXV. To Miss Davies, Dec. — Ballad- 
making — when he meets with a person after 
his own heart, he can no more resist rhyming 
than an iEolian harp can refuse its tones to 
the streaming air . . . . 664 

To John Tennant, Dec. 22— Whiskey. . 665 

CXXXVII. To John Richmond, Edinburgh, 
July 9, 1786. — Godly Bryan in the inquisi- 
tion and half the country-side witnesses 
against him — intends complying with the 
rules of the church, and putting on sackcloth 
and ashes ib. 

CXXXVIII. To James Johnson, Editor of 
the Museum, May 3, 1787. — Has met with 
few people whose company and conversation 
gave him so much pleasure .... 666 

1789. 

CXXXIX. To Mrs. Dunlop, Jan. 1— Ap- 
proves of set times and seasons of more than 
ordinary acts of devotion — glorious paper in 
the Spectator — "The Vision of Mirza" — his 
favourite flowers in Spring, &c. . . . ib. 

CXL. To Dr. Moore, Jan. 4— Has no doubt 
but the knack, the aptitude, to learn the 
muses' trade, is a gift bestowed by him who 
forms the secret bias of the soul — Saves his 
mother, brothers, and sisters from ruin — 
thought that throwing a little filial piety and 
maternal affection into the scale might help 
to smooth matters at the "grand reckoning" 667 

CXLI. To Robert Ainslie, Jan. 6— The two 
favourite passages which rouse his manhood 
and steel his resolution like inspiration . 668 

CXLII. To Dugald Stewart, Jan. 20 — He 
shall ever revere the native genius and accu- 
rate discernment in Mr. Stewart's critical 
strictures, &c. ...... ib. 

CXLIII. To Bishop Geddes, Feb. 3— More 
than ever an enthusiast to the muses — de- 
termined to study man and nature inces- 
santly 669 

CXLIV. To James Burness, Feb. 9 — Has 
attached himself to a good wife, and shaken 
himself loose of every bad failing — family 
concerns ....... 670 

CXLV. To Mrs. Dunlop, Mar. 4— Has sug- 
gested, as an improvement on the present 
human figure, that a man, in proportion to 
his own conceit, could have pushed out the 
longitude of his common size, as a snail 
pushes out his horns. Lines attributed to 
Mrs. Dunlop ib. 

CXLVI. To the Rev. P. Carfrae, Mar.— The 
profits of the labours of a man of genius are 
as honourable as any profits whatever — Mr. 
Mylne's Poems . . . . . .671 

[Mr. Carfrae's letter] ... . ib. 

CXLVII. To Dr. Moore, Mar. 23— Origin of 
his sarcastic ode to the memory of Mrs. 
Oswald of Auchencruive — Finally settles 

with Creech 672 

[Dr. Moore's Reply] . . . . . ib. 



©= 



S;r= 



CONTENTS. 



xvn 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE 

PAGE 

CXLVIII. To William Burns, Mar. 25— 

Family matters . . . . . .673 

CXLIX. To Peter Kill, April 2— Apostrophe 
to Frugality — orders a Shakspeare and a 
Johnson's Dictionary, which he supposes is 
the best ....... ib. 

CL. To Mrs. Dunlop, April 4 — Enclosing a 
sketch of the R e . Hon. C. J. Fox . . 674 

CLI. To Mrs. M c Murdo, Drumlanrig, May 2 
— Encloses his song of " Bonnie Jean" — ■ 
She cannot easily imagine what thin-skinned, 
sensitive plants poor poets are . . . ib. 

CLII. To Alex r . Cunningham, May 4 — En- 
closes "The Wounded Hare" — Cinikshank 
a glorious production of the Author of man 674 

CLIII. To Samuel Brown, May 4 — Ailsa 
fowling — is engaged in a " smuggling trade" 675 

CLI V. To Richard Brown, May 21 — A string 
of good wishes ...... ib. 

CLV. To James Hamilton, May 26 — Has ever 
laid down as his foundation of comfort — "that 
he who has lived the life of an honest man 
has by no means lived in vain'' . . .676 

CLVI. To William Creech, May 30— The 
tooth-ache — fifty troops of infernal spirits 
driving post from ear to ear along his jaw 
bones ........ iJ. 

CLVI I. To Mr. M c Auley of Dumbarton, June 
4 — As he has entered into the holy state of 
matrimony, he trusts his face is turned com- 
pletely Zionward, and hopes that the little 
poetic licenses of former days will fall into 
oblivion ........ ib. 

CLVIII. To Robert Ainslie, June 8— Life is 
a serious matter — serious counsel to young, 
unmarried, rake-helly dogs .... 677 

CLIX. To Mr. M c Murdo, June 19— A poet 
and a beggar are in many points of view 
alike— if you help either the one or the 
other to a mug of ale, they will repay you 
with a song — what it is to patronize a poet . ib 
CLX. To Mrs. Dunlop, June 21— His religi- 
ous creed 678 

CLXI. To Miss Williams, Aug.— His way of 
reading poetry — has honesty enough to tell 
her what he takes to be truths, even when 
they are not quite on the side of approbation ib. 

CLXII. To John Logan, Aug.7— "The Kirk's 
Alarm"— Dr. M c Gill 679 

CLXIII. To Mr. Sep.— The tomb- 
stone over poor Fergusson — his many virtues ib. 

CLX IV. To Mrs. Dunlop, Sep. 6— No dab at 
fine-drawn letter writing — religion the true 
comfort! — Zeluco . . . . 681 

CLXV. To Captain Riddel, Carse, Oct. 1 6— 
Anxious for the day of contention for the 
Whistle ib 



CLXVI. To the same— Gratitude— " An old 
song" generally the only coin a poet has to 
pay with ........ i 

CLXVII. To Robert Ainslie, Nov. 1— Reasons 
for entering into the Excise— fifty pounds a 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

year, and a provision for widows and orphans, 
no bad settlement for a poet — encourage- 
ment given by a recruiting Serjeant — fickle- 
ness — love of change has ruined many a fine 
fellow, as well as many a blockhead . . 682 

CLXVIII. To Richard Brown, Nov. 4— 
Labour endears rest, and both absolutely 
necessary for the due enjoyment of life . 683 

CLXIX. To Robert Graham of Fintray, Esq 
Dec. 9 — The visits of the muses, like those 
of good angels, are short and far between — 
is too little a man to have any political at- 
tachments ........ ib. 

CLXX. To Mrs., Dunlop, Dec 13— Reflections 
on immortality . . . . . .684 

CLXX I. To Lady Winifred Maxwell Consta- 
ble, Dec 6 — Has the honour of being con- 
nected with her ladyship by one of the 
strongest and most endearing ties — common 
sufferers in the cause of heroic loyalty ! . 685 

CLXXII. To Provost Maxwell, of Lochma- 
ben, Dec. 20 — His poor distracted mind is so 
torn, jaded, racked, and bedevilled, to make 
"one guinea do the business of three," 
that he detests, abhors, and swoons at, the 
very name of business . . . . ib. 



1790. 

CLXXIII. To Sir John Sinclair, Bart.— Ac- 
count of a book society among the Nithsdale 
farmers ....... 686 

CLXXIV. To Charles Sharpe, of Hoddam, 
Esq. — Enclosing a ballad, under a fictitious 
character 687 

CLXXV. To Gilbert Burns, Jan. 11— Nerves 
in a cursed state — his farm has undone him 688 

CLXXVI. To William Dunbar, W. S. Jan. 
14 — Since we are creatures of a day, why 
bar the enjoyment of a mutual correspond- 
ence — resolved never to breed up a son of 
his to any of the learned professions — Hopes 
of a better world . . . . . ib. 

CLXXVII. To Mrs. Dunlop, Jan. 25— Some 
account of Falconer, the unfortunate Author 
of " The Shipwreck" — misery is like love : 
to speak its language truly, the author must 
have felt it 689 

CLXXVIII. To Peter Hill, Bookseller, Edin- 
burgh, Feb. 2 — Enquiry as to the fate of his 
poor name-sake Mademoiselle Burns — orders 
some books ...... 690 

CLXXIX. To William Nicol, Feb. 9— His 
d — d mare dead — theatricals in Dumfries — 
Sutherland's company . . . .691 

CLXXX. To Alex r . Cunningham, Feb. 13— 
Apologies for his unsightly sheet of paper — 
— is there a science of life ? — obliged to 
break the Sabbath — one thing frightens him 
much — that we are to live for ever, seems 
" too good news to be true" . . . 692 

CLXXXI. To Peter Hill, Edinburgh, Mar. 2 
— Orders more books — thinks mankind are 



CONTENTS. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

by nature benevolent, except in a few scoun- 
drelly instances 693 

CLXXXII. To Mrs. Dunlop, April 10— 
Couplet of his favourite poet, Goldsmith — 
national prejudices — conduct of '*' able states- 
men"— their measure of conduct is not what 
they " ought" but what they " dare" — is 
in raptures with the " Mirror and Lounger" 
— Mackenzie the Scottish Addison — purity, 
tenderness, dignity and elegance of soul 
absolutely disqualify, in some degree, for 
making a man's way into life . . . ib. 

CLXXXII I. To Collector Mitchell— Mercy 
to the thief is injustice to the honest man . 694 

CLXXXIV. To Dr. Moore, Juty 14— Has 
quite disfigured " Zeluco" with his annota- 
tions — Charlotte Smith's sonnets. . . 695 

CLXXXV. To Mr. Murdoch, London, July 
16 — Respecting his brother William . . ib. 
[Murdoch's Reply] 696 

CLXXXVI. To Mr. M c Murdo, Aug. 2— En- 
closing his poem on the death of Captain 
Matthew Henderson ib. 

CLXXXVI I. To Mrs. Dunlop, Aug. 8— A 
" ci-devant" friend has given his feelings a 
wound that will gangrene dangerously ere 
it cure 697 

CLXXXVIII. To Alex r . Cunningham, Aug. 8 
— Aspirations after independence . . ib. 

CLXXXIX. To Dr. Anderson — Apologizes 
for inability to aid in a literary work — like 
Milton's Satan, he is forced " To do what 
yet, tho' damn'd I would abhor" . . . ib. 

CXC. To Crawford Tait, Esq., Edinburgh, Oct. 
15 — Character of his friend Mr. VVilliam 
Duncan — an earnest appeal to his generosity 698 

CXCI. To Dr. M c Giirs case — 

doubtful whether he can be of any service . 699 

CXCII. To Mrs. Dunlop, Nov. — Rejoices on 
the birth of her grand-child — is much flat- 
tered by her approbation of Tarn o' Shanter ib. 

1791. 

CXCIII. To Lady W. M. Constable, Jan. 11 
— Thanks for the gift of a valuable snuff- 
box with a fine picture of Queen Mary on 
the lid ....... ib. 

CXCIV. To William Dunbar, W. S., Jan. 17 
— Not yet gone to Elysium — good wishes — 
encloses a poem . 700 

CXCV. To Mrs. Graham, of Fintray, Jan.— 
Enclosing " Queen Mary's Lament" — in- 
dulges the flattering faith that his poetry will 
outlive his poverty . . . . . ib. 

CXC VI. To Peter Hill, Edinburgh, Jan. 17 
— Eloquent apostrophe to poverty . .701 

CXCVII. To Alex r . Cunningham, Jan. 23— 
Enclosing " Tarn o' Shanter" — and a portion 
of his " elegy on Miss Burnet" . . . ib. 

CXCVIII. To A. F. Tytler, Esq., Feb.— To 
have his poem of Tam o' Shanter so much 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

applauded by one of the first judges was the 
most delicious vibration that ever thrilled 
along the heart strings of a poor poet . . 702 

CXCIX. To Mrs. Dunlop, Feb. 7— Has had 
a fall from his horse — the late Miss Burnet — 
the "little floweret" and the "mother plant" ib. 

CC. To the Rev. Arch. Alison, Feb. 14— 
Doctrine of Association of ideas — " Essays 
on Taste" 703 

CCI. To the Rev. G. Baird, Feb.— Respecting 
the poems of Michael Bruce . . . 704 

CCII. To Dr. Moore, Feb. 28— Captain Grose 
— poems have the same advantage as Roman 
Catholics ; they can be of service to their 
friends after they have passed that bourne 
where all other kindness ceases to be of 
avail — a wise adage . . . . . ib. 
[Dr. Moore's Reply] ib. 

CCIII. To Alex r . Cunningham, Mar. 12— 
Novelty irrebriates the fancy, and not un- 
frequently dissipates and fumes away like 
other intoxication 706 

CCIV. To Alex r . Dalzel, Factor, Mar. 19— 
On the death of his patron Lord Glencairn, 
wishes to know privately the day of inter- 
ment that he may cross the country, to pay 
a tear to the last sight of his ever revered 
benefactor ....... ib. 

CCV. To — Mar.— When he matricu- 

lates in the Herald's Office, he intends that 
his supporters shall be two sloths — his crest 
a slow-worm and his motto " Deil tak the 
foremost" ....... 707 

CCVI. To Mrs. Dunlop, April 11— Birth of 
his third son — peculiar privilege and blessing 
of -our pale, sprightly damsels — the famous 
census of Venus ...... ib. 

CCVII. To Alex r . Cunningham, June 11— 
Pleads in behalf of Mr. Clarke, of Moffat, 
a persecuted school-master — God help the 
children of dependence! .... 708 

CCVIII. To the Earl of Buchan, June— En- 
closing an ode to celebrate the birth-day of 
Thomson ib. 

CCIX. To Thomas Sloan, Sep. 1— Suspense 
worse than disappointment — strange drunken 
scene at the public sale of his crops . . 709 

CCX. To Lady E. Cunningham, Sep. — En- 
closing his lament for the Earl of Glencairn 
— the sables he wore were not the "mockery 
of woe" ib. 

CCXI. To Colonel Fullarton, Oct. 3— Ambi- 
tious of being known to a gentleman whom 
he is proud to call his countryman . . 710 

CCXII. To Mr. Ainslie— " Miserable" state 
of his mind , 711 

CCXII I. To Miss Davies— Lethargy of con- 
science — a delightful reverie — woman is the 
blood royal of life . . . . . ib. 

CCXIV. To Mrs. Dunlop, Dec. 17— "Scene 
— a field of battle — his song of death" . 712 



CONTENTS. 



XI 2 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

TAKE 

1792. 

CCXV. To William Smellie, Jan. 22— Cha- 
racter of Maria Woodleigh . . . .713 

CCXVI. To Peter Hill, Bookseller, Feb. 5— 
Enclosing money for erecting the stone over 
the grave of poor Fergusson . . . ib. 

CCXVI I. To William Nicol, Feb. 20— Ironi- 
cal thanks for his advice . . . .714 

CCXVIII. To Francis Grose, Esq., F. S. A.— 
Character of Dugald Stewart . . . ib. 

CCXIX. To the same— With three legends 
respecting Alio way Kirk . . . .715 

CCXX. To J. Clarke, Edinburgh, July 16— 
Humorous invitation to come to the country 
to teach music . . . . . 716 

CCXXI. To Mrs. Dunlop, Aug. 22— Almost 
in love with Miss Lesley Baillie — separation 
from friends ...... ib. 

CCXXII. To Alex r . Cunningham, Sep. 10— 
Wild apostrophe to a spirit — religious non- 
sense — the conjugal state . . . .717 

CCXXIII. To Mrs. Dunlop, Sep. 27— Con- 
doles with her on Mrs. Henri's situation in 
France — the life of a farmer, paying a dear, 
unconscionable rent, is a " cursed life" — his 
own increasing family . . . . .719 

CCXXI V. To the same, Sep.— Condoles on the 
death of her daughter — Mrs. Henri . . ib. 

CCXXV. To the same— Dec. 6— Melancholy 
reflexions on the death of friends — birth of 
his daughter — Poetical quotations . . ib. 

CCXXVI. To Robert Graham, of Fin tray, 
Esq., Dec. — Distress of mind in consequence 
of an order of the Board of Excise to en- 
quire into his political conduct — earnest ap- 
peal for protection 720 

CCXXVII. To Mrs. Dunlop, Dec. 31— How 
fleeting are pleasures ! — resolutions against 
hard-drinking — no hope of promotion — for- 
swears politics 721 

1793. 

I CCXXVIII. To the same, Jan. 5— All set 
right with respect to the Board of Excise — 
Execrates informers — family cup of Wallace ib. 

' CCXXIX. To Alex r . Cunningham, Mar. 3— 
Orders a seal to be engraved, with mottoes 

i — merits of Allan the painter . . . 722 
CCXXX. To Miss Benson, Mar. 21— Pleasure 

he has felt in meeting with her . . . 723 
CCXXXI. To Patrick Miller, Esq., April— 

With a new edition of his poems . . ib. 
CCXXXI I. To John Francis Erskine, Esq. of 
Mar, April 13 — Gratitude for his friendship 
— defence of his political principles — pathetic 
appeal against his supposed degradation by 
being an Exciseman 724 

CCXXXIII. To Robert Ainslie, April 26— 
Damnably out of humour — Spunjeue his 
tutelary genius ! — scholar- craft may be caught 
by fritiion — by mere dint of handling books 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAOS 

— anecdote of a wise - looking, jabbering 
tailor . . . . . . . . 725 

CCXXXI V. To Miss Kennedy— Faint sketches 
of her portrait — poets, of all mankind, feel 
most forcibly the powers of " beauty" . 726 

CCXXXV. To Miss Craik, Dumfries, Aug.— 
Fate and character of the rhyming tribe — 
what we owe to the lovely Queen of the 
heart of man ! U 

CCXXXVI. To Lady Glencairn— Gratitude 
to her noble family — would rather have it 
said that his profession borrowed credit from 
him than that he borrowed credit from his 
profession — has turned his thoughts on the 
Drama . . . . . .727 

CCXXXVII. To John Macmurdo, Esq., Dec. 
— Pays a debt of six guineas, and now, he 
does not owe a shilling to either man or 
woman — sends a collection of Scots songs of 
which there is not another copy in the world 728 

CCXXXVIII. To the same— With a present 
of his poems — to no man has he ever paid a 
compliment at the expense of Truth . . ib. 

CCXXXIX. To Capt". Dec. 5— 

Honours him as a man, and as a patriot to 
whom the rights of his country are sacred — 
encloses " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled" . 729 

CCXL. To Mrs. Riddel— Envies her going to 
a party of choice spirits . . . . ib. 

CCXLI. "To a Lady — In favour of a player's 
benefit — of all the qualities assigned to the 
Author of Nature, by far the most enviable 
is to be able " to wipe away all tears from 
all eyes" ....... ib. 

CCXLII. To the Earl of Buchan, Jan. 12— 
The story of Bannockburn — Apostrophe to 
liberty 730 

* CCXLII. To Capt n . Miller Dal swin ton— En- 
closing " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled" 
[See Ode, p. 477.] 

CCXLIII. To Mrs. Riddel — Execration of 
lobster- coated puppies . . . . ib. 

CCXLIV. To the same— " Gin-horse class" of 
the human genus — himself ad — d "melange" 
of fretfulness and melancholy . . . ib. 

CCXLV. To the same — Recals her late look 
that froze the very life-blood of his heart, 
but assures her of his highest esteem . . ib. 

CCXLVI. To the same — Renewal of inter- 
rupted friendship . . . . .731 

CCXL VII. If it be a crime to admire, esteem, 
and prize, the most accomplished of 
women, and the first of friends, he is the 
most offending thing alive . . . . ib. 

CCXLVIII. To John Syme, Esq.— The in- 
comparable Mrs. Oswald . . . . ib. 

CCXLIX. To Miss Recollections of 

a dear friend — requests the return of MSS. 
'ent to him 732 

CCL. To Alex r . Cunningham, Feb. 26— Can 
he minister to a mind diseased ? — his hypo- 
chondria — requests consolation — the two 



CONTENTS. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 

PAGE 

great pillars that bear us up, amid the wreck 

of misfortune — thoughts on religion . . 732 

CCLI. To the Earl of Glencairn, May— Re- 
collections of the generous patronage of his 
late illustrious brother .... 733 

CCLII. To David Macculloch, Esq., Junt 21 
— His projected journey in Galloway . . ib. 

CCLIII. To Mrs. Dunlop, June 25— Melan- 
choly forebodings as to his health — stanza of 
an Ode to Liberty 734 

[Stature of Sir William Wallace (Note)] . ib 

OCLIV. To James Johnson — " Has almost 
hung his harp on the willow trees" — sends 
forty-one songs for the fifth volume of "The 
Museum" — Lord Balmerino's dirk . . ib 

CCLV. To Peter Miller, jun., Esq. of Dals- 
winton, Nov. — Dares not accept of his ge- 
nerous offer of a salary to write for the 
Morning Chronicle — has long had it in his 
head to try his hand at little prose essays, to 
which Mr. Perry is welcome . . .735 

OCLVI. To Samuel Clarke, jun., Dumfries, 
— Allusions to a drunken squabble with a 
Captain — the obnoxious toast . . .736 

CCLVII. To Mrs. Riddel— As from the other 
world — from the regions of Hell, amid the 
horrors of the damned — apology for his 
being intoxicated . . . . . ib. 



1795. 

CCLIX. To Miss Fontenelle.— Her charms 
as a woman, &c. ..... 737 

CCLX. To Mrs. Dunlop, Dec. 15— Anxiety 
respecting his family — is almost distracted — 
Dumfries theatricals — Cowper's " Task" a 
glorious poem. ...... ib. 

CCLXI. To Alexander Findlater — Enclosing 
two schemes — good wishes .... 738 

CCLXII. To the Editor of the Morning 
Chronicle, in the name of a friend — the 
rights of human nature . . . . ib. 

CCLXIII. To Colonel W. Dunbar.— Not yet 
gone to Elysium — many happy returns of 
the season .... . 739 

CCLXIV. To Mr. Heron, of Heron— Pillory 
on Parnassus — a life of literary leisure, with 
a decent competency, the summit of his 
wishes ....... ib. 

CCLXV. To Mrs. Dunlop, Dec. 20— Has the 
honour to preside over the Scottish verse in 
Thomson's collection of songs — appointed 
to a temporary supervisorship — religion early 
implanted in his mind — the humour of Dr. 
Moore perfectly original .... 740 

CCLXVI. Ironical address of the Scottish 
Distillers to the Right Hon. William Pitt, 
signed John Barleycorn;, Prseses . . ib. 

OCLXVII. To the Hon. the Provost, Bailies, 
and Town Council of Dumfries — requesting 
the privilege of sending his children to the 
Burgh schools 741 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



1796. 



CCLX VII I To Mrs. Riddel, Jan. 20— Ana- 
charsis an indisputable desideratum to a son 
of the Muses — his health flown for ever . 742 

CCLXIX. To Mrs. Dunlop, Jan. 31— Has 
lately drunk deep of the cup of affliction — 
become the victim of a most severe rheu- 
matic fever ...... ib. 

CCLXX. To Mrs. Riddel, June 4— Racked 
with rheumatism — meets every face with a 
greeting like that of Balak to Balaam . ib. 

CCLXXI. To Mr. Clarke, Schoolmaster, For- 
far, June 26 — Still, still the victim of af- 
fliction \ — begins to fear the worst — bewails 
the prospects of his wife and children — 
there he is as weak as a woman's tear . . 743 

CCLXXII. To James Johnson, Edinburgh, 
July 4 — Hope is the cordial of the human 
heart — endeavours to cherish it as well as 
he can ib. 

CCLXXIII. To Alexander Cunningham, July 
7 — Fears the voice of the Bard will soon be 
heard no more ! — his spirits fled ! fled! — his 
last and only chance is sea-bathing, country 
quarters, and riding ..... 744 

CCLXXI V. To Gilbert Burns, July 10— His 
appetite totally gone — can.scarcely stand on 
his legs — God keep his wife and children ! . ib. 

CCLXXV. To Mrs. Burns, from Brow, July 
10 — Sea bathing affords little relief . . ib 

CCLXXVI. To Mrs. Dunlop, July 12— His 
illness will, in all probabilit}^, speedily send 
him beyond that " bourne whence no tra- 
veller returns" — her friendship dearest to 
his soul ....... 745 

CCLXXVII. To James Burness, Montrose, 
July 12 — Solicits aid — alas ! he is not used 
to beg ! — melancholy and low spirits half his 
disease — his brother's affairs — fears he must 
cut him up ...... ib. 

CCLXXVII I. To James Gracie, Esq., July 
16 — His loss of appetite still continues — 
shall not need his kind offer (to bring him to 
town in a post chaise) .... 746 

CCLXXIX. To James Armour, Mauchline, 
July 18 — Begs for Heaven's sake that Mrs. 
A. may come to attend his wife in her con- 
finement — feels his strength gone . . 747 

[To Mr. Burness, Montrose, from John Lew- 
ars, July 23 — Announcing the death of the 
Poet — Note to page 745.] .... 

[To Mrs. Robert Burns, Dumfries, from 
James Burness, July 29 — Condolence on the 
death of her husband ib,] .... 

[To Mr. Burness, Montrose, from the Poet's 
widow, Aug. 23 — Acknowledgment for his 
kindness — Note to. page 746] 

[The Wife of the Poet — Note to page 
746-7] 

[Anecdote of Mrs. Burns — ib.] 

[Song by Robert Burns, jun. — ib.} 



©.= 



CONTENTS. 



FIRST COMMON PLACE - BOOK, BEGUN 
IN APRIL 1783. 

PAGE 

To Robert Riddel, Esq., — Observations, 
hints, songs, scraps, of poetry, &c., by Ro- 
bert Burness 748 

April, 1783. Connexion between love, music, 
and poetry ib. 

Sep. Remorse — the most painful sentiment 
that can embitter the human bosom . . ib. 

March, 1784. Every man, even the worst, has 
something good about him — love- verses, 
without any real passion, the most nauseous 
of all conceits ...... 749 

April, 1784. The whole species of young men 
may be divided into two grand classes, the 
" grave" and the " merry" ... ib. 

Aug. 1784. The grand end of human life . 750 

Map, 1785. Egotisms from my own sensa- 
tions ib. 

Aug, 1785. The glorious Wallace the Sa- 
viour of his country . . . . . ib. 

Sep. 1785. Irregularity in the Old Scottish 
Songs ........ 751 

Oct. 1785. Let a young man, as he tenders his 
own peace keep up a regular, warm inter- 
course with the Deity . . . . . ib. 



SECOND COMMON PLACE-BOOK, BEGUN 
IN EDINBURGH, APRIL, 1787, 

Prefatory Remarks 752 

Philosophy, benevolence, and greatness of soul 753 

The whining cant of love .... ib. 

The Wabster's grace ib. 

An old man's dying ib. 

The powers of beauty ib. 

The much- talked- of world beyond the grave . ib. 

The Poet's Assignment of his Works . . 754 



LETTERS TO CLARINDA, BY ROBERT 

BURNS, UNDER THE SIGNATURE OF 

SYLVANDER. 

No. I. Dec. 6, 1787. Fiction, the native region 
of poetry . 755 

II. Dec. 8. Uulucky fall from a coach . . ib. 

III. Dec. 22. No holding converse with an 
amiable woman, much less a " gloriously 
amiable fine woman," without some mixture 
of that delicious passion whose most devoted 
slave he has more than once had the honour 

of being 756 

IV. Jan. 1788. A friendly correspondence goes 
for nothing, except one writes his or her un- 
disguised sentiments — his definition of worth 
— Clarinda's song " Talk not of love" — adds 

a fourth stanza ...... 757 

V. Jan. 21. Epigram on Martial — "The night 
is my departing night." — " What art thou, 



LETTERS TO CLARINDA. 

PAGE 

love?" — likes to have quotations for every 
occasion 753 

VI. Jan. 26. His favourite feature in Milton's 
Satan ib. 

VII. Jan. 27. Impertinence of fools . . 759 
Jan. 28. Saying of Locke — fears incon- 
stancy — the consequent imperfection of hu- 
man weakness — mysterious faculty of that 
thing called imagination ! — fairy fancies — 
Devotion the favourite employment of his 
heart ....... ib. 

VIII. His religious tenets — the witching hour 

of night 760 

IX. His friendship, a life- rent business — his 
likings strong and eternal . . . .761 

X. Thoughts on religion — Bolingbroke's say- 
ing to Swift — scorns dissimulation . . ib 

XI. The devotion of love . . . .762 

XII. Her person unapproachable, by the laws 
of her country — wretched condition of one 
haunted with conscious guilt —lines on re- 
ligion ....... ib. 

XIII. Never does things by halves — she is the 
soul of his enjoyment # . . . ib. 

XIV. Feb. 7. Fortune, the most capricious 
jade ever known — Nature has a great deal 

to say with Fortune 763 

XV. Feb. 9. The pensive hours of "Philo- 
sophic melancholy" — a peep through " The 
dark postern of time long elaps'd" — child- 
ish fondness of the every-day children of 
the world — innocence . . . .764 

XVI. Feb. 10. Invocation to Heaven — vows 
to be hers in the way she thinks most to her 
happiness ....... ib. 

XVII. Feb. 12. Was "behind the scenes with 
her" — saw the noblest immortal soul cre- 
ation ever showed him — fears his acquaint- 
ance is too short to make that lasting 
impression on her heart he could wish . ib. 

XVIII. Prays to the Father of Mercies to 
make him worthy of her friendship . . 765 

XIX. Esteems and loves her as a friend . . ib. 

XX. When matters are desperate, we must 
put on a desperate face — her fame, her wel- 
fare, her happiness, dearer to him than any 
gratification whatever .... 776 

XXI. Feb. 17. Attraction of love . . . ib. 

XXII. March 2. Insidious decree of the Per- 
sian monarch's mandate — his farming 
scheme .... . ib. 

XXIII. March 7. Stung with her reproach for 
unkindness — we ought, when we wish to be 
economists in happiness, to fix the standard 

of our own character ..... 767 

XXIV. Thoughtless career we run in the hour 

of health ib. 

XXV. In whatever company he is, when a 
married lady is called on as a toa.st, he con- 
stantly gives the name of Mrs. Mack — his 
round of Arcadian Shepherdesses . . 768 



[Recent account of Clarinda — Note] . 



i&. 



BURNS. 

His genius was universal. In satire, in humour, in pathos, in description, in 
sentiment, he was equally great : but his satire and his humour partake of 
the soil whence they sprung. They are rude, forceful, and manly: they are 
not polished into elegance, nor laboured into ease ; but in every composition 
I am inclined to regard him as one of the few geniuses who arise to illumi- 
nate the hemisphere of mind. Education had nothing in the formation of 
his character j what he wrote was the pure offspring of native genius : and if 
we reflect how excellent he was in all ; what various powers he has shewn in 
paths that are amongst the highest of poetical delineation ; we may, without 
much offence to justice, place Inm by the side of the greatest names this 
country has produced. 

ThornhilVs Virgil, p. 443. 



CHRONOLOGY 



BURNS'S LIFE AND WORKS. 



1759. 

January 25.— Born in a clav-built cottage, raised by his father's own 
hands, on the banks of the Doon, in the district of Kyle, and county of 
Ayr. A few days after his birth a wind arose, that crushed the frail 
structure, and the unconscious Poet was carried unharmed to the shelter 
of a neighbouring; house. 

1765.— (aetat 6.) 

Sent by his father to a school 
bell — same year placed under th 

1766.— (7.) 

Mav 25. — His father removes to the farm of Mount Oliphant, 
parish of Ayr, leased him by Mr. Ferguson, of Doonholra. 

1768.— (9.) 

In the absence of Murdoch, he 
evenimrs bv his father, who instr 

Geography. On hearing Mnrdi 



the book. 



i, he i: 



o shocked at the recital that he thrc 



knowledge o 
,gedy of Titui 



1769.— (10.) 



The latent seeds of poetry cultivated in his mind by an c 
who resides in the family, and who had the Hrgcst colleeti 
country of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies 
warlocks, apparitions, giants, enchanted tnwers, &c. The 
these had so strong an effect on his imagination that for e 
wards, in his nocturnal rambles, he kept a sharp look out in s 



recital"} 

ispicious 



1772— (13.) 



Sent to the Parish School of Dalrvmple, for improvement in penman- 
! ship. Resumes his studies with Murdoch, in the town of Ayr. Revises 
his Grammar, and acquires a knowledge of French. Attempts the 
Latin, but makes little progress. 



1773.— (14.) 



Forms several connexions with other younkers, who possess superior 
advantages, but who never insult the clouterly appearance of his 
plough-boy carcase, the two extremes of which were often exposed to 
all the inclemencies of the seasons. They give him stray volumes of 
books, and one (the late Sir John Malcolm), whose heart, not even the 
Mutiny Begum scenes have tainted, helped him to a little French. 
Parting with these young friends, as thev occasionally went off for the 
East or West Indies, was often a sore affliction, but he is soon called 
to more serious evils. His father's farm proves a ruinous bargain, and, 
to clench the misfortune, he falls into the hands of a scoundrelly facfor, 
who afterwards sat for the pictur2 he drew of one in his Tale of The 
Twa Doss. He becomes a dexterous ploughman for his age, but his 
indignation boils at the insolent threateningfletters of the factor, which 
sets the family all in tears. 



occasionally with the smugglers, and learns to fill his glass and mis 
without fear in a drunken squabble, yet he goes on with a high hand 
with his geometry, till the sun enters Virgo, a month always a carnival 
in his bosom, when a charming Jillette, who lives next door to the 
school, oversets all his trigonometry, and sets him off at a tangent 
from the sphere of his studies. Returns home considerably improved — 
engages several of his schoolfellows to keep up a literary correspon- 
dence — pores over a collection of Letters of the Wits of Queen Anne's 

1779.— (20.) 

five V amour, et vive la bagatelle, his sole principles of action— 
Tristram Shandy and the Man of Feeling his favourite books. Poetry 
the darling walk of Lis mind— usually half-a-dozen or more pieces on 
hand. His passions now rage like so many devils, till they find vent in 
rhyme. Composes " Winter, a Dirge," the eldest of his printed 
pieces— The Death of poor Mailie, John Barleycorn, and several songs. 



1780.— (21.) 



November.— Forms, in conjunction with Gilbert, and seven or eight 
young men, a Bachelors' Club, in Tarbolton, the rules of which he after- 
wards draws up— the declared objects are— relaxation from toil— the pro- 
motion of sociality and friendship, and the improvement of the mind. 



1781.— (22.) 



Midsummer.— Partly through whim, and partlv that he wishes to set 
about doing something in life, he joins a ilax-d'resser in Irvine, of the 
name of Peacock, a relation of his mother— where he spends six 

December 27- — Writes a remarkable letter to his father, in which he 
states that the weakness of his nerves has so debilitated his mind that 
he dares neither review past wants, nor look forward into futurity. He 
is quite transported at the thought that ere long, perhaps very soon, he 
shall bid adieu to all the pains, and uneasiness, and disquietudes of 
this weary life ; for he is heartily tired of it, and, if he does not very 
much deceive himself, he could contentedly and gladly resign it. He 
concludes by saying, " My meal is nearly out, but I am going to borrow 
till I get more." 

December 31.— His shop accidentally catches fire, as he is giving a 
welcome carousal to the new year, and is burned to ashes, and, like a 
true poet, he is left without a sixpence. 



1782.— (23.) 



1774.— (15.) 



Is the principal labourer in his father's farm— suffers great depress 
of spirits — is afflicted with head-ache in the evenings— forms his ) 
attachment for Nelly Blair, a bonnie sweet sonsie'lass, the tones 
whose voice makes his heart-strings thrill like an jEolian harp. C< 
poses his first song in praise of his Handsome Nelly. 



1775.— (16.) 



A Collection of Songs, his vade me cum — these he pores over, while 
driving his cart, or walking to labour, song by song, veTse by verse, 
carefully noting the true tender, or sublime, from affectation and 
fustian. To this practice he owes much of his critic craft. Hitherto, 
he was, perhaps, the most ungainly, awkward boy in the parish— no 
lolitaire less acquainted with the ways of the ^"rld. 



1776.— (17.) 



He goes to a country dancing- school to g\ve his manners a brush, 
strongly against the wish of bis father, who was subject to strong 
passions, and, from that instance of disobedience, took a sort of dislike 
to him, which, he believes, was one cause of the apparent dissipation 
which marked his succeeding years— the great misfortune of his life was 
to want an aim — the only two openings by which he can enter the temple 
of fortune are the gate of niggardly economy, or the path of little 
chicaning bargain-making. A constitutional melancholy makes him fly 
solitude, and he becomes a welcome guest wherever he visits— bis 
ipulse is un penchant pour I'adorable moitii du genre 
ipletely tinder, and eternally lighted up by some 
guuucss vi uLiier. n.i ihe plough, scythe, or reap-hook, he fears no 
competitor, and spends his evenings after his own heart. His zeal, 
curiosity, and intrepid dexterity, recommend him as a confidant in all 
love adventures, and he is in the secret of half the loves of the parish of 
Tarbolton. 



h— his heart is 



May 25.— His father 
s the b " 



1777.— (18.) 



'« My fathi 



to the farm of Lochiea. 1 
upon th 
upon a Lamm; 



i fare 



Vol,,,,' 



border;" and the best of all his 
night." 

1778.— (19.) 

Spends his nineteenth summer on a smuggling coast at a noted school 
in Kirkoswald, where he learns mensuration, surve vine;, dialling. &c. 
but makes a greater progress in the knowledge of mankind. He falls in 



The clouds of misfortune gather thick round his father's head ; and ht 
is visibly far gone in consumption. To crown the distresses of the 
poet, a belle Jill e, whom he adores, and who had pledged her soul to 
meet him in the field of matrimony, jilts him, with peculiar circum- 
stances of mortification. His constitutional melancholy is now increased 
to such a degree that for three months he is in a state of mind scarcely 
to be envied by the hopeless wretches who have irot their mittimus — 
depart from me, ye accursed'. He forms a friendship with a young 
fellow, a very noble character, bu~ a hapless son of misfortune, whose 
mind was fraught with independence, magnanimity, and every manly 
virtue. He was the only man he ever saw who was a greater fool than 
himself, where woman was the presiding star ; but he spoke of illicit 
love with the levity of a sailor, which hitherto he had regarded with 
horror. Here his friendship did him a mischief, and the consequence 
was, that soon after he resumed the plough, he wrote "The Poet's 
Welcome to his Illegitimate Child.'' Meeting with Fergusson's Scot- 
tish Poems, he strings anew his wildly-sounding lyre. 



1783.— (24.) 



" Observ 



April. — Commences his Common Place Book, entitled : 
tions, Hints, Songs, Scraps of Poetry, &c. By Robert Burness ; a man 
who had little art in making monev, and still less in keeping it." 

June 21. -Writes to his cuusin, 'James Rcrne.s, that his father is in a 
dying condition ; and sends, probably for the last time in this world, his 
warmest wishes for his welfare and happiness— He becomes a Free 
Mason, being his first introduction to the life of a boon companion. 



1784.— (25.) 



January.— Writes his "First Epi 
which he alludes to his Dai ling Jean. The first idea of his becoming 
an Author started on this occasion. 

February 13.— Death of his Father ; whose all went among the hell- 
hounds that growl in the kennf I of Justice— He makes shift to collect 
a little money in the family ; and he and his brother Gilbert take the 
neighbouring farm of Mossgiel, on which he enters with a fuh resolu- 
tion, Come, go to, I u-ill be wise '. — He reads farming books, calculates 
crops, attends markets ; and, in spite of the devil, the world, and the 
flesh, he believes he would have been a wise man ; but the first year, 
from unfortunately buying bad seed, the second from a late harvest, they 
lost half their crops. This overset all his wisdom, and he returns, like 
the dog to his vomit, and the sow that teas washed to her wallowing in 
the mire. He now begins to be known in the neighbourhood as a 
maker of rhymes, and the first of his poetic offspring that saw the light 
was The Holy Tuilzie or Twa Herds, a burlesque sham imitation of a 
quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both of them dramatis per- 
sonal in his Holy Fair. Holy Willie's Prayer next makes its appear- 
ance, and alarms the Kirk-session so much that they hold several 
meetings, to look over their spiritual artillery. Unluckily for him, his 
wanderings lead him on another side, within point blank shot of their 
heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate story that gave rise to his 
printed poem. The Lament. He is compelled to perform penance in 
church— inveiahs against the clergyman for rebuking him— writes his 
"Epistle to Raikine"and his song "The Ranting Dog the Daddic o't." 



CHRONOLOGY- 



Espous 



i the 



1785.— (aetat 26.) 



• of Gavin Hamilton against the Auld Light 
fanatics ; and produces, in succession. The Kirk's Alarm, The Ordi- 
nation, The Holy Fair, ^c— His Address to the Deil, and Death and 
Doctor Hornbook. 

April 1—21. Writes his Epistles to Lapraik, and, in the course of the 
year, Halloween, The Jolly Beggars, The Cotter's Saturday Night, 
and various songs. 

1786.— (27.) 

March 20.— Encloses Mr. Robert Muir, Kilmarnock, his Scotch Drink, 
with a wish that the may follow, with a blessing, for his 

April 3.— Writes to Mr. Aiken that his proposals for publishing by sub- 
scription, he is just going to send to press, and signs his name, for 
the last time— Harness. 

April 20. — Encloses Mr. John Kennedy, his Mountain Daisy (entitled 
in the MS. The Gowan) , as being the very latest of his productions, 
and composed while holding the plough.— His connexion with his bonny 
Jean - She presents him with Twins— Anger of her father— The distress 
of the Poet— Performs penance a second time in the Kirk for his incon- 
lcy— Is called upon to find security for the maintenance of his 
children— Is unable to raise the money, and the alternative is expatria- 
tion, or a jail — Prefers the former. 

August 1.— Publisher, the first Edition of his Poems— Realizes above 
20/., and takes out his passage lor Jamaica— Composes the last song he 
;s he shall ever measure in Caledonia, "The Gloomy Night is 
gathering fast ;" when a letter from Dr. Blacklock fortunately arrives, 
'S all his schemes, by opening new prospects to his 
poetic ambition. His poems everywhere received with rapture— Cul- 
' ites friendship with Professor Dugald Stewart, Dr. Blair, Dr. Robert- 
, Dr. Gregory, Mrs. Dunlop, &c.-Visits Katrine, the seat of Dugald 
wart, where he meets Lord Daer, and Mrs. Stewart of Stair, whom 
he celebrates in his Song, Flow pently, sweet A/ton— Composes the Lass 
of Ballochmyle, and forwards the Song to the heroine, Miss Alexander 
—Is treated by her with coldness, which he resents with bi 
" )vember 28. — Arrives in Edinburgh. 



1787.— (28.) 



her fan 



' I shall e 



! avin Hamilton that he feels a miserable blank 
nt of his bonnie Jean. "I don't think," he 
with so delicious an armful again. She has 
ilts ; but so have you and 1 ; and so has everybody." 
arv 14.— Attends a Grand Masonic Lodge, occ— Received with 
ation as the Bard of Caledonia— Reside with his friend Rich- 
in the house of Mrs.Carfrae, Lawumarket, in a single room, at 
t of 3s. a week— Meets the Duchess of Gordon, and his conversa- 
mpletelp carries her off her feet. 

4.— Publishes the s.von.l Edition of his Poems, of which 30D0 

are subscribed for- Commences his second Common Place Book. 

, 6.— Sets out on a Border Tour, in company with Robert Ainslie. 

Esq.— Presented by the Magistracy of Jedburgh with the freedom of 

'ie town — his reception every where triumphant. 

May 13.— Visits Dryburgh Abbey, and spends an hour among the ruins, 

nee hallowed by the dust of Scott. 

June 8.— Returns to Mossgiel— The family of his bonnie Jean now 
>urt his society— Returns to Edinburgh, where he obtains permission 

yo years in completing it, and the Poet was two years in paying him ; 
r which they are quits. " He had," says the Poet, " the hardiesse to 
ik for interest on the sum, but considering that the money was due by 
ie Poet, for putting a tombstone over another, lie may with grateful 
irprise, thank heaven that ever he saw a farthing of it."" Proceeds on 
s first Highland Tour, by way of Stirling, to Iuverary— Visits the 
arvieston ladies, and becomes acquainted with Mis.-. Chalmers. 
July.— Spends this month at Mossgiel— Writes his Epistle to Willie 
Chalmers. 

tgust.— Re-visits Stirling-shire, in company with Dr. Adair of Har- 
;ate— Visits the ruined Abbey of Dunfermline -Kneels down and 
is with sacred fervour the stone which covers the grave of Robert 
_ ,'e— Shewn at Linlithgow the room where the beautiful and injured 
Mary Queen of Scots was born — Crosses the Forth, and arrives in 
Edinburgh. 

August 25.— Sets out on his third and last Highland Tour, in company 
with 'his friend Nicol— Visits the Duke and Duchess of Gordon— Dines 
ivith them, and forgets his friend Nicol, who, in a foaming rage, in- 
duces the Poet reluctam.y to turn his back on bonnie Castle Gordon, 
ivith a vexation lie was unable to conceal. 

September 16.— Arrives once more in Edinburgh, having travelled 600 
miles in 22 days -Composes verses on Loch Turk, and Bruar Water — 
Forms an intimacv with Clarinda— Is overturned in a hackney-coach, 
by a drunken coachman ; and is confined to his room for six weeks with 
a bruised limb— Writes his celebrated Letters to Clarinda— Contributes 
numerous Songs to Johnson's Musical Museum. 

December 30.— Writes to his friend Brown that Almighty love still 
reigns in his bosom ; and that he is at this moment ready to hang him- 
self for a young Edinburgh IVidow. (She turns jut to be a married 
ladv, whose husband is absent in Jamaica.) 

December 31.— Attends a Grand Dinner to celebrate the birth of Prince 
Charles Stuart, and produces an Ode on ' 



1788.— (29.) 



larch 30.— Composes (partly on horseback) The Chevalier's Lament, 
ipril 13. — Settles with his Publisher, Creech, and receives upwards 
of 600/., as the produce of his Second Edition— Advances 200/. to assist 
his brother Gilbert ; but, when afterwards solicited to become bail for 
lim to a considerable amount, he is compelled to decline injustice to 
lis family. 
May 25.-Takes the farm of Ellisland. 

August 3. — Marries his bonnie Jean, and contributes many of his best 
Songs to the Museum. 

1789.— (30.) 

July.— Receives an Epistle, part Poetie and part prosaic, from a 
young Poetess, Miss Janet Little, which he does not well know how to 
answer, being no dab at fine-drawn letter-writing. 

September. — Writes the noblest of all his ballads, " To Mary in 
Heaven," Lines on Friar'sCarse Hermitage, &c. 



October 16.— Contends for the prize of "The Whistle," at ?rl 
Carse— Drinks bottle for bottle in the Contest, and celebrates the oc 
sion by a Poem. 

December 20.— Writes to Provost Maxwell that his poor distracted 
mind is so torn, so jaded, so racked and bedevilled with the task of the 
superlatively damned, to make one guinea do the work of three, that he 
detests, abhors, and swoons at, the very name of business. 

1790.— (31.) 

January 25. — Communicates to Mrs. Dunlop some interesting parti- 
culars of the life and death of Falconer, the unfortunate author of the 
Shipwreck — Finds his farm a ruinous affair— His " nerves in a cursed 
state," and a horrid hypochondria pervading every atom of both body 
and soul- Resumes his intercourse with the Muse, "and writes in Novem 
ber his inimitable Tarn o' Shanter, the best of all his productions— I 
appointed to the Excise — Has an adventure with Ramsay of Ochtertyre 

1791.— (32.) 

April 11. — Birth of a third son— Becomes a member of the Dumfries 
Volunteers, and their Poet Laureate— Writes several patriotic Songs, 
and his " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled "—Fires off his " Five Car- 
lines," and other Political Squibs, and satirizes both Whigs and Tories 
— Visited in the summer by two English gentlemen, w ho iline with him, 
and partake freely of his Whiskey Punch— They forget the flight of 
time; lose their wav on returning to Dumfries, and can scarcely t'oi " 
its three steeples, although assisted by the morning dawn. 

August 25.— Sells his crop at a guinea an acre above value— A strange 
scene of drunkenness on the occasion— About 30 people engaged in a 
regular battle, every man for his own hand, and fight it out for three 
hours — In-doors folk lying drunk on the floor, and decanting until his 
dogs get so tipsy by attending them that they can't stand — Enjoys the 
scene— Relinquishes Ellisland, and removes to Dumfries— Is invited by 
the Earl of Buchan to assist at the coronation of the bust of Thomson, 
on the 23rd of September — Apologizes, but sends an Ode for the occa- 
sion—Presented by Lady Winifred Maxwell Constable with a valuable 
snuff-box, on the lid of which is a miniature of Mary Queen of Scots, as 
an acknowledgment for his " Lament " of that ill-starred Princess. 



1792.— (33.) 



February 27- — Puts himself at the head of a party of soldiers, t 
raptures, sword in hand, a French Smuggler— Communicates to Francis 
Grose, Esq., the celebrated Antiquary, three remarkable Witch Stories 
relating to Alloway Kirk. 

September. — Commences his celebrated Correspondence with George 
Thomson, and composes for his Collection of Scottish Songs upwards 
of one hundred and twenty of the finest lyrics in the language. 

September 10.— Writes a remarkable letter to his friend Alexani 
Cunningham, in which he gives him his ideas of the conjugal sta 
"Ah, ray friend! matrimony is quite a different thing from what your 
love-sick youths and sighing girls take it to be '." 

December 8.— Birth of his Daughter. 

1793.— (34.) 

Publishes a Fourth Edition of his Poems, in 2 vols.— Makes an exci 
sion through Galloway and the neighbouring country, in company with 
Svme of Rycdale, the same wY» related to Sir Walter Seott his story 
of The Sword Cane— Continues pouring forth his beautiful Songs to f L ~ 
Museum of Johnson— Admonished by the Excise that his business 
to act, not to think, in allusion to his political opinions— Rejects L 
ffer of an Annuity of 50/. to write Poetical Articles for the Morning 



Chro 
December. — Writes to Mr. Macmurdo that 



1794.— (35.) 



either 



t owe a shilling 



February 25.— Writes to Alexander Cunningham commencing with 
hese words : — " Canst thou minister to a mind diseased ?" and stating 
hat for two months he has been unable to wield the pen. 

May.— Publishes a Fifth Edition of his Poems, finally corrected with 

Midsummer he removes from the Bank Vennel, Dumfries, | 



Mill Hill Brae. 

June 25. — Writes to Mrs. Dunlop from a solitary inn, in a solitary vil- 
lage, in Castle Dmiglas, that he is in poor health, and that he is afraid 
he is about to suffer for the follies of his youth.— His medical friends 
threaten him with a flying gout, but he trusts they are mistaken. 

1795.— (36.) 

January.— Writes his manly song " For a' that and a 5 that." 

In the Autumn he loses his only daughter-Writes his Heron Ballads 

In November he is visited by Professor Walker, who spends two days 

with him, and writes a description of the Poet's appearance. 

December 29. — Writes to Mrs. Dunlop that he already begins to feel 

the rigid fibre and stiffening joints of old age coming fast over his frame 



1796.— (37.) 



January 31. -Becomes the victim of a severe Rheumatic Fever— 
Rack'd with pain— Every face he meets with a greeting like that o 
Balak to Balaam: " Come, curse me Jacob, and come, defy me Israel.' 
— Implores his friends in Edinburgh to make interest with the Board oi 
Excise to grant him his full Salary— His application refused ! 

July 5.— Affecting interview with Mrs. Riddel at Brow. 

July 7 —Writes to his friend Cunningham :— " I fear the voice of the 
Bard will soon be heard among you no more ! You actually would not 
know me. Pale, emaciated, and so feeble as occasionally to need help 
from my chair— My spirits fled, fled '." — Goes to Brow for the benefit ot 

July 12. — Writes to George Thomson for Five Pounds, and to his 
cousin James Burness for Ten Pounds, to save him from the horrors of 
a jail 1— Sends his last letter to Mrs. Dunlop, stating that, in all probabi- 
lity, be w-ill speedily be beyond that bourne whence no traveller returm. 

July 18. — Returns to Dumfries in a dying state— His good humour is 
unruffled, and his wit never forsakes him. He looks to oue of his 
brother Volunteers with a smile, as he stood weeping by h : s bedside, 
and says, " John, don't let the awkward squad fire over me !" 

July 21.— His Death. 

July 25.— His remains removed to the Town Hall of Dumfries, where 
they lie in state, and his funeral takes place on the following day. 

J. C. 



'lira 



LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



PART I — AYR-SHIRE. 



The national poetry of Scotland, like her 
thistle, is. the offspring of the soil. To the 
poems of our first James, the strains of forgot- 
ten minstrels, or the inspiration of shepherds and 
husbandmen, its origin has been ascribed. Where 
proof cannot be procured, we must be content 
with conjecture : classic or foreign lore can claim 
no share in the inspiration which comes from 
nature's free grace and liberality. From what- 
ever source our poetry has sprung, it wears the 
character and bears the image of the north : the 
learned and the ignorant have felt alike its ten- 
derness and humour, dignity and ardour; and 
both have united in claiming, as its brightest 
ornament, the poetry of Him of whose life and 
works I am now about to write. This, how- 
ever, has already been done with so much affec- 
tion by Currie, care by Walker, and manliness 
by Lockhart — the genius, the manners, and 
fortunes of Burns have been discussed so fully 
by critics of all classes, and writers of all ranks, 
that little remains for a new adventurer in the 
realms of biography, save to extract from the 
works of others a clear and judicious narrative. 
But, like the artist who founds a statue out of 
old materials, he has to re-produce them in a 
new shape, touch them with the light of other 
feeling, and inform them with fresh spirit and 
sentiment. 

Robert Burns, eldest son of William Burness 
and Agnes Brown his wife, was born Jan. 25, 
1759, in a clay-built cottage, raised by his fa- 
ther's own hands, on the banks of the Doon, in 
the district of Kyle, and county of Ayr. The 
season was ungentle and rough, the walls weak 
and new : — some days after his birth a wind 
arose which crushed the frail structure, and the 
unconscious Poet was carried unharmed to the 
shelter of a neighbouring house. He loved to 
allude, v/hen he grew up, to this circumstance ; 
and ironically to claim some commiseration for 
the stormy passions of one ushered into the Avorld 
by a tempest. This rude edifice is now an ale- 
house, and belongs to the shoemakers of Ayr : 
the recess in the wall, where the bed stood in 
which he was born, is pointed out to inquiring 



guests : the sagacious landlord remembers, too, 
as he brings in the ale, that he has seen and 
conversed with Burns, and ventures to relate 
traits of his person and manners. There is no- 
thing very picturesque about the cottage or its 
surrounding grounds ; the admirers of the Muses' 
haunts will see little to call romantic in low 
meadows, flat enclosures, and long lines of pub- 
lic road. Yet the district, now emphatically 
called " The land of Burns," has many attrac- 
tions. There are fair streams, beautiful glens, 
rich pastures, picturesque patches of old natural 
wood ; and, if we may trust proverbial rhyme, 
" Kyle for a man" is a boast of old standing. 
The birth of the illustrious Poet has caused the 
vaunt to be renewed in our own days. fc 

The mother of Burns was a native of the 
county of Ayr ; her birth was humble, and her 
personal attractions moderate ; yet, in all other 
respects, she was a remarkable woman. She 
was blest with singular equanimity of temper ; 
her religious feeling was deep and constant ; she 
loved a well-regulated household ; and it was 
frequently her pleasure to give wings to the 
weary hours of a chequered life by chanting old 
songs and ballads, of which she had a large 
store. In her looks she resembled her eldest 
son ; her eyes were bright and intelligent ; her 
perception of character, quick and keen. She 
lived till Jan. 14, 1820, rejoiced in the fame of 
the Poet, and partook of the fruits of his genius. 

His father was from another district. He 
was the son of a farmer in Kincardine-shire, and 
born in the year 1721, on the lands of the noble 
family of Keith-Marischall. The retainer, like 
his chief, fell into misfortunes ; his household 
was scattered, and William Burness, with a 
small knowledge of farming, and a large stock 
of speculative theology, was obliged to leave his 
native place, in search of better fortune, at the 
age of nineteen. He has been heard to relate 
with what bitter feelings he bade farewell to his 
younger brother, on the top of a lonely hill, and 
turned his face toward the border. His first 
resting-place was Edinburgh, where he obtained 
a slight knowledge of gardening: thence he 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1765 



went into Ayr-shire, and procured employment 
first from Crawford of Doonside, and second, in 
the double capacity of steward and gardener, 
from Ferguson of Doonholm. Imagining now 
that he had established a resting-place, he took 
a wife, Dec. 1757, leased a small patch of 
land for a nursery, and raised that frail shealing, 
the catastrophe of which has alread y been re- 
lated. 

During his residence with the laird of Doon- 
holm, a rumour was circulated that William 
Burness had fought for our old line of princes 
in the late rebellion, the fatal 1745. His austere 
and somewhat stately manners caused him to be 
looked upon as a man who had a secret in re- 
serve, which he desired to conceal ; and, as a 
report of that kind was not calculated for his 
good, he procured a contradiction from the hand 
of the clergyman of his native parish, acquitting 
him of all participation in the late "wicked re- 
bellion." I mention this, inasmuch as the Poet, 
speaking of his forefathers, says, "they followed 
boldly where their leaders led," and hints that 
they suffered in the cause which crushed the 
fortunes of their chief. Gilbert Burns, a sensi- 
ble man, but no poet, imagined he read in his 
brother's words an imputation on the family 
loyalty, and hastened to contradict it, long after 
his father had gone where the loyal or rebellious 
alike find peace. He considered his father's 
religious turn of mind, and the certificate of his 
parish minister, as decisive : and so they are, as 
far as regards William Burness ; but the Keiths- 
Marischall were forfeited before he was born, 
and the Poet plainly alludes to earlier matters 
than the affair of the " Forty-five." — " My an- 
cestors," he says, u rented lands of the noble 
Keiths-Marischall, and had the honour of 
sharing their fate. I mention this circumstance 
because it threw my father on the world at 
large." Here he means that the misfortunes of 
the fathers were felt by the children ; he was 
accurate in all things else, and it is probable he 
related what his father told him. The feelings 
of the Poet were very early coloured with Ja- 
cobitism. 

Though William Burness sought only at first 
to add the profits of a small stewardship to those 
of a little garden or nursery, and toiled along 
with his wife to secure food and clothing, his 
increasing family induced him to extend his 
views; and he accordingly ventured to lease 
Mount Oliphant, a neighbouring farm of a 
hundred acres, and entered upon it in 1765, 
when Robert was between six and seven years 
oVl. The elder Burns seems to have been but 
an indifferent judge of land : in a district where 
much fine ground is in cultivation, he sat down 
on a sterile and hungry spot, which no labour 
could render fruitful. He had commenced, too, 
on borrowed money ; the seasons, as well as the 
soil, proved churlish ; and Ferguson his friend 
dying, " a stern factor," says Robert, "whose 



threatening letters set us all in tears," inter 
posed ; and he was compelled, after a six years' 
struggle, to relinquish the lease. This harsh- 
ness was remembered in other days : the factor 
sat for that living portrait of insolence and 
wrong in the " Twa Dogs." How easily may 
endless infamy be purchased ! 

From this inhospitable spot William Burness 
removed his household to Lochlea, a larger and 
better farm, some ten miles off, in the parish of 
Tarbo-lton. Here he seemed at once to strike 
root and prosper. He was still strong in body, 
ardent in mind, and unsubdued in spirit. Every 
day, too, was bringing vigour to his sons, who, 
though mere boys, took more than their proper 
share of toil ; while his wife superintended, with 
care and success, the whole system of in-door 
economy. But it seemed as if fortune had de- 
termined that nought he set his heart on should 
prosper. For four years, indeed, seasons were 
favourable, and markets good ; but, in the fifth 
year, there ensued a change. It was in vain 
that he laboured with head and hand, and re- 
solved to be economical and saving. In vain 
Robert held the plough with the dexterity of a 
man by day, and thrashed and prepared corn 
for seed or for sale, evening and morning, before 
the sun rose and after it set. " The gloom of 
hermits, and the unceasing moil of galley slaves," 
were endured to no purpose ; and, to crown all, 
a difference arose between the tenant and his 
landlord, as to terms of lease and rotation of 
crop. The farmer, a stern man, self-willed as well 
as devoutly honest, admitted but of one inter- 
pretation to ambiguous words. The proprietor, 
accustomed to give law rather than receive it, 
explained them to his own advantage ; and the 
declining years of this good man, and the early 
years of his eminent son, were embittered by 
disputes, in which sensitive natures suffer and 
worldly ones thrive. 

Amid all these toils and trials, William Bur- 
ness remembered the worth of religious instruc- 
tion, and the usefulness of education in the 
rearing of his children. The former task he 
took upon himself, and in a little manual of 
devotion still extant, sought to soften the rigour 
of the Calvinistic creed into the gentler Armi- 
nian. He set, too, the example which he taught. 
He abstained from all profane swearing and 
vain discourse, and shunned all approach to 
levity of conversation or behaviour. A week- 
day in his house wore the sobriety of a Sunday ; 
nor did he fail in performing family worship in 
a way which enabled his son to give the world 
that fine picture of domestic devotion, tue " Cot- 
ter's Saturday Night." The depressing cares of 
the world, and a consciousness, perhaps, that 
he was fighting a losing battle, brought an al- 
most habitual gloom to his brow. He had 
nothing to cheer him but a sense of having 
done his duty. The education of his sans he 
confided to other hands. At first he sent Robert 



E1AT. 6-7. 



EDUCATION. 



to a small school at Alloway Miln, within a 

mile of the place of his birth ; but the master was 

removed to a better situation, and his place was 

supplied by John Murdoch, a candidate for the 

honours of the church, who undertook, at a 

moderate salary, to teach the boys of Lochlea, 

and the children of five other neighbouring 

farmers, reading, writing, arithmetic, grammar, 

and Latin. He was a young man, a good scholar, 

and an enthusiastic instructor, with a moderate 

I knowledge of human nature, and a competent 

, share of pedantry. He made himself accepta- 

| ble to the elder Burness by engaging in con- 

I versations on speculative theology, and in lend- 

j ing his learning to aid the other's sagacity and 

| penetration; and he rendered himself welcome 

! to Robert by bringing him knowledge of any 

! kind — by giving him books — telling him about 

| eminent men — and teaching him the art — which 

i he was not slow in learning — of opening up 

: fresh sources of information for himself. 

Of the progress which Robert made in 
knowledge, his teacher has given us a very 
clear account. In reading, writing and arith- 
metic, he excelled all boys of his own age, and 
took rank above several who were his seniors. 
The New Testament, the Bible, the English 
Grammar, and Mason's collection of verse and 
prose, laid the foundation of devotion and 
i knowledge. As soon as he was capable of 



understanding composition, Murdoch taught 
him to turn verse into its natural prose order ; 
sometimes to substitute synonymous expressions 
for poetical words, and to supply all the 
ellipses. By these means he perceived when 
his pupil knew the meaning of his author, and 
thus sought to instruct him in the proper 
arrangement of words, as well as variety of 
expression. For some two years and a half, 
Robert continued to receive the instructions of 
his excellent teacher under his father's roof. 
On Murdoch's nomination to the Grammar 
School of Ayr, his pupil did not forsake him, but 
took lodgings with him ; and, during the ordi- 
nary school hours, walks in the evening, and 
other moments of leisure, he sought to master 
the grammar, in order to take upon himself the 
task of instructing his brothers and sisters at 
home. Under the same kind instructor he strove 
to obtain some knowledge of French. " When 
walking together, and even at meals," says 
Murdoch, " I was constantly telling him the 
names of different objects, as they presented 
tnemselves, in French, so that he was hourly 
laying in a stock of words, and sometimes little 
phrases. In short, he took such pleasure in 
learning, and I in teaching, that it was difficult 
to say which of the two was most zealous in 
the business ; and about the end of our second 
week of study of the French, we began to read 
a little of the Adventures of Telemachus, in 
Fenelon's own words." All the French which 
the young Poet picked up, during one fortnight's 



course of instruction, could not be much ; the 
coming of harvest called him to more laborious 
duties ; nor did he, save for a passing hour or 
so, ever seriously resume his studies in Tele- 
machus. 

Of these early and interesting days, during 
which the future man was seen, like fruit 
shaping amid the unfolded bloom, we have 
a picture drawn by the Poet's own hand, and 
touched off in his own vivid manner. — " At 
seven years of age I was by no means a favourite 
with any body. I was a good deal noted for a 
retentive memory, a stubborn sturdy something 
in my disposition, and an enthusiastic idiot 
piety* — I say idiot piety, because I was then 
but a child. Though it cost the schoolmaster 
some thrashings, I made an excellent English 
scholar ; and, by the time I was ten or eleven 
years of age, I was a critic in substantives, 
verbs, and particles. The earliest composition 
that I recollect taking pleasure in was the 
vision of Mirza, and a hymn of Addison's, 
beginning, 

" How are thy servants blest, O Lord !" 

I particularly remember one half-stanza, which 
was music to my ear — 

" For though on dreadful whirls we hung, 
High on the broken wave." 

I met with these in Mason's English collec- 
tion, one of my school-books. The first two 
books I ever read in private, and which gave 
me more pleasure than any two I have read 
since, were the Life of Hannibal, and the His- 
tory of the Acts and Deeds of Sir AVilliam 
Wallace. Hannibal gave my young ideas such 
a turn that I used to strut in raptures up and 
down after the recruiting drum and bagpipe, 
and wish myself tall enough to be a soldier ; 
while the story of Wallace poured a Scottish 
prejudice into my veins, which will boil along 
there till the floodgates of life shut in eternal 
rest." 

The education of Burns was not over when 
the school-doors were shut. The peasantry of 
Scotland turn their cottages into schools ; and 
when a father takes his arm-chair by the 
evening fire, he seldom neglects to communicate 
to his children whatever knowledge he possesses 
himself. Nor is this knowledge very limited : 
it extends, generally, to the history of Europe, 
and to the literature of the island; but more 
particularly to the divinity, the poetry, and what 
may be called the traditionary history of Scot- 
land. An intelligent peasant is intimate with 
all those skirmishes, sieges, combats, and 
quarrels, domestic or national, of which public 
writers take no account. Genealogies of the 
chief families are quite familiar to him. He 
has by heart, too, whole volumes of songs and 
ballads ; nay, long poems sometimes abide in 

[* Idiot, for idiotic Currie.j 



his recollection ; nor will he think his know- 
ledge much, unless he knows a little about the 
lives and actions of the men who have done 
most honour to Scotland. In addition to what 
he has on his memory, we may mention what 
he has on the shelf. A common husbandman 
is frequently master of a little library : history, 
divinity, and poetry, bat most so the latter, 
compose his collection. Milton and Young are 
favourites ; the flowery Meditations of Hervey, 
the religious romance of the Pilgrim's Progress, 
are seldom absent; while of Scottish books, 
Ramsay, Thomson, Fergusson, and now Burns, 
together with songs and ballad-books innu- 
merable, are all huddled together, soiled with 
smoke, and frail and tattered by frequent use. 
The household of William Burness was an ex- 
ample of what I have described ; and there is 
j some truth in the assertion that in true know- 
! ledge the Poet was, at nineteen, a better scholar 
| than nine-tenths of our young gentlemen when 
[ they leave school for the college. 

Let us look into this a little more closely ; 
| nor can we see with a clearer light than what 
Burns himself has afforded us. — " What I knew 
i of ancient story," he observes, "was gathered 
from Salmon and Guthrie's Geographical 
Grammars ; and the ideas I had formed of 
modern manners, of literature and criticism, I 
got from the Spectator. These, with Pope's 
Works, some plays of Shakspeare, Tull, and 
Dickson on Agriculture, the Heathen Pantheon, 
Locke on the Human Understanding, Stack- 
house's History of the Bible, Justice's British 
Gardener's Dictionary, Boyle's Lectures, Allan 
Ramsay's Works, Taylor's Scripture Doctrine 
of Original Sin, A Select Collection of English 
Songs, and Hervey's Meditations, had formed 
the whole of my reading." But when to these 
we add Young's Night Thoughts, which his own 
poems prove him to have admired, we cannot 
see that we have advanced far on the way in 
which he walked, when he disciplined himself 
for the service of the Scottish muse. In truth, 
none of the works we have enumerated, save 
the poems of Allan Ramsay, could be of farther 
use to him than to fill his mind with informa- 
tion, and shew him what others had done. The 
" Address to the Deil," " Highland Mary," and 
"Tam o' Shanter" are the fruit of far different 
studies 

Burns had, in truth, a secret school of study, 
in which he set up other models for imitation 
than Pope or Hervey. — " In my infant and 
boyish days," he observes to Doctor Moore, 
" I owed much to an old woman who resided 
in the family (Jenny Wilson by name), remark- 
able for her ignorance, credulity, and supersti- 
tion. She had, I suppose, the largest collection 
in the country of tales and songs, concerning 
devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, war- 
locks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, 
wraiths, apparitions, caiitraips, giants, enchanted 



towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This 
cultivated the latent seeds of poesie ; but had so 
strong an effect upon my imagination that to 
this hour in my nocturnal rambles I sometimes 
keep a look-out in suspicious places." Here 
we have the Poet taking lessons in the classic 
lore of his native land and profiting largely j 
yet, to please a scholar like his correspondent, he 
calls his instructress an ignorant old woman, and 
her stories idle trumpery. Let the name of 
Jenny Wilson be reverenced by all lovers of the 
northern muse ; her tales gave colour and cha- 
racter to many fine effusions. The supernatural 
in these legends was corrected and modified 
by the natural which his growing sense saw 
in human life and found in the songs of his 
native land. — " The collection of songs," he 
says," was my vade-mecum. I pored over them, 
driving my cart or walking to labour, song by 
song, verse by verse, carefully noting the true 
tender or sublime, from affectation and fus- 
tian. I am convinced I owe to this practice 
much of my critic craft, such as it is." He is 
rarely if ever wrong in his remarks on the songs 
of Scotland. They had, in no remote day, the 
advantages of the schooling which in these 
early hours he gave his fancy and understanding. 
He had not yet completed these uncon- 
scious studies. In his farther progress his 
mother was his instructress. Her rectitude of 
heart, and the fine example of her husband, 
made an impression too strong to be ever 
effaced from the mind of her son. This was 
strengthened by the songs and ballads which she 
commonly chanted ; they all wore a moral 
hue. The ballad which she loved most to sing, 
or her son to hear, is one called " The Life and 
Age of Man." It is a work of imagination 
and piety, full of quaintness and nature ; it 
compares the various periods of man's life to 
the months of the year; and the parallel is 
both ingenious and poetic. — " I had an old 
grand -uncle," says Burns, " with whom my 
mother lived a while in her girlish years : the 
good old man, for such he was, was long blind 
ere he died, during which time his highest 
enjoyment was to sit down and cry, while my 
mother would sing the simple old song of ' The 
Life and Age of Man.' " The mother of the 
Poet, on being questioned respecting it by 
Cromek, some years before her death, repeated 
the ballad word for word, saying it was one 
of the many nursery songs of her mother, and 
that she first heard and learned it from her 
seventy years before. The noble poem of 
" Man was made to mourn," bears a close 
resemblance to this old strain, both in language 
and sentiment. It taught Burns the art, 
which too few learn, of adding a moral aim 
to his verse ; and though he rose in song to the 
highest pitch of moral pathos and sublimity, 
he took his first lesson from this now neglected 
ballad. In all his letters and memoranda, we 



jfcTAT. 15. 



HIS FIRST LOVE. 



see him continually pointing to the rustic pro- 
ductions with which he was in youth familiar, 
and thus affording us in some measure the 
means of knowing how little of his excellence 
is reflected from others, and how much we owe 
to his own inspiration. 

A student in art first studies the works of 
earlier masters; as he advances, living figures 
are placed before him, that he may see nature 
with his own eyes. Burns, who knew no- 
thing of academic rules, pursued a similar course 
in poetry. He had become acquainted with limb 
and lineament of the muse as she had been seen 
by others : he could learn no more from the 
dead, and now had recourse to the living : he 
had hitherto looked on in silence ; it was now 
time to speak. Beauty first gave utterance to 
his crowding thoughts; with him love and 
poetry were coevals. "You know," he says, in 
his communication to Moore, "our country 
custom, of. coupling a man and woman toge- 
ther as partners in the labours of harvest. In 
my fifteenth autumn, my partner was a bewitch- 
ing creature, a year 3^ounger than myself. My 
scarcity of English denies me the power of 
doing her justice in that language ; but you 
know the Scottish idiom, ' she was a bonnie 
sweet fconsie lass.' In short, she altogether, 
unwittingly to herself, initiated me in that 
delicious passion which, in spite of acid disap- 
pointment, gin-horse prudence, and book- 
worm philosophy, I hold to be the first of 
human joys, our dearest blessing here below ! 
How she caught the contagion I cannot tell. 
You medical people talk much of infection from 
breathing the same air, the touch, &c. ; but I 
never expressly said 1 loved her. Indeed, I 
did not know myself why I liked so much to 
loiter behind with her, when returning in the 
evening from our labours — why the tones of her 
voice made my heart-strings thrill like an 
Eolian harp — and particularly why my pulse 
beat such a furious ratan when I looked and fin- 
gered over her little hand to pick out the cruel 
nettle-stings and thistles. Among her other 
love-inspiring qualities, she sang sweetly ; and 
it was her favourite reel to which I attempted 
giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was 
not so presumptuous as to in agine that I could 
make verses like printed ones, composed by 
men who had Greek and Latin ; but my girl 
sung a song which was said to be composed by 
a country laird's son, on one of his father's maids 
with whom he was in love : and I saw no rea- 
son why I might not rhyme as well as he — for, 
excepting that he could smear sheep and cast 
peats, his father living in the moorlands, he 
had no more scholar-craft than myself. Thus 
with me began love and poetry." This inter- 
course with the softer and gentler part of the 
creation — this feeling in the presence of youth 
and loveliness, and desire to give voice to his 
passion in song — were, to his slumbering emo- 



tions, what the voice in scripture was among the 
" dry bones of the valley," calling them into 
life and action. It is true that his brother 
looked upon some of the ladies of these early 
verses as so many moving broomsticks on 
which fancy hung her garlands. They seemed 
otherwise to the Poet. He saw cbs-:"Tns in 
them which prosaic spirits failed to see. We 
would take the word of the muse in such mat- 
ters against a whole battalion of men, 

" Who, darkling, grub this earthly holtf 
In low pursuit." 

Having given, as he said, his " heart a 
heeze" among those soft companions, the Poet, 
like the picker of samphire on the beetling 
cliff, proceeded to seek farther knowledge in a 
perilous place — viz. among the young and the 
heedless — "the ram-stam squad, who zigzag 
on," without any settled aim or a wishungrati- 
fied. He offended his father, by giving his 
" manners a brush," at a country dancing- 
school. The good man had no sincere dislike, 
as some Calvinists have, to this accomplish- 
ment ; still he tolerated rather than approved 
of it ; he did not imagine that religion took 
to the barn- floor, — 

"And reel'd, and set, and cross'd, and cleekit;" 

cracking her thumbs and distorting, as Milton 
says, her " clergy climbs," to the sound of a 
fiddle ; dancing, in short, he shook his head at, 
though he did not frown. The Poet felt, 
therefore, that in this he had approached at least 
to disobedience — a circumstance which lie re- 
grets in after-life, and regards as the first step 
from the paths of strictness and sobriety. 
" The will-o'-wisp meteors of thoughtless 
whim" began, he says, to be almost the sole 
lights of liis way ; yet early-ingrained piety 
preserved his innocence, though it could not 
keep him from folly. " The great misfortune 
of my life," he wisely observes, " was to want 
an aim. The only two openings by which I 
could enter the temple of fortune were the gate 
of niggardly economy, or the path of little 
chicaning bargain - making. The first is so 
contracted an aperture, I never could squeeze 
myself into it ; the last I always hated — there 
was contamination in the very entrance. Thus 
abandoned of aim or view in life, with a strong 
appetite for sociability, as well from native 
hilarity, as from a pride of observation and re- 
mark — a constitutional melancholy or hypo- 
chondriacism that made me fly solitude ; add to 
these incentives to social life my reputation for 
bookish knowledge, a certain wild logical 
talent, and a strength of thought, something 
like the rudiments of good sense ; and it will not 
seem surprising that I was generally a welcome 
guest where I visited ; or any great wonder 
that always where two or three met together, 



6 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1777. 



there was I among them. Another circumstance 
in my life, which made some alteration in my 
mind and manners, was, that I spent my nine- 
teenth summer on a smuggling coast, a good 
distance from home, at a noted school,* to learn 
mensuration, surveying, dialling, &c, in which 
I made pretty good progress. But I made 
greater progress in the knowledge of mankind. 
The contraband trade was at that time very 
successful, and it sometimes happened to me to 
fall in with those who carried it on. Scenes 
of swaggering riot and roaring dissipation were 
till this time new to me ; but I was no enemy to 
social life. Here, though I learnt to fill my 
glass and to mix without fear in a drunken 
squabble, yet I went on with a high haud with 
my geometry till the sun entered Virgo — a 
month which is always a carnival in my bosom 
— when a charming fillette, who lived next door 
to the school, upset my trigonometry, and set me 
off at a tangent from the sphere of my studies." 

[The following additional particulars, re- 
specting this period of his life, will be found 
interesting to every admirer of the Poet. They 
were collected by Mr. Robert Chambers, and 
appeared originally in Chambers' Edinburgh 
Journal : — 

" If Burns be correct in stating that it was 
his nineteenth summer which he spent in Kir- 
koswald parish, the date of his residence there 
must be 1777. What seems to have suggested 
his going to Kirkoswald school was the con- 
nection of his mother with that parish. She 
was the daughter of Gilbert Brown, farmer 
of Craigenton, in this parochial division of 
Carrick, in which she had many friends still 
living, particularly a brother, Samuel Brown, 
who resided, in the miscellaneous capacity of 
farm-labourer, fisherman, and dealer in wool, 
at the farm-house of Ballochneil, above a mile 
from the village of Kirkoswald. This Brown, 
though not the farmer or guidman of the place, 
Avas a person held to be in creditable circum- 
stances, in a district where the distinction be- 
tween master and servant was, and still is, by 
no means great. His wife was the sister of 
Niven, the tenant ; and he lived in the "Cham- 
ber" or better portion of the farm-house, but 
was now a widower. It was with Brown 
that Burns lived during his attendance at 
Kirkoswald school, walking every morning 
to the village where the little seminary of 
learning was situate, and returning at night. 

The district into which the young poet of 
Kyle was thus thrown has many features of a 
remarkable kind. Though situated on the 
shore of the Firth of Clyde, where steamers 
are every hour to be seen on their passage be- 



* This was the school of Kirkoswald. 

f "This business was first carried on here from the Isle 
of Man, and afterwards to a considerable extent from 
France, Ostend, and Gottenburg. Persons engaged in 



tween enlightened and busy cities, it is to this 
day the seat of simple and patriarchal usages. 
Its land, composed of bleak green uplands, 
partly cultivated and partly pastoral, was, at 
the time alluded to, occupied by a generation 
of primitive small farmers, many of whom, 
while preserving their native simplicity, had 
superadded to it some of the irregular habits, 
arising from a concern in the trade of intro- 
ducing contraband goods on the Carrick coast. f 
Such dealings did not prevent superstition 
from flourishing amongst them in a degree of 
vigour of which no district of Scotland now 
presents any example. The parish has six 
miles of sea-coast ; and the village, where the 
church and school are situate, is in a sheltered 
situation about a couple of miles inland. 

The parish schoolmaster, Hugh Rodger, en- 
joyed great local fame as a teacher of men- 
suration and geometry, and was much employed 
as a practical land-surveyor. On the day 
when Burns entered at the school, another 
youth, a little younger than himself, also en- 
tered. This was a native of the neighbouring 
town of Maybole, who, having there com- 
pleted a course of classical study, was now 
sent by his father, a respectable shopkeeper, to 
acquire arithmetic and mensuration under the 
famed mathematician of Kirkoswald. It was 
then the custom, when pupils of then age 
first entered a school, to take the master to a 
tavern, and complete the engagement by 
treating him to some liquor. Burns and the 
Maybole youth, accordingly, united to regale 
Rodger with a potation of ale, at a public- 
house in the village, kept by two gentlewomanlv 
sort of persons named Kennedy — Jean and 
Anne Kennedy — the former of whom was des- 
tined to be afterwards married to immortal 
verse, under the appellation of Kirkton Jean, 
and whose house, in consideration of some pre- 
tensions to birth or style above the common, 
was always called "the Leddies' House." 
From that time, Burns and the Maybole youth 
became intimate friends, insomuch that, during 
this sunrnr^r, neither had any companion with 
whom he was more frequently in company than 
the one with the other Burns was only at the 
village during school hours ; but when his 
friend Willie returned to the paternal dome on 
Saturday nights, the poet would accompany 
him, and stay till it was time for both to come 
back to school on Monday morning. There 
was also an interval between the morning and 
afternoon meetings of the school, which the 
two youths used to spend together. Instead of 
amusing themselves with ball or any other 
sport, like the rest of the scholars, they would 

it found it necessary to go abroad, and enter into busi- 
ness with foreign merchants ; and, by dealing in tea, spirits, 
and silks, brought home to their families and friends the 
means of luxury and finery at the cheapest rate." — Statist. 
Account of Kirkoswald, 1794. 



fc= 



^ETAT 18. 



KIRKOSWALD. 



take a walk by themselves in the outskirts of 
the village, and converse on subjects calculated 
to improve their minds. By and bye, they 
fell upon a plan of holding disputations, or 
arguments on speculative questions, one taking 
one skle, and the other the other, without much 
regard to their respective opinions on the point, 
whatever it might be, the whole object being 
to sharpen their intellects. They asked several 
of their companions to come and take a side in 
these debates, but not one wcuid do so ; they 
only laughed at the young philosophers. The 
matter at length reached the ears of the master, 
who, however skilled in mathematics, possessed 
but a narrow understanding and little general 
knowledge. With all the bigotry of the old 
school, he conceived that this supererogatory 
employment of his pupils was a piece of ab- 
surdity, and he resolved to correct them in it. 
One day, therefore, when the school was fully 
met, and in the midst of its usual business, he 
went up to the desk, where Burns and Willie 
were sitting opposite to each other, and began 
to advert in sarcastic terms to what he had 
heard of them. They had become great de- 
baters, he understood, and conceived them- 
selves fit to settle affairs of importance, which 
wiser heads usually let alone. He hoped their 
disputations would not ultimately become quar- 
rels, and that they would never think of coming 
from words to blows; and so forth. The jokes 
of schoolmasters always succeed amongst the 
boys, who are too glad to find the awful man in 
any thing like good humour to question either 
the moral aim or the point of his wit. They 
therefore, on this occasion, hailed the master's 
remarks with hearty peals of laughter. Nettled 
at this, Willie resolved he would " speak up" 
to Rodger ; but first he asked Burns, in a 
whisper, if he would support him, which Burns 
promised to do. He then said that he was 
sorry to find that Robert and he had given 
offence ; — it had not been intended. And in- 
deed he had expected that the master would 
have been rather pleased, to know of their 
endeavours to improve their minds. He could 
assure him that such improvement was the 
sole object they had in view. Rodger sneered 
at the idea of their improving their minds by 
nonsensical discussions, and contemptuously 
asked what it was they disputed about ? Willie 
replied that, generally, there was a new subject 
every day ; that he could not recollect all that 
had come under their attention ; but the ques- 
tion of to-day had been — " Whether is a great 
general or a respectable merchant the most 
valuable member of society V The dominie 
laughed outrageously at what he called the 
silliness of such a question, seeing there could 
be no doubt for a moment about it. " Well," 
said Burns, " if you think so, I shall be glad 
if you take any side you please, and allow me 
to take the other, and let us discuss it before 



the school." Rodger most unwisely assented, 
and commenced the argument by a flourish 
in favour of the general. Burns answered 
by a pointed advocacy of the pretensions of 
the merchant, and soon had an evident superi- 
ority over his preceptor. The latter replied, 
but without success. His hand was observed 
to shake ; then his voice trembled ; and he 
dissolved the school in a state of vexation 
pitiable to behold. In this anecdote, who can 
fail to read a prognostication of future eminence 
to the two disputants ? The one became the 
most illustrious poet of his country ; and it is 
not unworthy of being mentioned, in the same 
sentence, that the other advanced, through 
a career of successful industry in his native 
town, to the possession of a large estate in its 
neighbourhood, and some share of the honours 
usually reserved in this country for birth and 
aristocratic connection. 

The coast, in the neighbourhood of Burns's 
residence at Ballochneil, presented a range of 
rustic characters upon whom his genius was 
destined to confer an extraordinary interest. 
At the farm of Shanter, on a slope overlooking 
the shore, not far from Turnberry Castle, lived 
Douglas Graham, a stout hearty specimen of 
the Carrick farmer, a little addicted to smugg- 
ling, but withal a worthy and upright member 
of society, and a kind-natured man. He had 
a wife named Helen M'Taggart, who was un- 
usually addicted to superstitious beliefs and 
fears. The steading where this good couple 
lived is now no more, and the farm has been 
divided for the increase of two others in its 
neighbourhood; but genius has given them a 
perennial existence in the tale of Tam o' 
Shanter, where their characters are exactly 
delineated under the respective appellations of 
Tam and Kate. * * * 

At Ballochneil, Burns engaged heartily in 
the sports of leaping, dancing, wrestling, 
putting (throwing) the stone, and others of 
the like kind. His innate thirst for distinc- 
tion and superiority was manifested in these, 
as in more important, affairs ; but though he 
was possessed of great strength, as well as 
skill, he could never match his young bed- 
fellow John Niven. Obliged at last to ac- 
knowledge himself beat by this person in bodily 
warfare, he had recourse for amends to a spi- 
ritual mode of contention, and would engage 
young Niven in an argument about some 
speculative question, when, of course, he inva- 
riably floored his antagonist. His satisfaction 
on these occasions is said to have been extreme. 
One day, as he was walking slowly along the 
street of the village, in a manner customary 
with him, — his eyes bent on the ground, he was 
met by the Misses Biggar, the daughters of the 
parish pastor. He would have passed without 
noticing them, if one of the young ladies had 
not called hiin by name. She then rallied 



-@ 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1777. 



him on bis inattention to the fair sex, in pre- 
ferring to look towards the inanimate ground, 
instead of seizing the opportunity afforded him, 
of indulging in the most invaluable privilege 
of man, that of beholding and conversing with 
the ladies. " Madam," said he, "it is a natural 
and right thing for man to contemplate the 
ground, from whence he was taken, and for 
woman to look upon and observe man, from 
whom she was taken." This was a conceit, 
but it was the conceit of " no vulgar boy." 

There is a great fair at Kirkoswald in the 
beginning of August— on the same day, we 
believe, with a like fair at Kirkoswald in 
Northumberland, both places having taken their 
rise from the piety of one person, Oswald, 
a Saxon king of the heptarchy, whose memory 
is probably honoured in these observances. 
During the week preceding this fair, in the 
year 1777, Burns made overtures to his Maybole 
friend, Willie, for their getting up a dance, on 
the evening of the approaching festival, in one 
of the public-houses of the village, and inviting 
their sweethearts to join in it. Willie knew 
little at that time of dances or sweethearts ; 
but he liked Burns, and was no enemy to amuse- 
ment. He therefore consented, and it was 
agreed that some other young men should be 
requested to join in the undertaking. The 
dance took place, as designed, the requisite 
music being supplied by a hired band ; and about 
a dozen couples partook of the fun. When 
it was proposed to part, the reckoning was 
called, and found to amount to eighteen shil- 
lings and fourpence. It was then discovered 
that almost every one present had looked to 
his neighbours for the means of settling this 
claim. Burns, the originator of the scheme, 
was in the poetical condition of not being mas- 
ter of a single penny. The rest were in the 
like condition, all except one, whose resources 
amounted to a groat, and Maybole Willie, 
who possessed about half-a-crown. The last 
individual, who alone boasted any worldly wis- 
dom or experience, took it upon him to extricate 
the company from its difficulties. By virtue of 
a candid and sensible narration to the land- 
lord, he induced that individual to take what 
they had, and give credit for the remainder. 
The payment of the debt is not the worst part 
of the story. Seeing no chance from beg- 
ging or borrowing, Willie resolved to gain it, 
if possible, by merchandise. Observing that 
stationery articles for the school were procured 
at Kirkoswald with difficulty, he supplied 
himself with a stock from his father's ware- 
house at Maybole, and for some weeks sold 
pens and paper to his companions, with so 
much advantage, at length, that he realised 
a sufficient amount of profit to liquidate the 
expense of the dance. Burns and he then 
went in triumph to the inn, and not only 
settled the claim to the last penny, but gave 



the kind-hearted host a bowl of thanks into 
the bargain. Willie, however, took care from 
that time forth to engage in no schemes for 
country dances without looking carefully to 
the probable state of the pockets of his fellow 
adventurers. 

Burns, according to his own account, con- 
cluded his residence at Kirkoswald in a blaze 
of passion for a ioivfillette who lived next door 
to the school. At this time, owing to the de- 
struction of the proper school of Kirkoswald, 
a chamber at the end of the old church, the bu- 
siness of parochial instruction was conducted 
in an apartment on the ground floor of a 
house in the main street of the village, opposite 
the church-yard. From behind this house, as 
from behind each of its neighbours in the same 
row, a small stripe of kail-yard (Anglice, a 
kitchen-garden) runs back about fifty yards, 
along a rapidly ascending slope. When Burns 
went into the particular patch behind the 
school to take the sun's altitude, he had only 
to look over a low enclosure to see the similar 
patch connected with the next house. Here, 
it seems, Peggy Thomson, the daughter of the 
rustic occupant of that house, was walking 
at the time, though more probably engaged in 
the business of cutting a cabbage for the family 
dinner, than imitating the flower-gathering 
Proserpine, or her prototype Eve. Hence the 
bewildering passion of the poet. Peggy after- 
wards became Mrs. Neilson, and lived to a good 
age in the town of Ayr, where her children 
still reside. 

At liis departure from Kirkoswald, he en- 
gaged his Maybole friend and some other lads 
to keep up a correspondence with him. His 
object in doing so, as we may gather from his 
own narrative, was to improve himself in 
composition. " I carried this whim so far," 
says he, " that, though I had not three farthings' 
worth of business in the world, yet almost 
every post brought me as many letters as if I 
had been a broad plodding son of day-book 
and ledger." To Willie, in particular, he 
Avrote often, and in the most friendly and con- 
fidential terms. When that individual was 
commencing business in his native town, the 
poet addressed him a poetical epistle of appro- 
priate advice, headed with the well-known lines 
from Blair's Grave, beginning 

" Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul 
Sweetener of life and solder of society." 

This correspondence continued till the period 
of the publication of the poems, when Burns 
wrote to request his friend's good offices in 
increasing his list of subscribers. The young 
man was then possessed of little influence ; 
but what little he had, he exercised with all 
the zeal of friendship, and with no ittle 
success. A considerable number of copies 
were accordingly transmitted in proper time to 



2ETAT 18. 



EDUCATION.— MURDOCH. 



9 



his care, and soon after, the poet came to May- 
bole to receive the money. His friend collected 
a few choice spirits to meet him at the King's 
Arms Inn, and they spent a happy night toge- 
ther. Burns was on this occasion particularly 
elated, for Willie, in the midst of their convi- 
viality, handed over to him above seven pounds, 
being the first considerable sum of money the 
poor bard had ever possessed. In the pride 
of his heart, next morning, he determined 
that he should not walk home, and accordingly 
he hired from his host a certain poor hack 
mare, well known along the whole road from 
Glasgow to Portpatrick — in all probability the 
first hired conveyance that Poet Burns had ever 
enjoyed, for even his subsequent journey to 
Edinburgh, auspicious as were the prospects 
under which it was undertaken, was per- 
formed on foot. Willie and a few other youths 
who had been in his company on the preceding 
night, walked out of town before him, for the 
purpose of taking leave at a particular spot ; 
and before he came up, they had prepared a 
few mock-heroic verses in which to express 
their farewell. When Burns rode up, accord- 
ingly, they saluted him in this formal manner, 
a little to his surprise. He thanked them, 
however, and instantly added, l ' What need of 
all this fine parade of verse ? It would have 
been quite enough if you had said — 

Here comes Burns, 

On Rosinante ; 
She's d poor, 

But he's d canty." 

The company then allowed Burns to go on his 
way rejoicing.]"* 

Nature, in all this, resumes Mr. Cunningham, 
was pursuing her own plan in the education of 
Burns. The melancholy of which he complains 
was a portion of his genius ; the invisible object 
to which he was impelled was poetry. No one 
can fail to perceive, in the scenes which he de- 
scribes as dear to his heart and fancy, the very 
materials over which his muse afterwards 
breathed life and inspiration ; and no one can fail 
to feel, that all this time he had been walking in 
the path of the muse without knowing it. 

He complains that he was unfitted with an 
aim. He looked around, and saw no outlet 
for his ambition. Farming he failed to find the 



[* " All this pleasantry was not without its bitter. 
The poet's Maybole frend, on inspec ing the volume, was 
mortified to find the poetical epistle which had been addressed 
to him, printed with the name Andrew substituted for 
his own, and the motto from Blair, as was but proper, 
omitted. He said nothing at the time ; but, young, ambi- 
tious, and conscious of having done all in his humble power 
for friendship's cause, he could not forgive so marked a 
slight. He therefore from that time ceased to answer 
Biuns's letters. When the poet was next at Maybole, he 
asked the cause, and Willie answered by inquiring if he 
could not himself divine it. He said he thought he could, 
and adverted to the changed name in the poem. Mr. 



same as it is in Virgil — elegance united with 
toil. The high places of the land were occupied, 
and no one could hope to ascend save the 
titled or the wealthy. The church he could 
not reach without an expensive education, or 
patronage less attainable still. Law held out 
temptation to talent, but not to talent without 
money ; while the army opened its glittering- 
files to him who could purchase a commission, 
or had, in the words of the divine, 

"A beauteous sister, or convenient wife," 

to smooth the way to preferment. With a con- 
sciousness of genius, and a desire of distinction, 
he stood motionless, like a stranded vessel whose 
sails are still set, her colours flying, and the 
mariners a-board. He had now and then a sort 
of vague intimation from his own heart that he 
was a poet ; but the polished and stately versi- 
fication of English poetry alarmed and dismayed 
him : he had sung to himself a song or two, 
and stood with his hand on the plough, and his 
heart with the muse. The strength which he 
could not himself discover was not likely to be 
found out by others. It is thus we find him 
spoken of by his good old kind preceptor : — 
" Gilbert," says Murdoch, " always appeared 
to me to possess a more lively imagination, 
and to be more of the wit, than Robert. I at- 
tempted to teach them a little church music. 
Robert's ear, in particular, was remarkably 
dull, and his voice un tuneable. It was long 
before I could get him to distinguish one tune 
from another. Robert's countenance was gene- 
rally grave, and expressive of a serious, con- 
templative, and thoughtful mind. Gilbert's 
face said — 

" Mirth, with thee I mean to live ;" 

and certainly, if any person who knew the 
two boys had been asked which of them was 
most likely to court the muses, he would surely 
never have guessed that Robert had a pro- 
pensity of that kind." The simple school- 
master had perhaps paid court to some small 
heritor's daughter, and dressed his face in smiles 
for the task ; he accordingly thought that the 
Muse was to be wooed and won in the same 
Malvolio way, and never imagined that the 
face inspired with contemplation and melan- 
choly could be dear to her heart. 

While the boy was thus rising into the man, 



Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr, had been, he said, a useful 
friend and patron to him. He had a son commencing a 
commercial life in Liverpool. I thought, he said, th it a 
few verses addressed to this youth would gratify his father, 
and be accepted as a mark of my gratitude. But, my muse 
being lazy, I could not well make them out. After all, this 
old epistle occurred to me, and by putting his name into 
it, in place of yours, I made it answer this purpose. Willie 
told him in reply that he had just exchanged his friend- 
ship for that of Mr. Aiken, and requested that their 
respective letters might be burnt — a duty which he scru- 
pulously performed on his own part. The two disputants of 
Kirkosvvald never saw or corresponded with each ether again."] 



10 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1781. 



and the mind was expanding with the body, 
both were in danger of being crushed, as the 
daisy was, in the Poet's own immortal strains, 
beneath the weight of the farrow. The whole 
life of his father was a continued contest with 
fortune. Burns saw, as lie grew up, to what 
those days of labour and nights of anxiety 
would lead, and set himself, with heart and 
hand, to lighten the one, and alleviate the other. 
At the plough, scythe, and reaping hook, he 
feared no competitor, and so set all fears of 
want in his own person at defiance : he felt 
but for his lather. All this is tonehingly 
described by Gilbert. u My brother, at the 
age of thirteen, assisted in thrashing the crop 
oi corn, and, at fifteen, was the principal 
labourer on the form ; for we had no hired ser- 
vant, male or female. The anguish of mind we 
felt, at our tender years, under these straits and 
difficulties, was very great. To think of our 
father growing old — for be was now above 
fifty, broken down with the long-continued 
fatigues of his life, with a wife and rive other 
children, and in a declining state of circum- 
stances- — these reflections produced in my bro- 
ther's mind and mine sensations of the deepest 
distress. At this time hewas almost constantly 

afflicted in the evening with a dull head-ache, 

which, at a future period of his life, was ex- 
changed for a palpitation of the heart, and 

a threatening of fainting and suffocation in his 
bed in the night-time. The elder Burness, 
while in the Lothians, had paid attention to 
gardening ; but lie could not bring much 
agricultural knowledge from his native county. 
His toil was incessant; but it was of the body, 
not of the brain. More is required in farming 
than mere animal vigour and dexterity of hand. 
A skilful farmer may be called a learned man : 
— to work according to the season, and in the 
spirit of the soil ; to anticipate sunshine, and 
be prepared for storms ; to calculate chances 
and consequences ; suit demands at home, and 
fit markets abroad; require what not many 
fully possess. 

I know not how r much of this knowledge 
William Burness possessed. He was, how- 
ever, fertile in expedients : when he found 
that his farm was unproductive in corn, he 
thought the soil suitable for flax, and re- 
solved himself to raise the commodity, while to 
the Poet he allotted the task of manufacturing 
it for the market. To accomplish this, it was 
necessary that he should be instructed in flax- 
dressing : accordingly, at Midsummer, 1781, 
Robert went to Irvine, where he wrought 
under the eye of one Peacock, kinsman to his 
mother. His mode of life was frugal enough. 
" He possessed," says Currie, " a single room 
for his lodging, rented, perhaps, at the rate of 
a shilling a w r eek. He passed his clays in con- 
stant labour as a flax-dresser, and his food 
...onsisted chiefly of oatmeal sent to him from 



his father's family." A picture of his situation 
and feelings is luckily preserved of his own 
drawing: the simplicity of the expression, and 
pure English of the style, are not its highest 
qualities. He thus wrote to his father: — 
''Honoured Sir: — 1 have purposely delayed 
writing, in the hope that I should have the 
pleasure of seeing you on new year's day : but 
work comes so hard upon us that I do not 
choose to be absent on that account. My 
health is nearly the same as when you were 
here, only my sleep is a little sounder, and, on 
the whole, I am rather better than otherwise, 
though 1 mend by very slow degrees. The 
weakness of my nerves has so debilitated my 
mind that I dare neither review past wants, 
nor look forward into futurity : for the least 
anxiety or perturbation in my breast produces 
most unhappy effects on my whole frame. 
Sometimes, indeed, when for an hour or two my 
spirits are a little lightened, I glimmer a. little 
into futurity : but my principal, and indeed 
my only pleasurable, employment is looking 
backwards and forwards in a, moral and reli- 
gious way. I am quite transported at the 
thought that ere long, perhaps very soon, J 
shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains, and 
uneasinesses, and disquietudes of this weary 
lite ; for I assure you I am heartily tired of it: 
and, it' 1 do not very much deceive myself, I 
could contentedly anil gladly resign it. 

''As for this world," he continues, " I despair 
of ever making a figure in it. I am not formed 
fur the bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of 
the gay. I shall never again be capable oi 
entering into such scenes. Indeed, I am alto- 
gether unconcerned at the thoughts of this 
lite. I foresee that poverty and obscurity pro- 
bably await me, and I am in some measure 
prepared, and daily preparing, to meet them. 
I have but just time and paper to return you 
my grateful thanks for the lessons of virtue and 
piety you have given me, which were too much 
neglected at tin; time of giving them, but which 
I hope have been remembered ere it is yet too 
late." This letter is dated Dec. 27, 1781. No 
one can mistake the cause of his melancholy : 
obscure toil and an undistinguished lot on 
earth directed his thoughts in despair to another 
world, where the righteous "shall hunger no 
more, neither thirst any more ; neither shall 
the sun light on them, nor any heat." To 
plough, and sow, and reap were poetic labours, 
compared with the dusty toil of a flax-dresser : 
with the lark for his companion, and the green 
fields around him, his spirits rose, and he looked 
on himself as forming a part of creation : but 
when he sat down to the brake and the heckle, 
his spirits sank, and his dreams of ambition 
vanished. 

Flax-dressing, in the poet's estimation, 
seemed any thing but the way to wealth and 
fame : the desponding tone of his letter was no 



@ 



JET AT 22. 



DEATE OF II is PATH ER. 



good augury ; the catastrophe of the business 
is not quite in keeping with quotations from 
Scripture and hopes in heaven. " Partly through 

whim, " said the bard to Moore, " and partly 

that I wished to Bet about doing something in 

liti', I joined a flax-dresser in Irvine, to learn 

his trade. This was an unlucky affair : as 

we were giving a welcome carousal to the new 
■Mr, the shop took fire and burnt to ashes, and 
I was Left, like a true poet, not worth a six- 
pence." This disaster was followed by one 
inneh more grievous. "The clouds 01 mis- 
fortune," says Hums, " were gathering fast 

round my father's head. After three yean' 
tossing and whirling in the vortex of litigation, 
he was just sa\ed from the horrors of a jail by 
a Consumption, which, after two J ears' pro- 
mises, kindly stepped in and carried him away 
to 'where the w ieked cca-e from troubling, and 
the weary are at rest.' His all went among 
the hell-hounds that prowl in the kennel of 

justice. The finishing evil that brought up the 

rear of this infernal tile, was, my constitutional 

melancholy being increased to such a degree, 
that for three months I was in a state of mind 
scarcely to be envied by the hopeless wretches 

who have got their mittimus — ' Depart from 
mc, ye accursed !' "' The intelligence, recti- 
tude, and piety of William Harness were an 
honour to the class to which he belonged : his 
eminent son acknowledged, when his own inter- 
course with the world entitled his opinions to 
respect, that he had met with few who under- 
stood men, their manners, and their ways, equal 
to his father: "but stubborn, ungainly integ- 
rity, and headlong, ungovernable irascibility," 
be added, "are disqualifying circumstances in 
the paths of fortune." " I remember William 
Burness well," said the venerable Mrs. Hun- 
ter, daughter to Ferguson of Doonholm : 
" there was something very gentlemanly in his 
manners and appearance : unfortunately for him 
my father died early, the estate passed into other 
hands, and was managed by a factor, who, it is 
said, had no liking for the family of Mount 
Oliphant." 

Robert and his brother were afflicted, but 
did not despair ; they collected together the 
little property which law and misfortune had 
spared,* and, in the year 1784, took the farm of 
Mossgiel, near Manchline, consisting of 118 
acres, at an annual rent of ninety pounds. Their 
mother superintended the dairy and the house- 
hold, while the Poet and Gilbert undertook 
for the rest. " It w r as," observes the latter, " a 
joint concern among us : every member of the 
family was allowed wages for the labour per- 



* [Both Robert and Gilbert speak of the total ruin of their 
father at the time of his death. "His all," says Robert, 
"went among the hell-hounds that prowl in the kennel 
of justice." In erder to reconcile this statement with one 
immediately ensuing, by Gilbert, " that Mossgiel was stocked 
by the property anil individual savings of the whole family," 
it is necessary to add that, at the bankruptcy of William 



formed; my brother's illow ance and mine wis 

seven pounds per annum, and hi< expenses 

never in any year exceeded his slender income. 
His temperance and frugality were every thing 
that could be wished." It IS pleasing to con- 
template a picture such as this. 

We are now about to enter into the regions of 
romance. " I began," says Hums, " to be 
known in the neighbourhood as a maker of 
rhymes." The coins' of hi- life, hitherto, has 
shewn that his true vocation was neither the 

plough nor the heckle. He acquired, indeed, 

the common knowledge of a husbandman ; but 

that was all he knew, or cared to know, of the 
matter. " Fanner Attention," savs the proverb, 
" i- a good farmer all the world over:" and 
Hum-- was attentive as far as ploughing, sow- 
ing, harrowing, reaping, stacking, thrashing, 

Winnowing, and selling, went; he did all this 
by a sort of mechanical impuUe ; but BU( 
in farming demands more. The farmer should 
know what is doing in his way in the world 
around ; he must learn to anticipate demand, 
and, in short, to time every thing. But he 
who pens an ode on his sheep, when he should 

be driving them forth to pasture— who stops his 

plough in the half-drawn furrow, to rhyme 
about the flowers which he buries — who sees 
visions On his way from market, and makes 
rhymes on them — who writes an ode on the 
horse he is about to yoke, and a ballad on the 
girl who shews the whitest hands and brightest 
eyes among his reapers — has no chance of ever 
growing opulent, or of purchasing the field on 
which he toils. The bard amidst his ripen- 
ing corn, or walking through his fields of grass 
and clover, beholds on all sides images of pathos 
or of beauty, connects them with moral influ- 
ences, and lifts himself to heaven: a grosser 
mortal sees only so many acres of promising corn 
or fattening grass, connects them with rising 
markets and increasing gain, and, instead of 
rising, descends into " Mammon's filthy delve." 
That poetic feelings and fancies such as these 
passed frequently over the mind of Burns in his 
early days, we have his own assurance ; while 
labour held his bod}', poetry seized his spirit, 
and, unconsciously to himself, asserted her right 
and triumphed in her victory. 

Some obey the call of learning, and become 
poets ; others fall, they know not how, into the 
company of the muse, and break out into num- 
bers. Love was the voice wdiich called up the 
poet in Burns ; his Parnassus was the stubble- 
field, and his inspirer that fair-haired girl from 
whose hands he picked the thistle-stings, and 
delighted to walk with when but some fifteen 

Burness, his children had, respectively, considerable claims 
upon his estate, on account of their services to him in the 
farm, which claims were preferable to those of the other 
creditors. They thus, with the perfect approbation of the 
law, and, we may add, of justice also, rescued a portion 
of his property from the "hell-hounds " alluded to. 

Chambebs.J 



IS 



LTFE OF BUTtXS. 



1783. 



in her 
ntitied 



yean old. The song which he made 
praise he noted down in ;i little book e 
"Observations, Hints, Songs, Scraps o\' Poetry, 
by Robert Burness; a man who had little art in 
making money, and -till less in keeping it." 
'•I composed the song," he said, long after- 
wards, "in a wild enthusiasm of passion, and I 
never recollect it but my heart melts and my 
blood sallies." The passion which he felt 
tailed to had its wax into theverse; there is 
Borne nature, but no inspiration : — 

'• My Nelly's looks- are blythe and sweet, 
And what La b* it of a' 
H<r reputation ia complete, 

Ami fair without a flaw. 

she dreasea aye aae .-Iran and neat. 

Both tier. nt and genteel ; 
And then there's something in her gait 

Cars Ony dress look weel." 

These lines 
strength ; his \ 

hi- stature ; before he was a year oldet 
language of his muse was mure manly 
bold : - 



Now waving grain wide o'er the plain 

Delighta the weary tanner. 
And the moon shines bright when 1 rove at 

To miue upon my eluinner." 



light 



In 



give little indication of future 
igfour of thought increased with 
the 

ami 






•• I dream'd I lav where Bowera irere 
in the' aunnj beam, 
List'ning to the wild 

Bj a falling eri 
Straight the sky irr.-\% black and daring, 
Thro 1 i riwinda rave, 

with aged anna 
o ear the iwi lling dmmlie wave." 

Few of the early verses of Burns are pre- 
served : -nme he himself destroy < d, others were 
composed, but not perhaps committed to paper : 

while it i- likely that not a few are entirely 
lost. In hi- nineteenth Bummer, the leisure 
season <>f the tanner, while studying mensura- 
tion at a school on the Bea-coast, he met with 
. \ of one of his earliest songs. " Step- 
ping into the garden," he says, "one charming 
noon t i take the sun's altitude, lie 
my angel — 

" I. ike Proserpine cratherine: ' 
Herself a t'air.T Bov 

It was in vain to think of doing any more L ,„ ,| 
at school. The remaining week [ staid, I did 
nothing but craze the faculties of my soul about 
Iter, or steal out to meet her ; and the two last 
nights of my stay in the country, had sleep 
been a mortal sin. the image of this modest and 
innocent aid had kept me guiltless." On his 
return home, the harvest was commenced. To 
the fair lass of Kirkoswald, he dedicated the 
first traits of his fancy, in a strain of equal 
freedom and respect, beginning — 

" Now wastlin' winds and slaughtering gun3 
Bring Autumn's pleasant weather; 
The moorcock springs on whirring wings 
Amang the blooming heather ; 



a Mill richer strain he celebrates his 
nocturnal adventures with another of the fair 
ones of the west. Burns could now write 
a- readily as he could speak, and pour (Ik; 
pa-ion which kindled up his veins into his 
compositions. It i- thus he sings of Annie— 
■• 1 hae been blythe wi* comradea dear, 

I hae been merry drinkin' ; 

I hae beenjoyfu' gatherin 1 gear, 
I hae been happy thinkin'. 

But a" the pleasure s e'er I - aw , 

Th"' three limes doubled fairly. 
That bappj night was worth them a', 
Amang the riga o' barley." 

lie who could write such lines as these bad 
little to learn from the muse ; and yet lie soon 
surpassed them in liquid ease of expression, 
and happy originalit\ of sentiment. It is one 
of the delusions of his biographers that the 
source- of his inspiration are to be sought in 
English poetry : but, save an image from 
Young, and a word or so from Shaksneare, 
there is no trace of them in all his compositions. 
Burns rend the English poet-, no doubt, with 
wonder and delight : but he felt he was not of 
their school ; the language of life with him was 
wholh different : the English language is, to a 
Scottish peasant, much the same as ;i foreign 
tongue; it was not without reason that Mur- 
ray, the oriental scholar, declared that the 
English of .Milton was lessens) to learn than 
the Latin of Virgil. Any one. conversant with 
<>iir northern lyrics, will' know what school of 
verse Hum- imitated when he sang of Nannie, 
a lass who dwelt nigh the banks ot the Lugar: 
" Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 

Mang moors and mosses many, O ; 
The wintry sun the .lay has eh, , ,| 

And I'll awa' to Nannie, O. 

Hit tare is fair, her heart is true, 

As apotleaa aa she 'a honnic, ; 

The opening gowan, wat wi' dew, 

1 1 i- than Nannie, O." 

Such was the language in which the Poet 
addressed the rustic damsels of Kyle. Ladies are 
not very apt to he won by verse, lot, it he ever 
so elegant; they set down the person who adorns 
them with the liliesand the roses of imagination 
asa dreamer, and look around for more substan- 
tial comfort. Waller's praise made Sacharissa 
smile— and smile only; and another lady of 
equal beauty saw in 'Lord Byron a pale-faced 
lad, lame of a foot— and married a man who 
could leap a five-barred gate ; vet Burns was, 
or imagined himself; beloved ; 'he wrote from 
his own immediate emotions: his muse was no 
visionary dweller by an imaginary fountain, but 
a substantial 

" Fresh young landart lass," 



■ff \ r 2 t. 



m i; I i;t. OP \ i TON. 



i:j 



■hose charms had touched bis fan 
■M he one of tbeee who look high, and muse on 
dame- nursed in velvet laps, and led w ith golden 
poons. "He bad always," says Gilbert," a 
particular jealousy of people who were richer 
■ten himself; bis love, therefore, rarelj settled 
> cms of tlii- description. N\ ben he se- 

jjsj ted anj one out of the sovereignty of his 

od pleasure, to whom he should i 
■articular attention, she was instantly invested 
with a sufficient Btock of charms, out of the 
plentiful Btores of his nun imagination; and 
is often a great dissimilitude between 
his fair captivator, as she a] : in •! I 
bd as she seem d when invested with die 
her." Hi- own words 
partly confirm the aca ant of Gilbi rt. u M i 
- comp] -t.!\ tin.!, !•. and was eternally 
Hghted up bj Borne goddess or other ; 

r ■ in this world, mj fortune 
was various, sometimes 1 was received with 
bvour, ;,,,,[ sometimes mortified with repulse." 
That his love was sometimes n pulsed we have 
of a poem, no* lost, in which, 
like ( nw lej , be bad recorded bis lal 
the w ;i\ of affection ; w hi closed 

against him, or the Annie or Nannie of the 
hour railed in their promises, he added another 
verse to the ballad, the o'erword ofwhich was 
u So I'll to my Latin again." It' hi 
consolation in studying the Latin ru< 
when jilted, his disappointments in that \ 
could not he many, for bis knowledge of the lan- 
mage was small, [n his twenty-fourth • 
skill in verse enabled him to add the crowning 
gforj to hi- lyric compositions ; who the lady 

was that inspired it we arc not told, but she must 

have been more than commonly beautiful, or 
more than usually kind : as the concluding 
compliment might have been too much for one, 
he has wisely bestowed it on the whole sex. 
The praise o\' other poets fades away before it. 

" There 's nought hut care on every han', 
In i-v'ry hour that paSOM, | 

What signifies the lift o' man, 

An' 'twere 08 for the laSSCS, O ! 

" Aulil nature swears, the lovelv dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O ! 
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 
An' then she made the lasses. O !" 

One of those heroines was servant in the 
household of General Stewart, of Stair and 
Atton ; Burns, during a visit with David Sillar, 
lett, it is said, one of his songs, which was soon 
chanted in bower and hall, and attracted the 
notice of Mrs. Stewart, a lady both beautiful 
and accomplished, who sent for the Poet on 
his next visit, and by her remarks and praise 
confirmed his inclination for lyric verse. He 
afterwards alluded to these interviews in a con- 
versation witli Anna Stewart, of Afton, and said 



he should never form I with n hat in pidation 
art he ent red the \ arli ur and approached 
her ii earl) notice was also pn 

to his mind in cop\ ing - of bis late r | 

of poetn : be auuri them the original is 

now I | ^ of 

. one of bis first and kindest patrone* 
The progress which Burns made m the i 
serious hind of verse, during this l\ rical tit. was 
not at all bo brilliant : his attempts have more 
of the language of poetry, than of it- simple 
force and true dignity. Tin re are | assa 

I, of 'jr. at truth and vigour, but 

ti d strain either to rival 

with the unity and finished i 
lence tnie, < »." and " Gi 

the Rashes." He had prepared himself, how- 
ever, for those more prolonged efforts; nature 
had endow* d him w ith fine sensibilit 
and grandeur of soul; he had made himself 
familiar with nature, animate and inanin 
with the gentleness of spring, the beaut) of 
summer, the magnificence of autumn, and the 
stormy sublimity oi or was he l< 

with rural man and hi- passions and pursuits. 
_li indulging in no sustained 

had nOW and then -mid. ii bursts in w hie : . 

i d all restraint. The fol- 

ritten in bis twenty-fourth 

he had r. ad Young, and felt the 

resemblance which the season ot winter here to 

■ : — 



■ 

Ifaj ; 

■out, 
If] griefi it Menu to 

mine." 

"There is scarcely any earthly object." says 
Burn-, "rives me more - I do not know that* I 
should call it pleasure— but something which 
exalts nit', something which enraptun 

than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood or 
a high plantation, in a cloudy winter day. and 
hear the stormy wind howling among the tn es, 
and raving over the plain. It is my 
son for devotion: my mind is wrapt up in a 
kind of enthusiasm to Him who, in the pom- 
pous language of the Hebrew bard, 'walks on 
the wings of the wind.' " In another mood 
lie wrote what he called 4; a wild rhapsody, 
miserably deficient in verification, but full 
of the sentiment of my heart/' This ditty 
wants harmony and vivid force of expression ; 
but it breathe? of the old ballad : — 

" My father was a farmer, 

Upon the Carriek b< rder, 
And carefully he bred me up 
Jn decency and order: 



14 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



17H8. 



He bade me act a manly part, 

Though I had ne'er a farthing. 
For without an honest manly heart 

No man was worth regarding." 

In one of his desponding fits, when he 
w looked hack on prospects drear," or beheld 
the future darkening, he wrote that Prayer, 
in which some have seen nothing but sentiments 
of contrition and snbmi— iveiie-s, and others a 
de-ire to lay on the Creator the blame of the 

follies with which he charges himself. I have 
beard Ids enemies quote the following verse 
with an air of triumph : — 

" Thou knowest that Thou ha.*t formed nip 

With pasaiona wild ami strong. 

And, listening to their witching voice, 

Has often led me wrong.'' 

Poetry had now become with Burns a dar- 
ling pursuit: he had no settled plan of study, 
for he composed at the plough, at the harrow, 
and with the reaping-hook in his hand, and 
usually had half-a-dozen or more poems in 
pro^re-s, taking them up as the momentary tone 
of his mind suited the sentiment of tin- verse, 
ami laying them down as he grew careless 
or became fatigued. None of the verses of 
those days are in existence, save the "Death 
of Poor Mailie," a performance remarkable for 
genuine simplicity of expression \ and "John 
Barleycorn, a clever imitation of the old 
ballads of that name, a favourite subject with 

the minstrels of Caledonia. Hi- mode of eom- 

positiou was singular: when he hit off a happy 
verse, in a random tit of inspiration, besoughl 
for a subject suitable to it- tone of language ami 
feeling, and then completed the poem. This 

shows a mind mil of the elements of poetry. 

",M\ passions," he -aid, "when once lighted 

nj), raged like BO many devil- till they got vent 

in rhyme, and then the conning over my verses, 

like a -pell, -oothed all into quiet." 

When Burns succeeded in evoking the demon 
of passion by the spell of verse, he had leisure, 

or at lea.-t peace, for a time; but he could 
not be idle : he turned his attention to prose. 
His boyish feelings had been touched, lie tells 
us, on reading the Vision of Mirza, and many 
passages in the Bible ; he had read too, w ith 
attention, a collection of letters, by the wits of 
Queen Anne's reign. This improved his taste ; 
and as he grew up, and correspondence was 
forced upon him by business or by friendship, 
he was pleased to see that he could express 
himself with fluency and ease. He thought so 
well of those performances that he made copies 
of them, and, in moments of leisure or vanity, 
sought, and found, satisfaction in comparing 
them with the compositions of his companions. 
He observed, he said, his own superiority. 
Nay, he says, he carried the whim so far that, 
though he " had not three farthings' worth of 



business in the world, vet almost every post 
brought him as many letters, as if he had been 
a plodding son of the day-book and ledger, 
lie now extended his reading to the Specta- 
tor, the Man of Feeling, Tristram Shandy, 
Count Fathom, and Pamela : lie studied as wei 
as read them, and endeavoured to form a prose 
style, uniting strength and purity 'I here are 
passages o\' genuine eas»> and unaffected sim- 
plicity in his early, as well as his later, letters ; 
yet there is too much of a premeditated air, and 
a too obvious desire of showing what line, 
bold, vigorous things lie could say. No one, 

however, can peruse hi- prose 01 those days 
without wonder ; it shows a natural vigour of 
mind, and a talent for observation : there are 
out-flashings, too, of a fiery impetuosity of 
spirit worthy of a genius cultivated as well as 
lofty, and passages of great elegance and 

feeling 

In his common-place book, his rhyme- are 
accompanied with explanations in prose, and, as 
he commenced these insertions in April I7s:{, 
he has afforded us the means of measuring the 
extent of his acquirements in early life. He 

seemed not nneonscions that "lie could say some- 
thin.:' worth the world's attention. — "As he 

wa- hut little indebted," lie -aid. "to scholastic 
education, and bred at a plough-tail, his per- 
formances must be strongly tinctured with his 
unpolished, rustic waj of life; hut it may be 
some entertainment, to a curious observer of 
human nature, to see how a ploughman thinks 

and feel- under the pressure of lo\ e, amhition, 
anxiety, grief, with the like cares and passions, 

which, however diversified by the modes and 
manners of life, operate pretty much alike on 

all the specie-.'" 

In these compositions we may continually 
trace thoughts and images, which growing taste 
and increasing vigour enabled him. afterwards, 
to beautify and expand. The following pas- 
sage suggested the tine stanza on happy love 
in the "Cotter's Saturday Night:" — " Not- 
withstanding all that has been said against 
love, respecting the folly and wickedness it 
leads a young inexperienced mind into, still I 
think it, in a great measure, deserves the highest 
encomiums that have been passed upon it. If 
any thing on earth deserves the name of rapture 
or transport, it is the feelings of green eighteen, 
in the company of the mistress of his heart, when 
she repays him with an equal return of affection." 

In the same strain he traces, elsewhere, the 
connexion between love, music, and poetry, 
and points out, as a fine touch in nature, that 
passage in a modern love composition — 

" As toward her cot he jogged along, 
Her name was frequent in his song." 

" For my own part," he observes, " I never 
had the least thought, or inclination, of turning 



BjTAI 24. 



ill- I \ i; i.\ M«» DELS. 



la 



jMtct till I onoe got aeartilj in love, and then 
rli\ dm and long m re, in a manner, tin- sponta- 
iaoai language of my heart." No one baa 
■jeeounted more bappilj for the passionate 
ajoquence of hi- songs than he has done himself. 
That he extended his views, and desired, 
after having Bung of the maidens of Carrick 
ami Kyle, to celebrate their Btreams and hills, 
and Btatesmen and heroes, we have evidence 
Kongo in oth.r parts of his works. "1 am 
hurt," he says in his Memoranda, •• to set th< 
otli.i- towns, rivers, woods, haughs, fcc., of 
Scotland immortalized in song, while my dear 
ajative country, the ancient baOieries of ( Warrick, 
Kyle, and Cunningham, famous, both in an- 
cient and modern times, for a gallant and 
warlike race of inhabitants a country where 
ei\il, and particularly religious, liberty, have 

e\er found their lir-t -upport and tin ir lasl 

a<\ linn a country, the birth-place of man] 
lunous philosophers, soldiers, and Btatesmen, 
and the scene of man] important events re- 
eorded in history, particularly a great many of 
the actions of the glorious Wallace yet we 
have never had one Scottish poet of anj emi- 
nence to make the fertile hank- of Irvine, the 
romantic woodlands and sequestered - 
A\r. ami the heathy, mountainous source and 
winding sweep of the Doon, emulate Tay, 
Forth, Ettrickj and Tweed. This is a complaint 
I would gladly remedy ; but alas I I am far une- 
qual to the task both in genius and education." 
NO one ever remedied an e\il of this kind 

with such decision and effect. The Ayr, the 

Doon, the Irvine, and the LugBI are now 
Bowing iu Light, nor have their hero,- and 
their patriot- heen forgotten. 

In another passage, in his common-place 
book, he acquaints US With the model- hi- liiu-e 

set up for imitation : — "There is a noble sublim- 
ity, a heart-melting tenderness, in some <>t' our 

ancient ballads, which -hew them to be the 

work of a masterly hand, and it has often 

given me many a heart-ache to reflect that 
such glorious cdd bard-— bard- w ho very pi u- 
hahly owed all their talents to native genius, 
yet bave described the exploits of heroes, the 
Bangs of disappointment, ami the meltings of 
lo\e. with Bucn fine strokes of nature — that 
their very names — O, how mortifying to a bard's 
vanity ! — are now ' buried among the wreck of 
things which were.' O, ye illustrious names 
unknown ! who could feel so strongly, and 
describe so well — the last, the meanest of the 
muses' train — one who, though tar inferior to 
your flights, yet eyes your path. ami. with trem- 
bling; wing, would sometimes soar after you ; a 
poor rustic bard unknown pays this sympathetic 
pang to your memory. Some of you tell us, 
with all the charms of verse, that you have 
been unfortunate in the world, unfortunate in 
love : he, too, has felt the loss of his little 
fortune, the loss of friends, and, worse than all, 



the |088 of the woman he lo\cd. Like \ou, 

all hi- consolation was his muse; ahe taught 
him iii rustic measures to complain : happy 
could he have done it with your strength of 
imagination ami flow of verae! Maj the turf 
lie lightlj on your bones, an I maj you bow 

enjo\ that BOlaCe ami iv-t which tlie world 

r.iivi\ gives to tin heart tuned to all the f.-el- 

I oe-ic and love !" M ueh of the man 

and the poet i- \ i-ihle in thi- remarkable pa — 

il prepares as tor hi- approaching sun- 
burst of poetry, which lightened more than 
( larrick and K\ le. 

vt ho imagine Burns to ha\ e been onlj 
a rhyming, raving youth, who sauntered on 

the hank- of Mr. -am-, in I I\ glens, and b\ 

castles prey, musing on the moon, and woman. 

and other incon-tant things, do him injustice ; 

a letter in I7^:i to hi- cousin, James Burness, 
writer iu Montrose, -law- something of the 
world around him. "This country, till oi 
late, was flourishing incredibly in the manu- 
facture of -ilk, law n, and carpet- wea\ i 1 1 _r ; and 

-till carrying on a -_ r I deal in that 

way, but much reduced from what it was. 

We had also a tine trade in the -hoe \\a\, I 111 

now entirely ruined, ami hundred- driven to a 
starving condition on account of it. Panning i> 

al-o at a \ cry low ebb with u-. Our land-, 

generally spealcing, are mountainous and bar- 
ren : and our landholders, lull of ideas of 
Burning, gathered from England, and the 

Lothian-, and other rich -oil- in Scotland, 
make no allowance for the odd- in the quality 

of land, and consequently stretch us mucn 
beyond what in the event we will be found able 

to pay. We are al-o much at a I086 tor want 

of proper method-, in our improvements <>f binn- 
ing. Necessity compel- as to leave our old 
Bcnemes, ami few of as nave opportunities of 

being well informed on new one-. In -hort, 
my dear Sir, since the unfortunate beginning of 
thi- American war, and it- >till more unfortu- 
nate Conclusion, this Country ha- been, and -till 

i-, decaying very fast." Here the poet is 

-unk. and the observing farmer ri-e-: in the 
same letter he touches on a theme which had 

its influence on hi- own character and habit 

at lea-T he imagined so. 

"There is a great trade of smuggling carried 
on along our coasts, which, however destructive 
to the interests of the kingdom at large, cer- 
tainly enriches this corner of it, but too often 
at the expense of our morals However, it 
enables individuals to make, at least for a time, 
a splendid appearance ; but fortune, as is usual 
with her when she is uncommonly lavish of her 
favours, is generally even with them at the last : 
and happy were it for numbers of them, if she 
would leave them no worse than when she found 
them." At the period to which this refers, 
many farmers on the sea-coast were engaged in 
the contraband trade : their horses and servants 






16 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1780. 



were frequently employed in disposing, Ik ton' 
the dawn, of importations, made during the 
cloud of night ; and though Burns, perhaps, 
took no part in the traffic, he associated with 
those who carried it on, and seemed to think 
that insight into new ways of life, and human 
character, more than recompensed him for the 
risk he ran. Iris dangerous fora bare hand 
to pluck a lily from among nettles; men of few 
virtues and many follies arc unsafe companions. 
•*I have often observed," he says, "in the 
course of my exp« rience of human life, that 
every man, even the worst, has something good 
about him, though very often nothing else than 
a happy temperament of constitution inclining 

to this or that virtue. 1'or this reason, 
HO man can Bay in what degree any other per- 
son, besides himself, can be with strict justice 
called wicked. Let any of the strictest cha- 
racter for regularity of conduct among us 
examine, impartially, how many vices he has 
never been guilty of, not Prom any care or 

mce, but for want of opp< rtunity ; and 

many of the weaknesses of mankind he 
has escaped, because ho was out of the line 
of such temptation. I Bay, any man who can 

think will Bean the failings, nay. the 
faults and crimes, of mankind around him with 
;i broth ;•'- i \ •■. I tun 
quaintance of that part <>f mankind, commonly 

known by the ordinary phrase of | 

(times further than \.;i- with 

of my character. Those w ho, by 
thoughtless prodigality or headstrong pa 

been driven to ruin, though disgraced by 
follies, 1 have yet found among them, in not 
a few instances, some of the noblest virtues, 

tanimity, generosity, disinterested friend- 
ship, and even modesty. All this is true ; hut 

of evil deeds are not, till they have puri- 

themselves, tit companions for the young 
and the inllammahle. There is no human bi ing 
so depraved a- to he without something which 
connects him with the sympathies of life. 1 >irk 
Hatteraick, before he hung himst If, made our a 
balanced account to his owners, shewing that, 
though he had cur throats and drowned bant- 
lings as a smuggler, he could reckon with the 
house yt MidcGeburg tor every stiver. It is 
more pleasing to perceive, in the Poet's early 
prose, sentiments similar to those which he 
afterwards more poetically expressed in his 
"Address to the Rigidly Righteous." 

" Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin' wrang, 

To step aside is human. 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The reason why they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far, perhaps, they rue it." 

^ The people of Kyle were slow in apprecia- 
ting this philosophy. AVhen they saw him i 



hand-and-glove with roving smugglers, or sit- i 
ting with loose comrades, who scorned the de- j 
Cencies of life, or looking seriously at a horde | 
of gypsies huddled together in a kiln, or musing 
anumg " randie, gangrel bodies" in Poosie 
Nancie's, they could not know that, like a 
painter, he was studying character, ;md making 
sketches for future picture >f life and man- 
ners : they saw nothing but danger to him- 
self from such society. And here lies the 
secret of the complaint he has recorded against 
the w orld, in his twenty-fourth \ t m\- " I don't 
well know what is the reason of it, but, some- 
how or other, though 1 am prett) generally 
beloved, yet I never could rind the an of com- 
manding respect. 1 imagine it is owing to my 
being deficient in, what Sterne calls, the under- 
strapping virtue of discretion.'' No doubt of 
it. The sober and sedate saw that he respected 
not himself; they loved him for his manliness 
of character, and eloquence, and independence ; 
hut they grieved for a weakness out of which they 
could not see that strength and moral beauty 
would conic. 

The glory of his poetry was purchased ;il a 
price too dear for himself. "In Irvine," says 
Gilbert, "he had contracted seme acquaint- 
ance of a freer manner of thinking, whose 
socieh prepared him for overleaping the hounds 
of rigid virtue, w hich had hitherto restrain* d 
him." "The principal thing which gave my 
mind a turn." says Hums to Dr. .Moore, kk was 
a friendship I formed with a young fellow, a 
ven noble character, but a liapless child of 
misfortune, lie was the son of a simple me- 
chanic; hut a great man, taking him under his 
patronage, gave; him a genteel education, with 
a view of bettering his situation in life. The ' 
patron d\ ing, just as he was ready to launch 
out into the world, he w cut to sea' in despair. 
His mind was fraught with independem , 
magnanimity, and every manly virtue. I loved 
and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, 
and. of course, strove to imitate him; in t me 
re I siiece. ded. 1 had pride before ; I ul 
he taught it to How in proper channels. 
knowledge of the world was vastly superior 
to mine, and I was all attention to learn. He 
was the only man 1 ever saw who was a greater 
fool than myself, where woman was the presiding i 
star; but he spoke of illicit love with the levity 
of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with |- 
horror. Here his friendship did me a mis- : 
chief." Richard Brown, to whom this refers, 
survived the storms which threatened ship- 
wreck to his youth, and lived and died re- i 
spected. When spoken to on the subject, he ' 
exclaimed. "Illicit love! levity of a sailor! 
The Pojt had nothing to learn that way when ' 
I saw him first." 

That Burns talked and thought too freely J 
and indiscreetly, in his early years, we have i 
evidence in \trm. In hi* meinoraiidum-book i 



1 



MOSSG i i i. I \ i(li()I.T(.\ < i.i B. 



17 



i ntries which, amid nil their spirit and 
graphic beauty, contain Levities of expression 

which m;i\ he tolerated uhcn tin- wine i> flow- 
ing ami thfl t;ilil«' in a mar, but which look not 

so becoming on tin- sober page which reflec- 
tion has sanctioned. In Way, 1785, he wrote 
tin- lively chant called " Robin," in which he 
'ves an account <>f hi- birth : 

" Then «ai .i lad «;ii born in Kyle, 
Hut wlua'ii a dft] "' what's I 
1 dottbt ita Ii. mils w • .i t ti our while 
1 . • \m' H'.liin. 

" Tlir gOaeip ki-t-kit in h i-i 1....1, 

<juci' the, arha Uvm trill -'••• the proof, 

'J'lus wulv boy "ill !'<• DM <'"■'! 

l think we'll ea' bio Robin. 
•• Hut ran u three timet three mak Bine, 

I see, by ll .1 MON .mil line. 

This ehap «iii dearly like <>ur kin*, 

a in.- mi thee, HoUn." 

In these lines he approaches the border-land 
between modesty ami impropriety we must 

BJBOte ii" farther, imr seek to -hew the Poel in 

still merrier moods. Burns, in all respects, arose 

from the people: he worked hi- wa\ out of 

the darkness, drudgery, ami vulgarities of rus- 
tie life, ami, in Bpite of poverty, pain, ami <li~ 
appointment, emerged into the lighl .>t heaven. 
He was surrounded by coarse ami boisterous 

Companions, who were lit for admiring the 
rmler sillies of his wit, hut incapable of uu- 

lerstanding those touches of moral pathos ami 
exquisite sensibility with which his sharpest 
tilings are accompanied. They perceived but 
tiit- thorns of the rose they fit not its fine 

Odour. The Spirit of poesie led him, in much 

peril, through the prosaic wilderness around, 

ami prepared him tor asserting his right to one 

of the highest places in the land of hui^. 

A- the elder BunieBS W86 now dead, the Poet 

had to exercise his own judgment in the afiairs 
of Ifossgiel : at first all seemed to prosper.— 

"I had entered," he >nys. •'upon this farm 

with a full resolution — ' Come, go to, I will 

bewi-e;' I read farming hook-; I calculated 
crop-; I attended markets ; and, in short, in 
spite of the devil, the world and the flesh, I 
believe I should have been a wise man ; but 
the first year, from unfortunately buying bad 
seed, the second from the late harvest", we lost 
half oar crops. This overset all my wisdom, 
and I returned, 'like the dog to his vomit, and 
the sow that was washed to her wallowing in 
the mire.' " — " The farm of Mossgiel," says 
Gilbert, 'Mies very high, and mostly on * a 
cold, wet bottom. 'The first four years that we 
were on the farm were very frosty, and the 
spring was very late. Our crops,* in conse- 
quence, were very unprofitable, and, notwith- 
standing our utmost diligence and economy, 
we found ourselves obliged to give up our bar- 
gain, with the loss of a considerable portion of 
our original stock." The judgment could not 



be great which selected a farm that lay high, 

on a cold, wet bottom, and puieha-cd bad -. .<l- 
COm. That Hum- put hi- hand to the plough 

and laboured incessantly there can be do doubt 

but an tin-, tiled head gives the hand- much 
to do : when he put pen to paper, all thoughts 
Of crop- and cattle \ani-hed; he onh noted 
down end- of \ er-e and fragments of BOUg : hw- 

copj of Small'- Treatise on Ploughs i- now 

me; not one remark appeal! on the 

margins; but on the tide-page i- written 
"Robert Hum-, Poet," He had now decided 

on In- \ ocatiou. 

This study of song, love of reading, wan- 
derings in wood-, nocturnal excursions in 

matter- o( love, and choice of companion-, who 
had -ceil much and had much to tell, wn-, 

unconsciously to himself forcing Hum- upon 
the regions of poesie. To the-.- may be added 
the establishment of a cmb, in which subjects 

Mt a moral or doine-tic nature were di-cu--ed. 
The Tarbolton club eon-i-ted of some half- 
dozen young lad-, -on- of formers; the I' 
who planned it was the ruling star ; die place 
of meeting was a -mall public-house in the \il- 
lage; the sum expended by each was not to 

d three-pence, ami, with the humble cheer 
Which thlB COUld bring, they w t re, when the 
debate w a- concluded, totoast their hives and the 
continuance of friendship. Here he found a 
\ent for his own notion.-, and a- the club met 

regularly and continued for years, he disci- 
plined him-clf into something of a debater and 

acquired a readiness and fluency of langui 

he wa- newer at a loss for thoughts. 

Hum- drew up the regulations.— " A- the 

neat end of human SOCiety," Bays the exor- 
dium, --i- to become wiser and better, tins 

OUght, therefore, to be the principal view of 

every man in every station of lite. But, as 
experience ha- taught us that such studu - 

inform the head and mend the heart, when 

long continued, arc apt to exhaust the acuities 

of the mind, it has been found proper to relieve 
and unbend the mind, by some employment or 
another, that may be agreeable enough to keep 
it.- powers in exercise, but, at the -aim.- time. n< t 

bo >erious as to exhaust them. Hut, super- 
added to this, by tar the greater part of man- 
kind are under the necessity of earning the 
sustenance of human lite, by the labour of their 
bodies, whereby not only the faculties of the 
mind, but the sinews and nerves of the body, 
are so fatigued that it is absolutely necessary to 
have recourse to some amusement or diver- 
sion, to relieve the wearied man, worn down 
with the necessary labours of Ufe." The first 
meeting xvas held on Halloween, in the year 
17^<». Bums was president, and the question 
of debate was, '* Suppose a young man, bred a 
farmer, but without any fortune, has it in his 
power to marry either of two women, the one 
a girl of large fortune, but neither handsome 



18 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1785. 



in person, nor agreeable in conversation, but 
who can manage the household affairs of a 
farm well enough ; the other of them a girl 
every way agreeable, in person, conversation, 
and behaviour, but without any fortune : which 
of them shall he choose?" Other questions 
of a similar tendency were discussed, and many 
matters regarding domestic duties and social 
obligations were considered. This rustic in- 
stitution united the means of instruction with 
happiness ; but, on the removal of the poet 
from Lochlea, it lost the spirit which gave it 
life, and, dissensions arising, the club was scat- 
tered, and the records, much of them in Burns' 
hand-writing, destroyed. 

No sooner was the Poet settled at Mossgiel, 
than he was requested to aid in forming a similar 
club in Mauchline. The regulations of the 
Tarbolton institution suggested those of the 
other ; but the fines for non-attendance, instead 
of being spent in drink, were laid out in the 
purchase of books ; the first work thus obtained 
was the Mirror, the second the Lounger, and 
the time was not distant when the founder's 
genius was to supply them with a work not 
destined soon to die. This society subscribed 
for the first edition of the poems of its cele- 
brated associate. The members were originally 
country lads, chiefly sons of husbandmen — a 
description of persons, in the opinion of Burns, 
more agreeable in their manners, and more de- 
sirous of improvement, than the smart, self- 
conceited mechanics of towns, who were ready 
to wrangle and dispute on all topics, and 
whose vanity would never allow that they 
were confuted. 

One of the biographers of Burns has raised 
what the Poet calls " a philosophic reek," on 
the propriety of refining the minds of hinds and 
farmers, by means of works of elegance and 
delicacy : without believing, with Currie, that 
if not a positive evil, it is a doubtful blessing, 
we may question whether more than a dozen, 
out of ten thousand hinds and mechanics, would 
feel inconvenience from increased delicacy of 
taste. On a vast number such lessons would be 
utterly lost, for no polish can convert a com- 
mon pebble into a diamond ; while, from the 
minds of many, it would remove the weeds with 
the same discriminating hand that the Poet 
cleared his riggs of corn, and " spared the 
symbol dear," the Scottish thistle. In truth, 
the danger which Currie dreaded has been en- 
countered and overcome ; more than all the 
works he enumerated, as forming the reading 
of Burns, are to be found in the hands of 
the peasantry of Scotland. Milton, Thomson, 
Young, poets of the highest order and of 
polished elegance, are as well, known to the 
peasantry as the Bible is : yet no one has com- 
plained that a furrow more or less has been 
drawn in consequence, that our shepherds 
smear their sheep with too delicate a ringer, 



©— 



and that our rustics are oppressed by a fastidi- 
ous nicety of taste. 

It would have been better for the Poet if he 
had maintained that purity in himself, which, 
in the regulations of his clubs, he desired to 
see in others. The consequences of keeping 
company with the free and the joyous, were 
now to be manifested. Soon after his father's 
death, one of his mother's maids, in person 
not at all attractive, produced his 

" Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess," 

and furnished him with the opportunity of 
standing, as a sinner, on the stool of repentance, 
and commemorating the event in rhymes, licen- 
tious as well as humorous. He had ahead} 7 
sung of his own birth in a free and witty way, 
and he now put a song into the mouth of the 
partner of his folly, in which she cries, with 
rather more of levity than sorrow — 

" Wha will own he did the fau't, 
Wha will buy the groanin-maut, 
Wha will tell me how to ea't ? 
The rantin' dog, the daddie o't. 

" When I mount the creepie chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there ? 
Gie me Rob, I'll ask nae mair, 
The rantin' dog, the daddie o't." 

Nor can any one applaud the taste of "Rob 
the Rhymer's Address to his Illegitimate 
Child :" he glories in a fault which, he 
imao-ines, perplexed the church ; for, he sought 
not to conceal from himself, that both the minis- 
ter and elders were all but afraid of meddling 
with a delinquent, who could make the countiy 
merry at their expense. In a third poem, he gives 
a ludicrous account of his appearance before 
the session, and of the admonition he received. 
Instead of -promising amendment, he draws 
consolation from Scripture with equal audacity 
and wit : — 

" King David, o' poetic brief, 
Wrought 'mang the lasses such mischief, 
As fill'd his after life with grief, 

An' bluidy rants, 
An' yet he's rank'd amang the chief 

O' lang-syne saunts. 
" And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants, 
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants, 
I'll gi'e auld cloven Clootie's haunts 

An unco slip yet, 
An' snugly sit amang the saunts 

At Davie's hip yet." 

It is painful to touch, even with a, gentle 
band, on the moral sores of so fine a genius, 
but his character cannot be understood other- 
wise : almost any other erring youth would 
have resigned himself, without resistance, to the 
discipline of the kirk, and bowed to its rebuke : 
Burns was not to be so tamed — stricken, he 
struck again, and, instead of courting silence 
and seclusion, sung a new song, and walked 
out into the open sunshine of remark and ob- 



JSTAT. 26. 



OLD AND NEW LIGHT FACTIONS. 



19 



servation. I cannot set tins regardlessness 
down to growing hardness within, nor to petri- 
fied feeling : it arose from a want of taste in 
seeking distinction. " The mair they talk, I'm 
kenn'd the better," he had already adopted as a 
motto ; he knew that folly such as his was not 
uncommon, and he hoped, for one person who 
censured, there would be two who thought 
him a clever fellow, with wit at will — a little 
of a sinner, but a great deal of a poet. 

This desire of distinction w r as strong in 
Burns. In those days he would not let a five 
pound note pass through his hands, without 
bearing away a w r itty endorsement in rhyme: 
a drinking-glass always afforded space for a 
verse : the blank leaf of a book w r as a favourite 
place for a stanza ; and the windows of inns, 
and even dwelling-houses, which he frequented, 
exhibit to this day lively sallies from his hand. 
Yet, perhaps, a love of fame was not stronger 
in him than in others. In his time magazines 
were few, and newspapers not numerous ; into 
the daily, weekly, or monthly papers, aspirants 
in verse can now pour their effusions : but 
Burns had no such facilities when he started, 
and was obliged to take the nearest way to 
notice. He began, likewise, to talk of his 
exploits over the pint-stoup : he gave to him- 
self, in one of his rhymes, the name of " drunken 
ranter," and, with ordinary powers, and but a 
moderate inclination, desired to be numbered 
with five - bottle debauchees, who saw three 
horns on the moon, and had 

" A voice like the sea, and a drouth like a whale." 

He went farther: he asserted, with Meston, 
good rhyme to be the product of good drink, 
and sung — 

" I've seen me daizet upon a time 
I scarce could wink, or see a styme, 
Just ae half-mutchkin does me prime, 

Ought less is little ; 

Then back I rattle on the rhyme 

As gleg's a whittle." 

This vaunted insobriety in verse must not be 

taken literally. We have seen Burns passion- 

ately in love in rhyme — w r e know that he was 

! not less so with his living goddess of the hour ; 

I but it was otherwise with him in the matter of 

i strong drink. He was no practised toper, but 

thought it necessary- to look a gay fellow in 

poetry. Inspiration, in both ancient and mo- 

• dern times, has been imputed to wine, and 

| Burns wished to be thought inspired. Wine 

; was out of his reach ; his muse found her 

themes among humble and familiar things, and 

! it was his boast that the Ferintosh could work 

intellectual wonders as w r ell as the Falernian. 

| For others, he washed Parnassus a vineyard ; 

but for himself, he preferred the banks of the 

Ayr or the Lugar, to those of Helicon, and 

; the juice of barley to that of the grape. 



When he had neither money to spend on 
liquor, nor health to relish it, he was chanting 
songs in honour of tippling ; putting himself 
down in the list of topers, and recording that 
whiskey was the northern ambrosia, too good 
for all, save gods or Scotsmen. This is not 
unlike the madness of Johnson from poverty, 
at College. In the case of Burns, there was 
something national as well as personal : whiskey 
and ale are the offspring of the Scottish vales, 
and he preferred them to " dearthfu' wine or 
foreign gill." Liquor was not then, and I 
believe never was, a settled desire of soul with 
the Poet. 

When Burns supposed that his "drunken 
rants" and nocturnal excursions among the 
lasses of Kyle had made him 

—Slander's common speech, 



A text for infamy to preach," 

he found, to his surprise, that in another way 
he had Avon the approbation of certain minis- 
ters of the kirk of Scotland. How this came 
about may be briefly described. Calvinism, at 
that time, was agitated with a schism among 
its professors, and the factions were known in 
the west by the names of Old Light and New 
Light. The Old Light enthusiasts aspired to 
be ranked with the purest of the Covenanters ; 
they patronized austerity of manners and hu- 
mility of dress, and stigmatized much that the 
world loved, as things vain and unessential to 
salvation. The New Light countenanced no 
such self-denial ; men were permitted to gallop 
on Sunday, to make merry and enjoy them- 
selves ; and women were indulged in the article 
of dress, and failings or follies were treated 
with mercy at least, if not indulgence. The 
former refused to lean on the slender reed of 
human works, thought a good deed savoured of 
selfishness, and that faith, and faith alone, was 
the light which led to heaven : the latter thought 
a cheerful heart was an acceptable thing with 
God ; that good works helped to make a good 
end, and that faith, and faith alone, w r as not 
religion, but a false light, which led to perdition. 
Like the writers in the late singular controversy 
on Art and Nature in Poetry, the divines of the 
west of Scotland perhaps never concluded that 
faith and works were both essential to salvation, 
and that, in truth, Christianity required them . 
Each side thundered from the pulpit ; their 
sermons partook of the character of curses, and 
their conversation in private life had the hue of 
controversy. Their parishioners, too, raised up 
their voices — for, in Scotland, the meanest pea- 
sant can be eloquent and puzzling on speculative 
theology — and the whole land rung wdth mys- 
tical discussions on effectual calling, free grace, 
and predestination, when Burns precipitated 
himself into the midst of the conflict. 

The Poet sided with the New Light faction. 
For this several reasons may be assigned — he 
was not educated closely in the tenets of Cal- 



20 



LIFE OF BURNS 



1785. 



vinism; and his own good taste and sense taught 
him that faith without works was folly. His 
experience in church discipline, in the case o\' 
" Sonsie Bess," had not tended to increase his 
reverence for the Old Light professors, among 
whom " Daddie Auld," his parish pastor, was 
a leader. Moreover, Gavin Hamilton, of whom 
he held his land, was not only a New-Light- 
ite, but a friend of the Poet, and a martyr in 
the cause of free-agency. We may add to all 
this, that the Poet naturally fell into the ranks 
of those who allowed greater liberty of speech, 
and a wider longitude of morals. Perhaps the 
chiefs of the Old Light Association would have 
regarded little an attack in prose, as to such 
missiles they were accustomed ; but their now- 
enemy assaulted them with a weapon against 
which the armour of dulness was no defence. 
He attacked and vanquished them with witty 
verse, much to the joy of the children of the New 
Light, and greatly to the amusement of the 
country. 

Of the effect of these satiric attacks, the Poet 
himself gives an account to Moore : — " The 
first of my poetic offspring which saw the light 
was a burlesque lamentation on a quarrel be- 
tween two reverend Calvinists, both of them 
dramatis persona' in my * Holy Fair.' I had 
a notion myself that the piece had some merit : 
but, to prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it to 
a friend who was ven fond of such things, and 
told him that I could not guess who was the 
author of it, but that I thought it pretty clever. 
With a certain description of the clergy, as 
well as laity, it met with a roar of applause. 
' Holy Willie's Prayer' next made its appear- 
ance, and alarmed the kirk -session so much that 
they held several meetings to look over their 
spiritual artillery — if haply any of it might be 
pointed against profane rhymers." This is ut- 
most all that the Poet says of his satiric labours 
in aid of the New Light. The poem to which 
he first alludes is called "The Iloly Tailzie," 
and relates the bickering and battling which 
arose between Moodie, minister of Hiccarton, 
and Russel, minister of Kilmarnock — both child- 
ren of the Old Light. The poetic merit of the 
piece is small ; the personalities marked and 
strong. " The Ordination" succeeded, and is 
in a better vein. There is uncommon freedom 
of language and happiness of expression in al- 
most every verse. The crowning satire of the 
whole is " Holy Willie's Prayer," a daring 
work, personal, poetical, and * profane. The 
hero of the piece was a west country pretender 
to superlative godliness ; one of the Old Light 
faction ; an elder of the kirk — a man with 
many failings, who made himself busy in search- 
ing for faults in the flock. Burns first sig- 
nalized him in an epitaph, in wdiich he consigns 
him to reprobation, and then w T arns the devil 
that to lay his " nine-tailed cat" on such a con- 
temptible delinquent would be little to his own 



credit. Then he makes Willie honestly confess 
his own backslidings, and explain predestination 
in a w ay that causes us to shudder as well as to 
smile : — 

" O Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel', 
Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for onie guid or ill 

They 've done afore thee !" 

He next bethinks him of his own glory and 
errors ; the latter, it is quite plain, he considers 
but as spots in the sun — specks in the cup of 
the cowslip. He claims praise in the singular, 
and acknowledges folly in the plural : — 

" And sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust, 
Vile self gets in ; 
But Thou remembers we are dust, 
Dcfil'd in sin." 

Nor can Burns be said to have overlooked 
his own interest ; he compliments Hamilton of 
Mossgiel as one — 

" Who has so many taking arts, 

Wi' great and sma', 
Frae God's ain priests the people's hearts, 
He steals awa'." 

In a similar strain of poetry and wit, he, in 
another poem of the same period, congratulates 
Goudie of Kilmarnock on his work respecting 
revealed religion. The reasoning and the learn- 
ing of the essayist are slumbering with all for- 
gotten things; but the verses they called into 
lite are not fated soon to die : — 

" O Goudie ! terror of the Whigs. 

Dread of black coats and reverend wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Giining looks back, 
Wishing the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick." 

In after-life the poet seemed little inclined to 
remember the verses he composed on this ridi- 
culous controversy ; and I have heard that he 
was unwilling to talk about the subiect. Per- 
haps he felt that he had launched the burning 
darts of verse against men of blameless lives, 
and honesty, and learning ; that his muse had 
wasted some of her time on a barren and pro- 
fitless topic, and had sung less from her own 
heart than for the gratification of others. Of 
all these poems, he admitted but the " Ordina- 
tion" into his works, willing, it would seem, 
to let the rest die with the controversy which 
occasioned them. The New Light professors 
seemed to care little what sort of weapon they 
employed : the verse of Burns has two edges, 
like a Highland sword, and Presbyterianism 
suffered as well as the Old Light. It is almost 
incredible that venerable clergymen applauded 
those profane sallies, learned them by heart, car- 
ried copies in their pockets, and quoted and re- 






0TAT. 'J*'. 



HIS PERSON AND MANNKIIS. 



-21 



cited tlit'in till they grew popular, and were on 

ever) lip. Even " Holy Willie's Prayer" was 
countenanced by the New Light pastors. 
Among the Poet's papers was found an epistle 
to the Rev. John .Mac Math, enclosing a copy 
of the Prayer which he had requested ; the 
date of this communication, Sept. 17, 1785, fixes 
the season of this western dispute. It seems, 
however, to approach the close; the Poel is 
grown weary of his work, as well lie might : — 

" My musie, tir'd with mony a sonnet, 

On gown, and band, ami dotlCfl black bonnet, 
Is grown right eerie now she's done it, 

Lett they should blame her, 
An' rouse their holy thunder on it, 

And anathem her." 

Hums, during this drudgery, was strengthen- 
ing his hands tor higher and purer duties. In 
labouring to accommodate In- thoughts, and 

" Riving the words to gar them clink," 

in unison with the technicalities of mystical 
controversy, he was acquiring an almost auda- 
cious vigour of expression, ami a ready skill in 
handling subjects either of fact or of fancy. It 
is true that he learned to speak profanely, hut 
then this was in the service of the kirk ; he 
learned something more when he dined with 
drunken lawyers, and grew tipsy among godly 
priests. The muse of Kyle helped to extinguish 
the Old Light, but she left predestination where 
she found it. A Mauchline mason said to the 
Poet, when he read him " Holy Willie's 
Prayer," " It's a' very weel and very witty, 
and I have laughed that shouldnahave laughed ; 
but ye'll no hinder me from thinking that Pro- 
vidence kenn'd weel what he was doing when 
he made man — foresaw the upshot — wha was 
to be good and wha was to be bad ; and know- 
ing this, and making man a fallible creature still, 
looks as like predestination as ought I ever 
heard of." 

These satiric rhymes established the fame of 
Burns in his native place ; his company was 
now courted by country lairds, village lawyers, 
and parish school-masters, and by all persons 
who had education above common, or kept some 
state in their households. He was always wel- 
come to Gavin Hamilton and his family ; equally 
so to Robert Aiken, a worthy writer in Ayr ; 
and now he became so to all who had any relish 
for wit, or any soul for poetry. He was at once 
the companion of the grave and of the giddy ; 
now dining with the minister and a douce friend 
or two at the manse ; then presiding in a Mason- 
meeting, chanting songs, and pushing about 
the punch with the " brethren of the mystic 
level," or communing on the severity of the ex- 
cise laws with a "blackguard smuggler," or 
some Highland envoy from the dominions of 
Ferintosh, whose " cousin did as good as keep 
a small still." When he appeared in company 



he was expected to say something clever or 

shrewd ; he was pointed out at church and at 

marker, ami peasant spoke of him to peasant 

;i- ;i wild, Witty lad, who lived at MfoSSgiel, 
and had all the humour of Kani.-ay, and more 
than the spirit of Fergnsson. 

It is humiliating to think that works 
which Burns seemed willing to forget brought 

him first into notice. Some of the most exqui- 
site lyrics ever -aid or sung failed to do for Mm 

what "The Holy Tailzie" and "The Ordina- 
tion" accomplished at once: and there can be 
no question that " Holy Willie's Prayer" and 

the " Epistle to Goudie" prepared the minds of 

the people around him for admiring his " Hal- 
loween'' and his ''('otter's Saturday Night." 
In truth, poetry, which only embodies senti- 
ments and feelings common to our nature, can- 
not compete, in the race of immediate fame, with 

rerse appealing to our passions and our pre- 
judices, and glowing with the heat of a passing 
dispute. Time settles and explains all. The 
true Plorimel is found to be of delicate flesh 
and blood, breathing of loveliness and attraction, 

and adorned by nature ; while the false Duessa, 

i- discovered to be a thing of shred- and patches, 

with jewel- of glass, and an artificial complex- 
ion. Nature and truth finally triumph, and to 
nature and truth Hums accordingly returned, 
He left the agitated puddles of mysticism to 
drink at the pure springs with the nniseof love, 
and joy, and patriotism. 

Of the person and manners of the Poet, at 
this important period of his life, we have various 
accounts; but the portraits, although differing 
in posture as well as in light and shade, all 
express the same sentiment. He was now 
grown up to man's estate, and had taken his 
station as such in society : he was the head, 
too, of his father's house, and though his ex- 
penses were regulated upon a system of close 
economy, his bargains, as a tanner, controlled 
by his brother Gilbert, and his demeanour at 
the fire-side under the mild influence of his 
mother, he had in all other matters his own will. 
He has recorded much of himself at this period 
both in verse and prose, nor can this be set 
down to egotism : from all the world, save the 
little community of Kyle, he was completely 
shut out, and he turned his eyes on himself, 
and wrote down his own hopes and aspirations. 
He has even recorded his stature in rhyme : — 

" O ! why the deuce should I repine, 
Or be an ill foreboder ? 
I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine, 
I'D go and be a sodger." 

His large dark expressive eyes ; his swarthy 
visage ; his broad brow, shaded with black 
waving hair ; his melancholy look, and his 
well-knit frame, vigorous and active — all united 
to draw men's eyes upon him. He affected, 
too, a certain oddity of dress and manner. He 



was clever in controversy ; but obstinate, and 
even fierce, when contradicted, as most men are 
who have built up their opinions for themselves. 
He used with much taste the common pithy 
saws and happy sayings of his country, and in- 
vigorated his eloquence by apt quotations from 
old songs or ballads. He courted controversy, 
and it was to this period that Murdoch, the 
accomplished mechanic, referred, when he told 
me that he once heard Burns haranguing his 
fellow-peasants on religion at the door of a 
change-house, and so unacceptable were his re- 
marks tiiat some old men hissed him away. 
Nor must it be supposed that, even when listened 
to, he was always victorious. — " Burns, sir," said 
one of his old opponents, " was a 'cute chield and 
a witty ane, but he didna half like to have my 
harrow coming owre his new-fangled notions." 

The early companions of the Poet were men 
above the common mark. Smith, to whom he 
addressed some of his finest poetic epistles, was 
a person of taste and sagacity ; David Siilar, a 
good scholar, and some thing of a poet; Ranken, 
an out-spoken, ready-witted man, and a little of 
a scoffer ; Lapraik lived at a distance ; he had 
written at least one song worthy of notice. 
Hamilton was open-hearted and open-handed, 
and of a good family ; Aiken seems to have 
abounded in good sense and good feeling ; Bal- 
lantyne was much of a gentleman ; Parker, 
kind and generous ; Mackenzie, of Irvine, a 
skilful surgeon and a good scholar, who intro- 
duced the Poet to Dugald Stewart, Whiteford, 
Erskine, and Blair ; — but his chief comrade 
and confidant was his brother Gilbert, who at 
an early age distinguished himself for sense 
and discernment. 

" Gilbert," says Mackenzie, " partook more 
of the manner and appearance of the father, 
and Robert of the mother. In the first inter- 
view I had with him at Lochlea, he was frank, 
modest, well-informed, and communicative. 
The Poet seemed -distant, suspicious, and with- 
out any wish to interest or please. He kept 
himself very silent in a dark corner of the room, 
and, before he took any part in conversation, 
I frequently observed him scrutinizing me, while 
I conversed with his father and his brother. 
From the period of which I speak, I took a 
lively interest in Robert Burns. Even then his 
conversation was rich in well-chosen figures, 
animated and energetic. Indeed, I have always 
thought that no person could have a just idea 
of the extent of Burns' talents who had not 
heard him converse. His*discrimination of cha- 
racter was greatly beyond that of any person 
I ever knew, and I have often observed to him 
that it seemed to be intuitive. I seldom ever knew 
him make a false estimate of character when he 
formed the opinion from his own observation." 

The sketch drawn by Siilar is of another 
kind : — " Robert Burns was some time in the 
parish of Tarbolton, prior to my acquaintance 



with him. His social disposition easily pro- 
cured him acquaintance ; but a certain satirical 
seasoning with which he and all poetical geniuses 
are in some degree influenced, while it set the 
rustic circle in a roar, was not unaccompanied 
with suspicious fear. I recollect hearing his 
neighbours observe, he had a great deal to say 
for himself, but that they suspected his prin- 
ciples. He wore the only tied hair in the 
parish ; and in the church his plaid, which was 
of a particular colour (I think fillemot), he 
wrapped in a peculiar manner round his should- 
ers. These surmises, and his exterior, made me 
solicitous of his acquaintance. I was intro- 
duced by Gilbert not only to his brother, but 
to the whole of that family, where, in a short 
time, I became a frequent, and, I believe, not 
unwelcome, visitant. After the commencement 
of my acquaintance with the bard, we fre- 
quently met upon Sundays at church ,- when, 
between sermons, instead of going with our 
friends or our lasses to the inn, we often took a 
walk in the fields. In these walks, I have often 
been struck with his facility in addressing the 
fair sex : many times when I have been 
bashfully anxious how to express myself, he 
would have entered into conversation with them, 
with the greatest ease and freedom ; and it was 
generally a death-blow to our conversation, how- 
ever agreeable, to meet a female acquaintance. 
Some of the few opportunities of a noon-tide 
walk that a country life allows her laborious 
sons, he spent on the banks of the river, or in 
the woods, in the neighbourhood of Stair. 
Some book or other he always carried, and read, 
when not otherwise employed ; it was likewise 
his custom to read at fable." 

A third hand completes the sketch : — " Though 
Burns," says Professor Walker, " was still un- 
known as a Poet, he already numbered several 
clergymen among his acquaintance : one of these 
communicated to me a circumstance which con- 
veyed, more forcibly than many words, an idea 
of the impression made upon his mind by the 
powers of the Poet. This gentleman had re- 
peatedly met Burns in company, when the 
acuteness and originality displayed by the latter, 
the depth of his discernment, the force of his 
expressions, and the authoritative energy of his 
understanding, had created in the former a sense 
of his power, of the extent of which he was 
unconscious till revealed to him by accident. 
The second time that he appeared in the pul- 
pit, he came with an assured and tranquil mind ; 
and though a few persons of education were 
present, he advanced some length in the ser- 
vice with his confidence and self-possession un- 
impaired. But when he observed Burns, who 
was of a different parish, unexpectedly enter the 
church, he was instantly affected with a tremour 
and embarrassment, which apprized him of the 
impression his mind, unknown to itself, had 
previously received." 



.ISTAT. 26. 



THE HOLY FAIR, &c. 



23 



Authorities such as these confute the incon- 
siderate assertions of Heron, respecting the 
" opening character" of the Poet. We have no 
proof that he became discontented in early life 
with the humble labours to which he saw him- 
self confined, and with the poor subsistence he 
was able to earn by them — that he could not 
help looking upon the rich and great whom 
he saw around, with an emotion between envy 
and contempt, as if something had still whis- 
pered to his heart that there was injustice in the 
external inequality between his fate and theirs. 
The early injuries of fortune oppressed him at 
times ; but, till he was thirty years old, his 
spirit was buoyant and unbroken, and he 
looked with an unclouded brow on the world 
around him. 

In " The Holy Fair," the Poet, accidentally 
or purposely, rose out of the lower regions of 
personal invective into the purer air of true 
poetry, and gave us a picture of singular breadth 
and beauty. The aim of the poem is chiefly to 
reprehend, by means of wit and humour, those 
almost indecent festivities which, in many 
western parishes, accompany the administration 
of the sacrament. Instead of preaching to the 
staid and the pious under the roof of the kirk, 
the scene is transferred to the open church -yard, 
where a tent or pulpit is erected for the preachers ; 
while, all around, the people of the parish seat 
themselves on graves or grave-stones, decorously 
to look and listen. In the earlier days of the 
church, when men were more in earnest, there 
is no doubt that a- scene such as this in the open 
air was attended with nothing of an objection- 
able nature ; nay, at present, the thoughtful and 
the serious contemplate it as something edify- 
ing and impressive ; but with the pious and the 
orderly come swarms of the idle and the pro- 
fligate ; bevies of lads and lasses keep moving 
about, in search of better seats or finer points of 
view, and tiring, or affecting to tire, of the ser- 
mon, which is sometimes of the longest, retire 
to a neighbouring change-house, or to the open 
door of an ale-booth, where, as they empty the 
glass, they may hear the voice of the preacher. 
There is no doubt that these " Holy Fairs," as 
they were scoffingly called, afforded scenes more 
than justifying serious as well as sarcastic re- 
proof. In the poem, Burns here and there 
shews he had been reading other poets. His 
allegorical personages are partly copied from 
Fergusson, and the hares that hirpled down the 
furs did the same for Montgomery. "The 
farcical scene the Poet there describes," says 
Gilbert, " was often a favourite field for his 
observation, and most of the incidents he men- 
tions had actually passed before his eyes." 

.Burns now openly took upon himself the 
name of Poet ; he not only wrote it in his 
books, but wrought it into his rhymes, and be- 
gan to entertain hopes of distinction in the 
realms of song. But nothing, perhaps, marks 



the character of the man more than the alteration 
which he made in his own name. He had little 
relish for by-gone things ; there are few gazings 
back at periods of honour or of woes in all his 
strains. The name he had hitherto borne was 
of old standing, the Poet sat in judgment upon 
it, concluded that it had a barbarous sound, 
and threw away Burness — a name two syllables 
long, and adopted that of Burns in its stead. 
Had his father been alive, this might not have 
happened. On the 20th of March, 1786, he 
says to one of his Correspondents : — " I hope 
some time before we hear the gouk, to have the 
pleasure of seeing you at Kilmarnock, when I 
intend having a gill between us in a mutchkin 
stoup, which will be a great comfort and conso- 
lation to, dear Sir, your humble servant, Bobert 
Burness." — This is the latest time that I find 
his original name in his own hand-writing ; it is 
plain, that up to this period, he imagined he 
had achieved nothing under that of his father 
deserving to live. On the 20th of April he 
wrote his name "Burns" in a letter enclosing 
to his friend Kennedy that beautiful poem the 
"Mountain Daisy," headed "The Gowan." 
This was with the Poet a season of changes. 

Burns commenced emblazoning his altered 
name with all that is bright and lasting in 
verse. From the day that he entered upon 
Mossgiel with the resolution of becoming rich, 
till the dark hour on which he quitted it, re- 
duced well nigh to beggary, he continued to 
pour forth poem after poem, and song succeed- 
ing song, with a variety and rapidity truly won- 
derful. His best poems are the offspring of 
those four unfortunate years, and the history 
of each has something in it of the curious or 
the romantic. " The Death and dying words of 
poor Mailie," and, better still, " Poor Mailie's 
Elegy," suggested to him probably by "The 
Ewie wi' the crooked horn " of Skinner, were 
written before the death of his father — at least 
the former was. The Poet had, it seerns, bought 
a ewe with two lambs from a neighbour, and 
tethered her in a field at Lochlea. " He and 
I," says Gilbert, " were going out with our 
teams, and our two younger brothers to drive 
for us, at mid-day, when Hugh Wilson, a cu- 
rious-looking awkward boy, clad in plaiding, 
came to us with much anxiety in his face, with 
the information that the ewe had entangled her- 
self in the tether, and was lying in the ditch." 

The "Elegy" has much of the Poet's latter 
freedom and force. He had caressed this four- 
footed favourite till she followed at his heels 
like a dog : — 

" Through a' the town she trotted by him, 
A lang half-mile she could descry him, 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed ; 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er come nigh him, 

Than Mailie dead." 

One of the rejected verses ought to be remem- 



24 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1785. 



bered in Kyle, were it but for the honour done 
to the lambs of Fairlee : — 

" She was nae get o' runted rams, 

Wi' woo' like goats, an' legs like trams, 

She was the flower o' Fairlee lambs, 

A famous breed ; 

Now Robin, greetin' chews the hams 

O' Mailie dead." 

The image in the two last lines is out of har- 
mony with the sentiment of the poem ; and 
Burns, whose taste was born with him, omitted 
the verse in consequence. 

The " Epistle to David Sillar " was written 
some time in the summer of 1784. Bums was 
in the habit of composing verse at the plough 
or the harrow : — he turned it over in his mind 
for several days, and when he had polished it 
to his satisfaction, or found a moment's leisure, 
he committed it to paper. Gilbert relates that 
he was weeding with Robert in the kail-yard, 
when he repeated the principal part of the 
Epistle. The first idea of his becoming an 
author was then started. " I was much pleased," 
says his brother, " with the Epistle, and said 
to him that I was of opinion it would bear be- 
ing printed, and that it would be well received 
by people of taste : that I thought it at least 
equal, if not superior, to many of Allan Ram- 
say's epistles, and that the merit of these, and 
much other Scottish poetry, seemed to consist 
principally in the knack of the expression • but 
here there was a train of interesting sentiment, 
and the Scotticism of the language scarcely 
seemed affected, but appeared to be the natural 
language of the poet ; that, besides, there was 
certainly some novelty in a poet pointing out 
the consolations that were in store for him when 
he should go a-begging. Robert seemed pleased 
with my criticism, and we talked of sending it 
to some magazine." 

If we credit the accuracy of the verse, and 
the memory of Gilbert, the Poet was, in 1784, 
acquainted with Jean Armour, and had become 
her admirer and lover. But it is more likely 
that the verse in which her name occurs was 
added afterwards, unless we believe that he had 
made an inroad among the " Mauchline belles," 
almost as soon as he went to Mossgiel. His 
Epistles are of high merit. They are, perhaps, 
the finest compositions of the kind in the lan- 
guage — airy, elegant, and philosophic — with 
more nature than Prior's Epistle to " Fletwood 
Shepherd," and equal power of illustration. He 
had already begun to take those serious looks 
at human life of which his poems are full ; nor 
did he fail to perceive how unequally the gifts 
of fortune, as well as those of genius, are 
divided. 

" It's hardly in a body's power, 
To keep at times from being sour, 
To see how things are shar'd ; 



How best o' chiels are whiles in want. 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 
And kenna how to wair't." 

He lived long enough to think more deeply 
and more darkly on this topic. At present the 
world was brightening before him — the mist 
seemed rolling away from his path, and he felt 
disposed to enjoy life without murmuring. 

The epistolary form was a favourite way with 
Burns of giving air to his opinions and feelings ; 
when he had doubts of fame — was o'ermastered 
with his passions — or disgusted with 

" The tricks of knaves and fash of fools," 

he lifted the pen and indited an epistle to a 
friend, and poured out the loves, the cares, the 
sorrows, the joys, the hopes, and fears of the 
passing moment. It is truly wonderful with 
what ease and felicity — nay, with what elegance, 
he twines the garlands of his fancy round a 
barren topic. Much of his history may be 
sought for in these compositions. In his " Epistle 
to James Smith," he alludes to his Poems : 
intimates that he had thoughts of printing them, 
pretends to take alarm at the sight of moths 
revelling on the pages of authors : — ■ 

" Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters." 

and philosophically exclaims, as well as poeti- 
cally — 

" Then farewell hopes o' laurel-boughs 
To garland my poetic brows : 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy plough 

Are whistling thrang, 
An' teach the lonely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang." 

Burns takes a loftier view of the matter in 
his epistle to Lapraik, written on the first of 
April, 1785. He intimates that he is no poet, 
in the high acceptation of the word ; but a 
rhymer, who deals in homely words, and has 
no pretence to learning. He pulls himself 
down, but he refuses to let any one else up ; he 
prefers a spark of nature's fire to all the arti- 
ficial heat of education, and speaks contemptu- 
ously of " critic folk," and learned judges : — 

" What's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest Nature made you fools, 

What sairs your grammars ? 
Ye'd better ta'en up spades and shools, 

Or knappin-hammers. 
" A seto' dull, conceited hashes, 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks, and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak : 
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek!" 

In a second epistle to the same person, Burns 
claims for "the ragged followers of the Nine" 
a life of immortal light, and presents to their 
contemplation the sordid sons of Mammon 
suffering under the transmigration of souls : — 



iF.TAT 26. 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 



25 



" Though here they scrape, and squeeze, and growl, 
Their worthless neivefu' of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl, 

The forest's fright ; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light." 

In a poetic letter to another of his com- 
panions, while exulting in the idea of making the 
rivers and rivulets of Kyle flow bright in future 
song, he lets us into the secret of his own mode 
of musing : — 

" The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, 
Till by himsel' he learned to wander 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

An' no think lang ! 
O ! sweet to stray, an' pensive ponder 

A heartfelt sang!" 

Of these poems, we are informed that the first 
epistle to John Lapraik was written in con- 
sequence of a clever song, which that indifferent 
rhymer had made, under the inspiration of ad- 
versity. The epistle to Ranken carries its own 
explanation with it: we may allow it to remain 
half concealed in the thin mist of allegory. 
The epistle to Smith is perhaps the very best 
of all these compositions : the singular ease of 
the verse ; the moral dignity of one passage ; 
the wit and humour of a second ; the elegance 
of compliment in a third ; and the life which 
animates the whole, must be felt by the most 
ordinary mind. One of the verses was frequent 
on the lips of Byron during the darkening 
down of his own day : 

' When ance life's day draws near the gloamin,' 
Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin,' 
Au'fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin,' 

An' social noise ; 

An' fareweel, dear, deluding woman ! 

The joy of joys !" 

In the winter of 1785, Burns composed his 
" Address to the Deil." His sable majesty is 
familiar to the imagination of every Scottish 
peasant, and there are few wild glens in which 
he has not been heard or seen. The Satan 
of Milton was a favourite with the Poet ; he 
admired his fortitude in enduring what could 
not be remedied, and pitied a noble and ex- 
alted mind in ruins. This feeling he united to 
the traditions of shepherds and husbandmen, 
and treated the Evil Spirit with much of the 
respect due to fallen royalty. " It was, I think," 
says Gilbert, " in the winter, as we were going 
together with carts for coal to the family fire — 
and I could yet point out the particular spot — 
that the author first repeated to me the ' Address 
to the Deil.' " That Burns was now acquainted 
with Jean Armour, the variations of this poem 
sufficiently prove : — 

" Lang syne, in Eden's happy scene, 
When strappin' Adam's days were green, 
And Eve was like my bonny Jean, 
My dearest part, 
A dancin', sweet, young, handsome quean, 
Wi' guileless heart." 



The evil spirit of religious controversy was now 
fairly out of him : he makes no allusions, though 
the temptation was great, to the clergy, but 
treats the subject with natural truth and vigour. 
All northern natures sympathize in the follow- 
ing fine stanza : — ■ 

" I've heard my reverend grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld ruin'd castles gray, 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way 

Wi' eldritch croon." 

There is something of serious jocularity in the 
verse which expresses the Poet's fears and hopes 
of futurity : — 

"An' now, auld Cloots, I ken y're thinkin,' 
A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin' 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner, jinkin', 

An' cheat you yet." 

In the contemplated repentance of Satan, Burns 
seems to hint at universal redemption — a finish- 
ing touch of fine and unexpected tenderness. 

The " Halloween" is a happy mixture of the 
dramatic and the descriptive, and bears the im- 
press of the manners, customs, and superstitions 
of the people. We see the scene, and are made 
familiar with the actors ; we not only see them 
busied in the mysteries of the night, but we hear 
their remarks ; nor can we refrain from accom- 
panying them on their solitary and perilous 
errands to " winnow wechts of naething, sow 
hemp-seed, pull kale-stocks, eat apples at the 
glass;" or, more romantic still, "wet the left 
sleeve of the shirt where three lairds' lands meet 
at a burn." The whole poem hovers between 
the serious and the ludicrous : in delineating the 
superstitious beliefs and mysterious acts of the 
evening, Burns keeps his own opinion to him- 
self. The scene is laid in the last night of har- 
vest, as the name implies, at a husbandman's 
fire-side, whose corn is gathered into the stack- 
yard and the barn ; and the hands which aided 
in the labour are met — 

" To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, 
An' haud their Halloween." 

They seem not unaware that while they are 
merry, or looking into futurity, fairies are 
dancing on Cassilis-Downans, and witches are 
mounted on their " rag-weed nags," hurrying 
to some wild rendezvous, or concerting, with 
the author of mischief, fresh woes for man. 
It is the most equal of all the Poet's compo- 
sitions. 

A singular poem, and in its nature personal, 
was also the offspring of the same year. This 
is " Death and Doctor Hornbook." The hero 
of the piece was John Wilson, schoci-master 
of the parish of Tarbolton : a person of blame- 
less life, fond of argument, opinionative, and 



2G 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1785. 



obstinate. At a mason-meeting, it seems, he 
provoked the Poet by questioning some of his 
positions, in a speech stuffed with Latin phrases, 
and allusions to pharmacy. The future satire 
dawned on Burns at the moment, for he ex- 
claimed twice, " Sit down, Doctor Hornbook !" 
On his way home he seated himself on the 
parapet of a bridge near "Willie's Mill," and, 
in the moon-light, began to reflect on what 
had passed. It then occurred to him that Wilson 
had added to the moderate income of his school, 
the profit arising from the sale of a few com- 
mon medicines ; this suggested an interview 
with " Death," and all the ironical commenda- 
tions of the Dominie, which followed. He 
composed the poem on his perilous seat, and, 
when he had done, fell asleep ; he was awakened 
by the rising sun, and, on going home, com- 
mitted it to paper. It exhibits a singular 
union of fancy and humour ; the attention is 
arrested at once by the ludicrous difficulty felt, 
in counting the horns of the moon, and we 
expect something to happen when his shadowy 
majesty comes upon the stage, relates his 
experience in "nicking the thread and choking 
the breath," and laments how his scythe and 
dart are rendered useless by the skill of Dr. 
Hornbook. On the appearance of the poem, 
Wilson found the laugh of Kyle too much for 
him — 

" The weans haud out their fingers laughin'." 

So he removed to Glasgow, where he engaged 
with success in other pursuits. He lives, but 
loves no one the better, it is averred, for 
naming the name of the Poet, or making any 
allusion to the poem. Burns repeated the satire 
to his brother, during the afternoon of the day 
on which it was composed. " I was holding 
the plough," said Gilbert, " and Robert was 
letting water off the field beside me." 

The patriotic feelings of the bard were touched 
when he took up the song of " Scotch Drink," 
against the government of the day, and uttered 
his " Earnest cry and prayer to the Scottish 
representatives in the House of Commons." 
Yet bitter as he sometimes is, and overflowing 
with humorous satire, these poems abound with 
natural and noble images ; nay, he scolds him- 
self into a pleasant mood, and scatters praise 
on the " chosen Five-and-Forty," with much 
skill and discrimination. His praise of whiskey 
is strangely mingled with sadness : — 

" Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin' ; 
Though life's a gift no worth receivin' ; 
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin', 

But, oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down hill, serievin', 

Wi' rattlin' glee. 

" Thou clears the head o' doited Lear, 
Thou cheers the heart o' droopin' Care, 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, 

At 's weary toil ; 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile." 



A country forge with a blazing fire, an an- 
xious blacksmith, and a welding heat, will rise 
to the fancy readily on reading these inimitable 
stanzas : — 

" When Vulcan gics his bellows breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare ! to see thee fizz and freath 

I' the luggit caup ! 
Then Burnewin comes on like death 

At ev'ry chap. 
" Nae mercy, then, for aim or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong forehammer, 
Till block an' studdie ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour." 

Nor are there wanting stanzas of a more solemn 
kind to bring trembling to our mirth. The 
Scotsman dying on a battle-field, with the sound 
of victory in his ear, is a noble picture : — 

" Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; 
Death comes ! — wi' fearless eye he sees him, 
Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gi'es him, 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin' lea'es him 

In faint huzzas ! " 

He steps at once from the serious to the 
comic : his description of Mither Scotland sit- 
ting on her mountain throne, her diadem a little 
awry, her eyes reeling, and the heather below, 
becoming moist during her prolonged libations, 
is equally humorous and irreverent. Those who 
may suspect that all this singing about liquor 
arose from a love of it, will be glad to hear thai 
when Nanse Tinnoch was told how Burns pro- 
posed to toast the Scottish members in her house 
"nine times a week," she exclaimed, "Him 
drink in my house ! I hardly ken the colour 
o' his coin." 

The year 1785 was a harvest season of verse 
with Burns. Some of his poems he hesitated 
for awhile to make public ; others he copied, 
and scattered amongst his friends. Of these 
one of the most remarkable is " The Jolly Beg- 
gars." This drama, which I cannot help con- 
sidering the most varied and characteristic of 
the Poet's works, was unknown, save to some 
west country acquaintances, till after his death, 
when it came unexpectedly out. The opening 
seems uttered by another muse than Coila — the 
sound is of the elder days of verse ; but the 
moment the curtain draws up and shews the 
actors, the spirit of Burns appears kindling and 
animating all. It is impossible to deny his- 
presence : — 

" First, niest the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm — 

She blinkit on her sodger ; 
An' aye he gied the tosie drab 
The tither skelpin kiss, 



®b= 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



27 



While she held up her greedy gab 

Just like an aumos dish. 
Ilk smack still, did crack still, 

Just like a cadger's whup, 
Then staggering and swaggering 

He roar'd this ditty up." — 

The scene of this rustic drama lies in Mauch- 
line, and the actors are strolling vagrants, who, 
having acquired meal and money by begging, 
pilfering, and sleight-of-hand, assemble in Poosie 
Nansie's, to "toom their pocks and pawn their 
duds," and 

" Gie ae night's discharge to care," 

over the gill-stoup and the quaigh. They hold 
a sort of Beggars' Saturday-night — sing-songs, 
utter sentiments, and lay clown the loose laws 
of the various classes they represent. The 
characters are numerous. The maimed soldier, 
who bore scars both for Scotland and for love ; 
and his doxy, warm with blankets and usque- 
baugh, who in her youth forsook the sword for 
the sake of the church, but returned to the 
drum when age brought reflection. The merry - 
andrew, who would venture his neck for liquor, 
who held love to be the half of his craft, and 
yet was a fool still ; — the highland dame who 
had lightened many a purse — been ducked in 
many a well : who, with a countryman, had laid 
the land under contribution from Tweed to Spey, 
and was only hindered from making a foray, 
farther south, by the interposition of the " waenV 
woodie I" The pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle ; — 
the sturdy tinker, who had "travelled round 
all Christian ground " in his vocation, and swore 
by all was swearing worth whenever he was 
moved ; — and, last of all, the " wight of 
Homer's craft," who, though lame of a foot, 
had three wives, and could allure the people 
round him in crowds, when he sung of love 
and country revelry. All these, and more, sing, 
and shout, and talk, and act in character ! and 
unite in giving effect to the chorus of a song 
which claims, for the jovial ragged ring, exemp- 
tion from the cares which weigh down the sedate 
and the orderly, and a happiness which refuses 
to wait on the train-attended carriage, or on the 
sober bed of matrimony. The curtain drops as 
they all shout, 

" A fig for those by law protected! 
Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 
Churches built to please the priest." 

There is nothing in the language which, for 
life and character, approaches this singular 
" Cantata." The Beggar's Opera is a burial 
compared to it ; it bears some resemblance to 
the Wallenstein's camp of Schiller, as translated 
by Lord Francis Egerton ; the same variety, 
and the same license of action and speech 
distinguish both. 

The origin of the Cantata is worth relating. 
Mauchline ale, and Mauchline maidens, fre- 



quently brought the Poet from Mossgiel, which 
lies but some half-a-mile distant. He fre- 
quented the public house of John Dow on those 
occasions, in the immediate vicinity of the scene 
of "The Jolly Beggars." The house of Poosie 
Nansie, alias Agues Gibson, stands opposite 
nearly to the church-yard gate. One night it 
happened that James Smith of Mauchline, and 
Burns, on their way up the street, heard the 
sound of " meikle fun and jokin' " in Nansie's 
hostelry, and saw lights streaming from the 
fractured windows. On entering, they found 
a company of wandering mendicants enjoying 
themselves over their dear Kilbagie. They were 
welcomed with cheers, entered into the hu- 
mours of the scene, called for more liquor, and 
the noise and fun grew fast and furious. Burns 
paid much attention to an old soldier, with a 
" wooden arm and leg," whose drollery was 
unbounded. In a few days he rough- wrote the 
Cantata, and shewed it amongst his friends. 
He gave the only copy now known to be in 
existence to David Woodburn ; it was lately 
in the hands of Thomas Stewart of Greenock. 

It is probable that the Poet found it an 
easier task to delineate the characters, and in- 
dite the songs of the Cantata, than to endow 
the " Mouse" and the " Daisy" with sentiments 
of terror and of pity. A common ploughman 
would have stamped his tacketed shoe upon the 
one, saying " Down, vermin ! " or helped the 
furrow over upon the other, pronouncing it a 
weed. With far other feelings the plough- 
man of Mossgiel saw the ruin of the one, and 
the destruction of the other. " The verses to 
the Mouse and the Mountain Daisy," says 
Gilbert, "were composed on the occasions, and 
while the author was holding the plough. I 
could point out the particular spot where each 
was composed. Holding the plough was a fa- 
vourite situation with Robert for poetic compo- 
sitions, and some of his best verses were pro- 
duced while he was at that exercise. Several 
of the poems were written for the purpose of 
bringing forward some favourite sentiment of 
the author." When the coulter passed through 
the nest of leaves and stubble, the Poet assured 
the timid mouse, as it fled in terror, that the 
best laid schemes of men were frustrated, as 
well as those of mice; and that though its 
house was laid in ruins, and winter afforded 
no materials for constructing a new one, still 
its lot was bliss compared with his own. It 
was touched only with the passing, while he 
was affected with the past — felt the present, and 
dreaded the future. A similar train of senti- 
ment runs through the Daisy : the Poet buries 
its opening bloom with the plough, and grieves 
that he cannot save a thing so lovely ; nay, 
lest the flower should mistake the crash of the 
cruel coulter for the pressure of some gentler 
thing, he exclaims, with equal tenderness and 
beauty : — 



®= 



28 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1780. 



*' Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnielark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 
Wi' speckled breast, 
When upward springing, blythe, to greet 
The purpling east." 

He suddenly turns from the fate of the flower 
to his own, and draws the same dark conclu- 
sions as he did in the " Mouse •" 

" Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom ; 
Till, crush' d beneath the furrow's weight, 
Shall be thy doom ! " 

His poetry abounds in melancholy predictions 
about himself ; he had visions of beauty and of 
grandeur, but along with them came darker 
visions : want and ruin, sorrow and neglect, 
death and the grave. The immortality con- 
ferred on this humble flower escaped not the 
observation of Wordsworth as he passed, in 
1833, through the " Land of Burns." 

" Myriads of Daisies have shone forth in flower 
Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour 
Have passed away less happy than the One 
That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove 
The tender charm of poetry and love." 

The fine poem of " Man was made to Mourn" 
was composed by Burns for the purpose of 
bringing forward a favourite sentiment. — " He 
used to remark to me," says Gilbert, " that he 
could not well conceive a more mortifying pic- 
ture of human life than a man seeking work. 
In casting about in his mind how this senti- 
ment might be illustrated, the elegy of ' Man 
was made to Mourn' was composed." The 
germ of the composition may be found in 
"The Life and Age of Man," which the Poet's 
mother was wont to sing to his grand-uncle. 
The same sentiment is common to both ; the 
same form of expression, and the same words 
may be traced in every verse ; " Man is made 
to mourn," is the introductory exclamation of 
the old ; " Man was made to mourn " is the 
chorus of the new. Nor is the earlier poem 
without pathos and force ; the periods of man's 
life are compared to the months of the year : 
the child is born in January, flourishes in July, 
and dies in December : the parallel is well 
maintained : — 

" Then cometh May, gallant and gay, 

When fragrant flowers do thrive, 
The child is then become a man, 

Of age twentie-and-five. 
December fell, both sharp and snell, 

Makes flowers creep to the ground ; 
Then man's threescore, both sick and sore, 

No soundness in him found." 

To make each month of the year correspond 
with five years of a man's life, the moralizing 
bard of the year sixteen hundred and fifty-three 



extinguished the faculties of man at sixty ; the 
bard of seventeen hundred and eighty-six says 
nothing of life's duration, but sings the sorrows 
of him who, overwrought and abject, has to beg 
leave to toil, from a lordly fellow- worm, who 
scorns his poor petition, and turns him over to 
idleness and woe. The question which the 
Poet asks is one not easily answered by the 
oppressor : — 

"If I'm design 'd yon lordling's slave, 

By Nature's law design'd, 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and power 

To make his fellow mourn ?" 

The sage of the banks of Ayr intimates to the 
indignant bard that a future state, where the 
great and the wealthy cease from troubling, is 
the only hope and refuge of those — " who weary 
laden mourn." His own desolate condition 
and dreary prospects raised those darksome 
ideas. 

In the truly noble poem of the "Vision" 
Burns imagines himself seated, in a winter 
night, by his fire, which burns reluctantly ; 
wearied with the flail, he proceeds to muse on 
wasted time. In his sight the scene is dark 
enough ; he has spent the prime of youth in 
making rhymes for fools to sing ; he has neg- 
lected advice which would have placed him at 
the head of a market ; and now, " half-mad, 
half- fed, half-sarket," he is sitting undistin- 
guished and poor. Stung with these reflec- 
tions, he starts up, and is about to swear to 
refrain rhyme till his latest breath, when the 
door opens, the fire flames brighter, and a strange 
and lovely lady comes blushing to his side : — 

" Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs, 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows ; 
I took her for some Scottish muse, 

By that same token ; 
An' come to stop those reckless vows 

Wou'd soon been broken." 

His surmise was just: she was the Muse of 
Kyle — his own inspirer ; nay, she had a hand- 
some leg like his Mauchline Jean, and looked 
the express image of his own mind : — 

"A hair-brain'd, sentimental trace, 
Was strongly marked in her face, 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with honour." 

On her mantle were pictured the district and 
heroes of Kyle ; but she came to speak, and 
not to be looked at. She claimed Burns for 
her own bard ; told him to lament his luckless 
lot no longer ; that he was there to fulfil the 
social plan of Nature, and form a not unim- 



MTkT. 27. 



THE COTTERS SATURDAY NIGHT. 



29 



portant link in the great chain of being. She 
was intimate with all his outgoings. Her 
words are useful to the biographer ; they 
exhibit the Poet in his studious moods : — 

" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar, 
Or when the North his fleecy store 

Drove through the sky; 
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye." 

She observed, too, that beauty agitated his 
frame — communicated to his tongue words of 
persuasion and grace, and inspired him with 
musical and voluntary numbers : she saw more — 

" I saw thy pulse's maddening play 
Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, 
Muled by Fancy's meteor-ray, 

By passion driven— 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from heaven." 

His visiter assured him that the wealth of 
Potosi, or the regard of monarchs, could not 
at all equal the pleasure he would feel as a 
rustic poet, and entreated him to fan the 
tuneful flame, preserve his dignity, and trust 
for protection to the universal plan of the 
Creator : — 

" ' i\nd wear thou this,' — she solemn said, 
And bound the holly round my head ; 
The polish'd leaves and berries red 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away." 

Frequent bursts of religious feeling, and a 
fine spirit of morality, are visible in much that 
Burns wrote ; yet only one of his poems is 
expressly dedicated to devotion — " The Cotter's 
Saturday Night." The origin of this noble 
strain is related by his brother: — "Robert had 
frequently remarked to me that he thought 
there was something peculiarly venerable in the 
phrase, ' Let us worship God/ used by a decent 
sober head of a family, introducing family 
worship. The hint of the plan and title of 
the poem were taken from Fergusson's ( Far- 
mer's Ingle.' When Robert had not some 
pleasure in view, in which I was not thought 
fit to participate, we used frequently to walk 
together, when the weather was favourable, on 
the Sunday afternoons (those precious breath- 
ing times to the labouring part of the commu- 
nity), and enjoyed such Sundays as would 
make us regret to see their number abridged. 
It was in one of the^e walks that I first had 
the pleasure of hearing the Author repeat ' the 
Cotter's Saturday Night.' " 

The poem is a picture of cottage devotion, by 
a hand more solicitous about accuracy than 
effect ; for no one knew better than Burns 
that invention could not heighten, nor art em- 
bellish, a scene in which man holds intercourse 



with heaven. His natural good taste told him 
that his work-day burning impetuosity of lan- 
guage, and intrepid freedom of illustration, 
were unsuitable here ; he calmed down his 
style into an earnest and touching simplicity, 
which has been mistaken by critics for tame- 
ness ; but the strength of the poem is proved 
by the numerous and beautiful images, all of a 
devotional character, which it impresses on the 
mind. Religion is the leading feature of the 
whole ; but love in its virgin state, and patri- 
otism in its purity, mingle with it, and give a 
gentle tinge, rather than a decided colour to 
the performance. The scene is peculiar to 
Scotland. With what natural art the Poet 
introduces us to the Cotter, and to his happy 
home, and gradually prepares us, by a succes- 
sion of solemn images, for the opening of the 
Bible and the pouring out of prayer ! 

The winter day is darkening into night, the 
blackening trains of crows seek the pine-tree 
tops, and the toil-worn cotter lays together 
his spades and hoes, and, "hoping the morn 
in ease and rest to spend," walks homewards 
over the moor : — 

" At length his lonely cot appears in view, 
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; 
Th' expectant wee-things, todlin', stacher through, 
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise and glee, 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonnilie ; 
His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, 

The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil." 

Presently the elder children, released by 
Saturday night from their weekly servitude 
among the neighbouring farmers, come " drap- 
ping in ; " and Jenny, their eldest hope, now 
woman grown, shews a " braw new gown," 
or puts her wages into her parents' hands, to 
aid them, should they require it. Amid them 
the anxious mother sits, and, with her needle 
and shears, 

" Gars auld claes look amaist as weel 's the new. 
The father mixes a' with admonition due." 

The admonition of this good man to his chil- 
dren is, to be obedient to those above them ; to 
mind their labours, nor be idle when unob- 
served ; and chiefly to fear the Lord, and duly, 
morn and night, implore his aid and counsel. 
While this is going on, a gentle rap is heard 
at the door, and a strappan youth, who " takes 
the mother's e'e," is introduced by Jenny as 
a neighbour lad, who, among other things, had 
undertaken to see her safely home. The visit 
is well taken, for he is neither wild nor worth- 
less, but come of honest parents, and is, more- 
over, blate and bashful, and for inward joy can 
scarce behave himself. The mother knows 
well what makes him so grave ; the father 
converses about horses and ploughs, while the 
supper-table is spread, and milk from her only 



30 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



178G. 



cow, and a " well-hained cheese/' of a pecu- 
liar flavour, and a twelvemonth old, " sin lint 
was in the bell," are placed by the frugal and 
happy mother before the lothful stranger. 

" The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 
They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha' bible, ance his father's pride : 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 

His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 
He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And ' Let us worship God ! ' he says, with solemn air. 

The canker-tooth of the most envious criti- 
cism cannot well fasten on a work in every 
respect so perfect ; nor, in expatiating upon it, 
are we going out of the direct line of biography : 
it is known to be, in part, a picture of the 
household of William Burness. From pictures 
of national manners and sentiment we must 
turn to matters more personal. 

Of the maidens of Kyle, who contributed by 
their charms of mind, or person, to the witch- 
ery of the love songs of Bums, I can give but 
an imperfect account. The young woman who 
" had pledged her soul to meet him in the field 
of matrimony, yet jilted him with peculiar cir- 
cumstances of mortification," he has not named ; 
and I suspect her charms, real or imaginary, 
have remained unsung. The Tibbie who scorn- 
ed the advances of the Poet, and "spakna, 
but gade by like stoure," was a neighbouring 
laird's daughter, with a portion of two acres 
of peat-moss, and twenty pounds Scots. The 
Peggy who inspired some of his early lyrics 
was the sister of a Carrick farmer, a girl pru- 
dent as well as beautiful. The Nannie, who 
lived among the mosses near the Lugar, was a 
farmer's daughter, Agnes Fleming by name, and 
charmed unconsciously the sweet song of " My 
Nannie O " from him, by the elegance of her 
person and the melody of her voice. " Green 
grow the Rashes," was a general tribute paid 
to the collective charms of the lasses of Kyle ; 
there were few with whom he had not held 
tryste 

" Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale." 

Some of those maidens were but, perhaps, the 
chance inspirers of his lyric strains. " High- 
land Mary," and "Mary in Heaven," of whom 
he has so passionately sung, was a native of Ard- 
rossan. Those who think that poetry embalms 
high names alone, ladies of birth and rank, 
must prepare to be disappointed, for Mary 
Campbell was a peasant's daughter, and lived, 
when she captivated the Poet, in the humble 
situation of dairy-maid in "The Castle of Mont- 
gomery." That she was beautiful, we have 
other testimony than that of Burns : her charms 
attracted gazers, if not wooers, and she was 
exposed to the allurements of wealth. She 



withstood all temptation, and returned the 
affection of the Poet with the fervour of in- 
nocence and youth. " After a pretty long trial," 
says Burns, "of the most ardent, reciprocal 
affection, we met, by appointment, on the se- 
cond Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot on 
the banks of the Ayr, where we spent a day in 
taking a farewell, before she should embark for 
the West Highlands, to arrange matters among 
her friends for our projected change of life. At 
the close of the autumn following, she crossed 
the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she 
had scarce landed, when she was seized with a 
malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl 
to her grave in a few days, before I could even 
learn of her illness." — " This adieu was per- 
formed, " says Cromek, "in a striking and 
moving w r ay ; the lovers stood on each side of 
a small brook, they laved their hands in the 
stream, and, holding a Bible between them, 
pronounced their vows to be faithful to each 
other. They parted never to meet again ! " 

The Bible on which they vowed their vows 
was lately in the possession of the sister of 
Mary Campbell, at Ardrossan. On the first 
volume is written by the hand of Burns : " And 
ye shall not swear by my name falsely ; I am the 
Lord — Leviticus, chap, xix., v. 12." On the 
second volume, the same hand has written : 
" Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt 
perform unto the Lord thine oaths. — St. Mat- 
thew, chap, v., v. 33." And on the blank 
leaves of both volumes is impressed his mark 
as a mason, and also signed below, " Robert 
Burns, Mossgiel." These are touching inser- 
tions, but not more so than the verses in which 
he has embodied the parting scene : — 

" How sweetly bloom 'd the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp 'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mary ! " 

To the same affectionate young creature, 
Burns addressed a strain of scarcely inferior 
beauty, beginning with 

" Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
And leave auld Scotia's shore ? " 

Nor did he forget her worth in after-life ; his heart 
and fancy frequently travelled back to early scenes 
of joy and sorrow. A tress of her hair is still 
preserved : it is very long and very light and 
shining. Who the Mary Morison was on 
whom he wrote one of his earliest songs, I have 
not been able to discover ; nor do I know the 
name of the heroine of " Cessnock Banks." 
Their beauty seems like that of many others, 
to have passed suddenly over him, touching hi's 
fancy without affecting his heart. The Eliza, 



HIS BONNY JEAN. 



31 



from whom he seems so loth to part, in one 
of his songs, was, I am told by John Gait, a re- 
lative of his, and less beautiful than witty. 

To the charms of Jean Armour I have already 
alluded. This young woman, the daughter of 
a devout man and master-mason, lived in 
Mauchline, and was distinguished less for the 
beauty of her person, than for the grace of her 
dancing and the melody of her voice. Burns 
seems to have become attached to her soon 
after the loss of his Highland Mary. In one of 
his joyous moments, he warned the maidens of 
Mauchline against reading inflammatory novels. 
— "Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons" 
served only as snares, he said, for their in- 
nocence : — 

" Such witching books are baited hooks 
For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel." 

Who those maidens were he tells us in rhyme : — 

" In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles, 
The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a' ; — 
Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, 
In Lon'on or Paris they 'd gotten it a'. 

—Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, 
Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw ; 

There 's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton, 
But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a'." 

How the Poet and his Jean became acquainted 
is easily imagined by those who know the faci- 
lities for meetings of the young, which fairs, 
races, dances, weddings, house-heatings, kirn- 
suppers, and bleaching scenes on burn-banks 
afford ; of the growth of affection between 
them it is less easy to give an account ; we must 
trace it by the uncertain light of his poetry. 

[John Blane,* who was for four years and a 
half farm-servant in the Burns' family at Lochlea 
and Mossgiel, relates the following interesting 
circumstances respecting the attachment of the 
poet to Miss Armour : — There was a singing 
school at Mauchline, which Blane attended. 
Jean Armour was also a pupil, and he soon be- 
came aware of her talents as a vocalist. He 
even contracted a kind of attachment to this 
young woman, though only such as a country 
lad of his degree might entertain for the daughter 
of a substantial country mason. One night 
there was a rocking at Mossgiel, where a lad 
named Ralph Sillar sung a number of songs in 
what was considered a superior style. When 
Burns and Blane had retired to their usual 
sleeping place in the stable-loft, the former 

[* This individual is now (1838) residing at Kilmarnock. 
With Robert Burns, who was eight years his senior, he 
slept for a long time in the same bed, in the stable loft, at 
Mossgiel. Burns had a little deal table with a drawer in it, 
which he kept constantly beside the bed, with a small desk 
on the top of it. The best of his poems were -here written 
during the hours of rest ; the table-drawer being the de- 
pository in which he kept them. The " Cotter's Saturday 
Night," the "Lament," and the "Vision," were thus 
composed in the poor garret over a small farmer's stable! 



asked the latter what he thought of Sillar's 
singing, to which Blane answered that the lad 
thought so much of it himself, and had so many 
airs about it, that there was no occasion for 
others expressing a favourable opinion — yet, he 
added, " I would not give Jean Armour for a 
score of him." " You are always talking of this 
Jean Armour," said Burns, " I wish you could 
contrive to bring me to see her." Blane readily 
consented to do so, and next evening, after 
the plough was loosed, the two proceeded to 
Mauchline for that purpose. Burns went into 
a public-house, and Blane went into the singing 
school, which chanced to be kept in the floor 
above. When the school was dismissing, Blane 
asked Jean Armour if she would come to see 
Robert Burns, who was below, and anxious to 
speak to her. Having heard of his poetical 
talents, she said she would like much to see him, 
but was afraid to go without a female com- 
panion. This difficulty being overcome by the 
frankness of a Miss Morton — the Miss Morton 
of the Six Mauchline Belles — Jean went down 
to the room where Burns was sitting. " From 
that time," (Blane adds veiy naively) " I had 
little of the company of Jean Armour."] 

In the " Epistle of Davie" he alludes to Jean 
Armour by name, and calls her his own ; in the 
" Vision" he compliments the Muse of Kyle by 
comparing her clean, straight, and taper limbs 
to those of his bonny Jean ; and, in one of his 
lyrics, he speaks of the sighs and vows which 
have passed between them among the sequestered 
hills. It would seem, however, that during the 
season of their courtship the Poet felt less sure 
of the continuance of her affection than he had 
looked for, and something like change may be 
inferred from his omitting a verse in the "Ad- 
dress to the Deil," in which he likened Eve to 
Jean Armour : — 

"A dancin', sweet, young, handsome quean, 
Wi' guileless heart." 

Gilbert charges his brother with seeing charms 
in some of the maidens of Kyle which others 
could not observe ; but that may be said of all 
beautiful things. The ladies whom he cele- 
brated, in the latter days of his inspiration, were 
— some of them at least — eminently lovely ; and 
we all know that he has imputed no more merit 
to his Jean than what she possessed. Burns 
assured Professor Walker that his first desire to 
excel as a poet arose from the influence of the 
tender passion • and he informed others that all 

He used to employ Blane to read the poems to him, imme- 
diately after their composition, that he might be able the 
more effectually to detect faults in them. When dissatisfied 
with a particular passage, he would stop the reading, make 
an alteration, and then desire his companion to proceed. 
Blane was often wakened by him during the night, that he 
might serve him in this capacity. The bard of Kyle was a 
most rigid critic of his own compositions, and burned many 
with which he was displeased. 

Chambers.) 



32 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1786. 



the heroines of his songs were real, and not 
imaginary. He dealt in 

" No idly feign'd poetic pains, 
No fabl'd tortures quaint and tame." 

As the Poet rose, and the lover triumphed, 
the farmer sunk. The farm of Mossgiel lies 
high, on a cold, wet bottom. During the first 
four years of the lease, instead of kindly and 
congenial seasons, the springs were frosty and 
late, the summers moist and cold ; and to this 
the Poet glances when he makes the old dame, 
in Halloween, relate her experiences: — 

" The simmer had been cauld and wat, 
And stuff was unco green." 

Frosty springs and late cold summers could not 
be foreseen, but any one might have known 
high lying land on a wet bottom. Seasons in 
which the sun is almost scorching other grounds 
are most congenial for such soils, and no one 
should venture upon a farm which requires 
something like a miracle in the weather to 
render it productive. That Burns took plea- 
sure in the labours of agriculture we have the 
assurance of many a voice : he often alludes 
to the holding of the plough, the turning of a 
handsome furrow ; and he rejoices, too, in the 
growing corn, sees it fall before the sickle, with 
something of a calculating eye, and raises the 
rick, and coats it over with broom against sleet 
and snow, with all the foresight of a farmer. 
Of his prowess with the flail, he says : — 

" The thresher's weary flinging tree 
The lee-laug day had tir'd me." 

And Gilbert says, with the scythe Robert ex- 
celled all competitors : he had the sleight which 
is necessary with strength and activity. In 
ploughing he was likewise skilful : in the 
" Farmer's Address to his Mare," evidently 
alluding to himself, he says : — 

" Aft thee and I in aught-hours gaun, 
In guid March weather, 
Hae turned sax rood beside our ban' 
For days thegither." 

Elsewhere the Poet speaks of his toil in com- 
mitting the seed-corn to the furrow, and makes 
the muse plead it as an excuse for declining 
labouring on Parnassus in the month of April : — 

" Forjeskit sair, wi' weary legs, 

Rattlin' the corn out-owre the rigs, 
Or dealing through amang the naigs 

Their ten-hours bite, 
My akwart Muse sair pleads and begs 
I wadna write." 

Of his farming establishment he gives us 
some insight, in his facetious inventory to the 
surveyor of the taxes : it is pleasing to go to 
the homestead of even the cold and ungenial 
Mossgiel, and look at the " gudes, and gear, 
and graith," with Burns for our guide : — 



" Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
I have four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pettle. 
My lan-afore's a gude auld has-been, 
An' wight and wilfu' a' his days been. 
My lan-ahin's a weel gaun fillie; 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie. 
An' your auld burro' mony a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime. 
My fur-ahin's a worthy beast 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd. 
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, 
A damn'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie ! 
Forbye a cowt, o' cowts the wale, 
As ever ran afore a tail." 

Of his milk-cows and calves, ewes and lambs, 
the mandate required no specification ; the Poet 
proceeds to his farming implements : they are 
far from numerous : — ■ 

" Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, 
Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; 
An auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, 
Ac leg and baiih the trams are broken." 

Ploughs, harrows, shel-bands, rollers, spades, 
hoes, and fanners were not taxed, and are 
omitted, which I am sorry for ; we come now 
to the members of his household : — 

" For men I've three mischievous boys, 
Run deils for rantin' and for noise ; 
A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t' other, 
Wee Davoc hauds the nowt in fother." 

Nor is the Bard unmindful of maintaining rule 
and spreading information amongst his me- 
nials : — 

" I rule them as I ought, discreetly, 
An' aften labour them completely ; 
And aye on Sundays duly, nightly, 
I on the questions targe them tightly." 

With respect to maid-servants, as his mother 
and sisters managed the in-door economy of the 
house, he had no occasion for any : he desired 
besides, he said, to be kept out of temptation ; 
neither had he a wife, and as for children, one 
more had been sent to him than he desired : — 

"My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddie in her face, 
Enough of ought ye like but grace." 

Burns saw in the failure of the farm the 
coming ruin of his mother's household, and, 
despairing of success in agriculture, revived a 
notion which he had long entertained of going 
out as a sort of steward to the plantations, a 
situation which, for a small salary, requires the 
presence of many high qualities. Nor did he 
take this resolution one moment too soon : his 
poetic account of his condition and sufferings 
is not at all poetical : — 

" To tremble under Fortune's cummock, 
On scarce abellyfu' o' drummock, 
For his proud, independent stomach, 
Could ill agree." 

But bodily discomfort was not all : he might, 



JET AT. 27. 



HIS BONNIE JEAN. 



33 



to use his own language, have braved the bitter 
blast of misfortune, which, long mustering over 
his head, was about to descend ; but sorrows 
of a tender nature, from which there was no 
escape, came pouring upon him in a flood. 

This part of the Poet's history has been 
painted variously : delicacy towards the living, 
and respect for the dead, seemed to call for 
gentle handling ; but this could not always be 
obtained ; for rude hands were but too ready to 
aggravate the outline, and darken the colours. 
The courtship between Burns and Jean Armour 
continued for several years ; and there is no 
question, had fortune permitted, but that they 
would have been man and wife the first year of 
their acquaintance. But Burns was not poor 
only — he had no chance of becoming rich, and 
the day of marriage was placed at the mercy of 
fortune. There were other obstacles : Jean was 
not only the daughter of a man rigid and de- 
vout, but the favourite child of one of the 
believers in the glory of the Old Light. Her 
father discountenanced the addresses which " a 
profane scoifer" and "irreligious rhymer" was 
making to his child, and the lovers, denied the 
sanction of paternal care, and the shelter of the 
domestic roof, had recourse to stolen meetings 
under the cloud of night, to twilight interviews 
under the green-wood tree ; to the solace of 
" a cannie hour at e'en," and those " sighs and 
vows among the knowes" of which the Poet 
has sung with so much passion. In protracted 
courtship there is always danger ; prudence 
seldom takes much care of the young and the 
warm-hearted : Jean was not out of her teens, 
and thought more of her father's ungentleness 
than of her own danger ; the Poet's respect for 
sweetness and innocence protected her for a 
while — but he was doomed to feel what he 
afterwards sung : — ■ 

" Wha can prudence think upon, 
And sic a lassie by him ? 
Wha can prudence think upon, 
And sae in love as I am ?'-' 

These convoyings home in the dark, and 
meetings under " the milk-white thorn," ended 
in the Poet being promised to be made a father 
before he had become a husband. This, to one 
so destitute and utterly poor as Burns, was a 
stunning event : but that was not the worst ; — 
the father of Jean Armour heard, with much 
anguish, of his favourite daughter's condition ; 
and when, on her knees before him, she im- 
plored forgiveness, and shewed the marriage 
lines — as the private acknowledgment of mar- 
riage, without the sanction of the kirk, is called 
— his anguish grew into anger which over- 
flowed all bounds, and heeded neither his 
daughter's honour nor her husband's fame. He 
snatched her marriage certificate from her, 
threw it into the fire, and commanded her to 
think herself no longer the wife of the Poet. 
It must be accepted as a proof of paternal power 



that Jean trembled and obeyed : she forgot that 
Burns was still her husband in the sight of 
Heaven, and according to the laws of man : 
she refused to see him, or hearken to aught he 
could say ; and, in short, was ruled in every- 
thing by the blind hatred of her father. 

[Another event occurred to add to the tor- 
ments of the unhappy poet. Jean, to avoid 
the immediate pressure of her father's displea- 
sure, went about the month of May (1786) to 
Paisley, and took refuge with a relation of her 
mother, one Andrew Purdie, a wright. There 
was at Paisley a certain Robert Wilson, a good 
looking young weaver, a native of Mauchline, 
and who Avas revising wages to the amount 
of perhaps three pounds a-week by his then 
flourishing profession. Jean Armour had 
danced with this " gallant weaver" at the 
Mauchline dancing-school balls, and, besides 
her relative Purdie, she knew no other person 
in Paisley. Being in much need of a small 
supply of money, she found it necessary to 
apply to Mr. Wilson, who received her kindly, 
although he did not conceal that he had a sus- 
picion of the reason of her visit to Paisley. 
When the reader is reminded that village life 
is not the sphere in v\hich high-wrought and 
romantic feelings are most apt to flourish, he 
will be prepared in some measure to learn that 
Robert Wilson not only relieved the necessities 
of the fair applicant, but formed the wish to 
possess himself of her hand. He called for her 
several times at Purdie's, and informed her 
that, if she should not become the wife ot 
Burns, he would engage himself to none while 
she remained unmarried. Mrs. Burns long 
after assured a female friend that she never 
gave the least encouragement to Wilson ; but, 
nevertheless, his visits occasioned some gossip, 
which soon found its way to Mauchline, and 
entered the soul of the poet like a demoniac 
possession. He now seems to have regarded 
her as lost to him for ever, and that not purely 
through the objections of her relations, but by 
her own cruel and perjured desertion of one 
whom she acknowledged as her husband. 
These particulars are requisite to make us fully 
understand much of what Burns wrote at this 
time, both in prose and verse. Long after- 
wards, he became convinced that Jean, by no 
part of her conduct with respect to Wilson, had 
given him just cause for jealousy : it is not im- 
probable that he learned in time to make it the 
subject of sport, and wrote the song, " Where 
Cart rins rowing to the sea," in jocular allusion 
to it. But for months — and it is distressing to 
think that these were the months during which 
he was putting his matchless poems for the first 
time to press — lie conceived himself the victim 
of a faithless woman, and life was to him, as 
he himself describes it, 

" a weary dream, 

The dream of ane that never wauks." Chamesss.] 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1780. 



What the Poet thought of all this we have 
abundance of testimony. Though his indig- 
nation against Mr. Armour could not but be 
high, it is to his honour that he refrained from 
giving him further pain than he had inflicted 
already : he spoke, too, of Jean, more in sorrow 
than in anger. In the first outburst of passion, 
on finding that she refused to call herself his 
wife, and had allowed her marriage lines to be 
burnt, he indulged in a sort of bitter mirth ; 
and, in a poem of great merit, and greater 
freedom of expression, sang of the vexation 
which Kyle and her maidens must feel at part- 
ing with one who could doubly soothe them 
with love-making and song. He alludes to the 
cause of his departure to the West Indies — ■ 

" He saw Misfortune's cauld nor-west, 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A Jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
So took a birth afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea." 

He speaks, too, of his way of life, and ac- 
counts for the poverty of a poet with a clear 
income of seven pounds a year ! — 

" He ne'er was gi'en to great misguiding, 
Vet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding, 

He dealt it free ! 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in, 

That's owre the sea." 

This mirthful mood did not last long ; there 
is little gaiety in his letter to David Bryce, of 
June 12th, 1786. — " I am still in the land of 
the living, though I can scarcely say in the 
place of hope. What poor ill-advised Jean 
thinks of her conduct, I don't know ; but one 
thing I do know — she has made me completely 
miserable. Never man loved, or rather adored, 
a woman more than I did her ; and, to confess 
a truth between you and me, I do still love her 
to distraction after all. My poor dear unfortu- 
nate Jean ! It is not the losing her that makes 
me so unhappy, but for her sake I feel most 
severely : I foresee she is in the road to, I am 
afraid, eternal ruin. May Almighty God forgive 
her ingratitude and perjury to me, as I from my 
very soul forgive her ; and may his grace be 
with her and bless her in all her future life ! 
I can have no nearer idea of the place of eter- 
nal punishment than what I have felt in my 
own breast on her account. I have tried often 
to forget her ; I have run into all kinds of dis- 
sipation and riots, mason-meetings, drinking- 
matches, and other mischief, to drive her out 
of my head, but all in vain. And now for a 
grand cure : the ship is on her way home that 
is to take me out to Jamaica ; and then fare- 
well, dear old Scotland ! and farewell, dear 
ungrateful Jean ! for never, never will I see 
you more." In this touching letter the Poet 
sets off his own sufferings against Jean 



Armour's shame ; and we may calculate their 
depth and acuteness from his looking on her 
as ungrateful. 

He gave vent to the same feeling in the most 
pathetic of all modern poems, "The Lament ■ 
for the unfortunate Issue of a Friend's Amour •" 
every stanza is most exquisitely mournful : — 

" No idly-feign'd poetic pains — 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft-attested Pow'rs above, 
The promis'd father's tender name — 

These were the pledges of my love !" 

The account rendered by Gilbert, which makes 
Robert consent to the destruction of the mar- 
riage lines, is at least doubtful. In truth there 
was much anguish on all sides ; and, con- 
demning the stern father as we do, we cannot 
help reverencing the feeling which sacrificed 
his daughter's peace in this world, in the belief 
that he was securing happiness for her in the 
next. That he doubted her constancy, I have 
heard affirmed by those who had an opportu- 
nity of knowing ; and, to remove temptation 
from her path, he acquiesced in the Poet's resolu- 
tion to push his fortune in Jamaica; though 
there is no foundation, perhaps, for the surmise 
that he more than tolerated the parish autho- 
rities to pursue Burns, according to law, for the 
maintenance of the promised babe, in order to 
hasten his departure. This is, nevertheless, 
countenanced by the circumstance of his ability 
to keep the child. Had he promised this, the 
Poet would not have been obliged to skulk 
"from covert to covert, under all the terrors of 
a gaol ;" and he means more than the usual 
parochial authorities, when he says — u Some 
ill-advised persons had uncoupled the merci- 
less pack of the law at my heels." 

[In this dark period, or immediately before it, 
the poet signed an instrument, in anticipation 
of his immediately leaving the kingdom, by 
which he devised all property of whatever kind 
he might leave behind, including the copyright 
of his poems, to his brother Gilbert, in consi- 
deration of the latter having undertaken to 
support his daughter Elizabeth, the issue of 
" Elizabeth Paton in Largieside." Intimation 
of this instrument was publicly made at the 
Cross of Ayr, two days after, by William Chal- 
mers, writer. If he had been upon better terms 
with the Armours, it seems unlikely that he 
would have thus devised his property without a 
respect for the claims of his offspring by Jean. 

After this we hear no more of the legal seve- 
rities of Mr. Armour — the object of which was, 
not to abridge the liberty of the unfortunate 
Burns, but to drive him away from the country, 
so as to leave Jean more effectually disengaged. 
The Poems now appeared, and probably had 
some effect in allaying the hostility of the old 



STAT. 27. 



HIS BONNIE JEAN. 



35 



man towards their author. It would at least 
appear that, at the time of Jean's accouche- 
ment, the " skulking" had ceased, and the pa- 
rents of the young woman were not so cruel 
as to forbid his seeing her. 

At this time, Blane had removed from Moss- 
giel to Mauchline, and become servant to Mr. 
Gavin Hamilton ; but Burns still remembered 
his old acquaintance. When, in consequence 
of information sent by the Armours as to Jean's 
situation, the poet came from Mossgiel to visit 
her, he called in passing at Mr. Hamilton's, and 
asked John to accompany him to the house. 
Blane went with him to Mr. Armour's, where, 
according to his recollection, the bard was re- 
ceived with all desirable civility. Jean held 
up a pretty female infant to Burns, who took 
it affectionately in his arms, and, after keeping 
it a little while, returned it to the mother, ask- 
ing the blessing of God Almighty upon her and 
her infant. He was turning away to converse 
with the other people in the room, when Jean 
said, archly, " But this is not all — here is ano- 
ther baby," and handed him a male child, 
which had been born at the same time. He was 
greatly surprised, but took that child too for a 
little while into his arms, and repeated his bles- 
sing upon it.* (This child was afterwards named 
Robert, and still lives : the girl was named 
Jean, but only lived fourteen months.) The 
mood of the melancholy poet then changed to 
the mirthful, and the scene was concluded by 
his giving the ailing lady a hearty caress, and 
rallying her on this promising beginning of her 
history as a mother. 

It would appear, from the words used by the 
poet on tlu's occasion, that he was not without 
hope of yet making good his matrimonial al- 
liance with Jean. This is rendered the more 
likely by the evidence which exists of his 
having, about this time, entertained a confident 
hope of obtaining an excise appointment, 
through his friends Hamilton and Aiken ; in 
which case he would have been able to present 
a respectable claim upon the countenance of 
the Armours. But this prospect ended in dis- 
appointment ; and there is reason to conclude 
that, in a very short time after the accouche- 
ment, he was once more forbidden to visit the 
house in which his children and all but wife 
r n sided. There was at this time a person named 
John Kennedy, who travelled the district on 
horseback as a mercantile agent, and was on 
intimate terms with Burns. One day, as he 
was passing Mossgiel, Burns stopped him, and 
made the request that he would return to 
Mauchline with a present for his " poor wife." 
Kennedy consented, and the poet hoisted upon 
the pommel of the saddle a bag filled with the 
delicacies of the farm. He proceeded to Mr. 

* [Ultimately, while Jean continued to nurse the female 
baby, the boy was transierred to the charge of the family at 



Armour's house, and requested permission to 
see Jean, as the bearer of a message and a pre- 
sent from Robert Burns. Mrs. Armour violently 
protested against his being admitted to an in- 
terview, and bestowed upon him sundry unce- 
remonious appellations for being the friend of 
such a man. She was, however, overruled in 
this instance by her husband, and Kennedy was 
permitted to enter the apartment where Jean 
was lying. He had not been there many mi- 
nutes, when he heard a rushing and screaming 
in the stair, and, immediately after, Burns 
burst into the room, followed closely by the 
Armours, who seemed to have exhausted their 
strength in endeavouring to repel his intrusion. 
Burns flew to the bed, and, putting his cheek 
to Jean's, and then in succession to those of 
the slumbering infants, wept bitterly. The Ar- 
mours, it is added by Kennedy, who has him- 
self related the circumstances, f remained un- 
affected by his distress ; but whether he was 
allowed to remain for a short time, or immedi- 
ately after expelled, is not mentioned. After 
hearing this affecting anecdote of Bums, " The 
Lament" may verily appear as arising from 

" No idly feigned poetic pains. "J] 

Amid all these miseries of mind and suffer- 
ings of body, Burns brought out that volume 
which first told the world that a new and 
mighty poet had arisen in the land. This, 
though forced from him by " the luckless star 
which ruled his lot," had been often present to 
his contemplation. He resorted to it not so 
much to gratify his love of fame, as with the 
hope that the publication would bring money 
enough to convey him over the Atlantic ; nor 
were friends wanting to aid him in this very 
moderate desire. It is to the credit of the 
personal merit of Burns, end to the honour of 
his associates, that tliey shrunk not from his 
side in the trying hour of adversity. Among 
these, Gavin Hamilton ; Bobert Aikin^ writer, 
Ayr ; John Ballantyne, banker, Ayr ; Bobert 
Muir, merchant, Kilmarnock ; and William 
Parker, merchant, Kilmarnock ; were the most 
active and conspicuous. Parker alone sub- 
scribed for thirty-five copies. There is little 
merit in discovering and befriending genius 
when Fame is sounding her trumpet, and cry- 
ing, " Behold the man whom the king delighteth 
to honour ! " but to mark talents, and aid them, 
when the possessor is struggling out of darkness 
into light, shews either great generosity or a 
fine judgment, or both. Thus supported, he was 
enabled to enter into terms with Wilson, a 
printer, in Kilmarnock. The:^fegt undertook to 
supply manuscript, walk daily into Kilmarnock 
to correct the press, and pay all the expenses 
incident to printing six hundred copies. 

Mossgiel, where poverty condemned him to be reared upon 
the milk of a young cow.] 

t [In a work 'entitled Cobbett's Magazine.] J chambeks. 

VI 



86 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1786. 



Of what passed in the mind of Burns at this 
moment, we have his own account to Moore : — 
"I weighed," said he, " my productions as im- 
partially as was in my power. I thought they 
had merit ; and it was a delicious idea that I 
should be called a clever fellow, even though 
it should never reach my ears — a poor negro- 
driver, or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable 
clime, and gone to the world of spirits. To 
know myself had been all along my constant 
study ; I weighed myself alone, I balanced 
myself with others, I watched every means of 
information, to see how much ground I occu- 
pied as a man and a poet ; I studied assiduously 
Nature's design in my formation, where the 
lights and shades in character were intended. 
J I was pretty confident my poems would meet 
i with some applause ; but, at the worst, the 
i roar of the Atlantic would deafen the voice of 
j censure, and the novelty of West Indian scenes 
make me forget neglect. I threw oif six hun- 
dred copies, having got subscriptions for about 
three hundred and fifty." " Wee Johnnie," 
the printer, the body without a soul of the 
poet's epigram, shrewdly remarked that a poem 
of a grave nature would be better for beginning 
with : Burns acted on the hint, and, in walk- 
ing between Kilmarnock and Mossgiel, com- 
posed, or rather completed, the " Twa Dogs." 
At that period, ruin had him so effectually 
in the wind, that even food became scanty ; 
a piece of oat-cake and a bottle of two-penny 
ale made his customary dinner, when correct- 
ing the first edition of his immortal works, and 
of this he was not always certain. 

In July, 1786, the poems of Burns made 
their appearance ; he introduced them with a 
preface, intimating his condition in life, and 
claiming for them the protection of his country. 
" Unacquainted with the necessary requisites 
for commencing poet by rule, he sings the senti- 
ments and manners he felt and saw, in himself 
and his rustic compeers around him, in his and 
their native language. To amuse himself with 
the little creations of his own fancy, amid the 
toils and fatigues of a laborious life ; to trans- 
cribe the various feelings, the loves, the griefs, 
the hopes, the fears in his own breast ; to find 
some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a 
world — always an alien scene — a task uncouth 
to the poetical mind — these were his motives 
for courting the muses, and in these he found 
poetry to be its own reward. ' Humility,' 
says Shenstpne, ' has depressed many a genius 
to a hermit, but never raised one to fame ! ; 
If any critic catches at the word genius, the 
author tells him, once for all, that he certainly 
looks upon himself as possessed of some poetic 
abilities ■ otherwise his publishing, in the man- 
ner he has done, would be a manoeuvre below 
the worst character, which he hopes his worst 
enemy will ever give him." The heart-warm 
welcome which his poems received in his own 



district, fulfilled the hopes of the Poet ; all read 
who could obtain the book, and all who read 
applauded ; even the children of the Old Light 
admitted that he was a wondrous rhymer to 
be a profane person. The whole impression 
was soon disposed of; the fears of " Wee John- 
nie," the printer, anent remuneration, were al- 
layed, and twenty pounds and odd remained 
in the pockets of the wondering bard, after 
defraying all expenses. The first use he made 
of his good fortune was to renew his appli- 
cation for a situation in the West Indies, and 
lay aside a sum sufficient to waft him over the 
sea. With the desire of keeping such a genius 
at home, his steadfast friends, Hamilton and 
Aiken, again sought to obtain him an appoint- 
ment in the excise — an evil which awaited him 
on a later day. 

With some, the rising of this western star in 
poetry was looked for ; his poems in manu- 
script had been widely circulated in Ayr-shire, 
but to Scotland at large his appearance was 
unexpected ; and had a July sun risen on a 
December morning, the unwonted light could 
not have given greater surprise. The fame of 
the bard of Mauchline flew east, west, north, 
and south. A love of poetry belongs as much 
to the humble classes of the north as to the 
high ; and to people who had much of Ram- 
say and Fergusson by heart, the more lofty and 
passionate poetry of Burns could not fail to be 
welcome. The milkmaid sung his songs, the 
ploughmen and shepherds repeated his poems, 
while the old and the sagacious quoted his 
verses in conversation, glad to find that mat- 
ters of fancy might be made useful. My* 
father, who was fond of poetry, procured the 
volume from a Cameronian clergyman, with 
this remarkable admonition, " Keep it out of 
the way of your children, John, lest ye catch 
them, as I caught mine, reading it on the sab- 
bath." 

" It is hardly possible," says Heron, " to ex- 
press with what eager admiration and delight the 
poems were everywhere received. They emi- 
nently possessed all those qualities which can 
contribute to render any literary work quickly 
and permanently popular. They were written 
in a phraseology, of which all the powers 
were universally felt ; and which being at 
once antique, familiar, and now rarely written, 
was hence fitted to serve all the dignified and 
picturesque uses of poetry, without making 
it unintelligible. The imagery, the sentiments, 
were at once faithfully natural, and irresistibly 
impressive and interesting. Those topics of 
satire and scandal in which the rustic delights, 
that humorous delineation of character, and 
that witty association of ideas, familiar and 
striking, yet not naturally allied to one ano- 
ther, which has force to shake his sides with 
laughter ; those fancies of superstition at which 
he still wonders and trembles ; those affecting 



HIS POEMS — MRS. DUNLOP. 



37 



sentiments and images of true religion, which 
are at once dear and awful to his heart, were 
represented by Burns with all a poet's magic 
power. Old and young, high and low, grave 
and gay, learned or ignorant, all were alike 
delighted, agitated, and transported." 

To many copies of his works the Poet added 
other attractions : he caused blank leaves to be 
inserted, on which he wrote such favourite 
sallies of love or humour as he had refrained 
from printing ; or, more solicitous still to please, 
inscribed neat and complimentary lines, ad- 
dressed to those who, by their taste and station, 
might either feel his merit, or be disposed to 
patronise him. Of those whom he sought to 
propitiate, one of the most eminent was Dugald 
Stewart: during the summer months that the 
professor and his first lady lived at Catrine, 
Burns was sometimes their guest ; and much as 
they were pleased with his verses, they were still 
more so with his conversation, which was unaf- 
fected and manly. Daring one of his visits he 
was introduced to Lord Daer, and as this seems 
to have been the first time he had met a lord, 
he recorded the event in rhymes equally vi- 
gorous and untranslateable ; his emotions are 
described as no one but himself could have 
described them : — 

"But oh! for Hogarth's matchless power! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r, 

An' how he star'd an' stammer'd, 
When goavan, as if led wi' branks, 
An' stumpan on his ploughman shanks, 
He in the parlour hammer'd." 

His poems touched the gentlest hearts. Mrs. 
Stewart, of Stair, a lady accomplished as well 
as kind, was one of the first to admire them, 
and to renew her acquaintance with the author ; 
neither her kindness, nor that of the Stewarts 
of Catrine, were forgotten. Upon the robe of 
Ooila he depicted perhaps too many compli- 
mentary things: in the " Brigs of Ayr" he is 
more select: — ■ 

" Next followed Courage, with his martial stride, 
From where the Feal wild- woody coverts hide ; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair ; 
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode." 

Nor did Burns think this enough : the woods 
of Catrine are mentioned in one or more of his 
succeeding songs, and the Lady of the Towers 
of Stair is remembered, in a lyric of no common 
beauty. He imagines himself straying on the 
banks of Afton Water, and perceives the 
heroine asleep among the flowers on its side. 
He then addresses the stream, and promises to 
sing a song to its honour if it will flow softly, 
nor disturb the repose of one so sweet and beau- 
tiful. The lady understood the forward waj^s 
of the muse, and smiled. Mrs. Scott, of Wau- 
chope-house, a painter and poetess, in a rhym- 



ing letter of considerable ease and gaiety, 
intimated her admiration of the " Cantie, witty, 
rhyming ploughman." In his answer Burns 
alludes to his aspirations, when " beardless, 
young, and blate," with great felicity : — 

" Even then a wish, I mind its power, 
A wish, that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast 
That I, for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
Some useful plan or book could make, 

Or sing a sang at least." 

But the friendship which the various biogra- 
phers of Burns seem to be most solicitous about 
is that of Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop. That lady, 
the daughter of Sir Thomas Wallace, of Craigie, 
was proud of her descent from the race of El- 
derslie, and proud of her acquirements, which 
were considerable. Nor should we leave un- 
mentioned that she had some talent for rhyme. 
She had been ailing, and the first advantage 
which she took of returning health was to read 
the poems of the Ayr-shire ploughman. She 
was struck with the beauty, natural and reli- 
gious, of the " Cotter's Saturday Night." — 
" The Poet's description of the simple cot- 
tagers," she told Gilbert Burns, " operated on 
her mind like the charm of a powerful exorcist, 
impelling the demon ennui, and restoring her 
to her wonted harmony and satisfaction." An 
express, sent sixteen miles, for half-a-dozen 
copies of the book, and an invitation to Dun- 
lop-house, attested her sincerity. Nor was the 
Poet less sincere in his answer — he admired her 
illustrious ancestor. — " In my boyish days," he 
observes, " I remember, in particular, being 
struck with that part of Wallace's story where 
these lines occur : — • 

" Syne to the Leglen wood when it was late, 
To make a silent and a safe retreat." 

I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day 
my line of life allowed, and walked half-a- 
dozen miles to pay my respects to the Leglen 
wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as ever 
pilgrim did to Loretto ; and, as I explored every 
den and dell where I could suppose my heroic 
countryman to have lodged, I recollect — for 
even then I was a rhymer — that my heart 
glowed with a wish to be able to make a song 
on him in some measure equal to his merits." 
All this was in unison with the feelings of the 
lady as well as with his own. From this period 
we must date a friendship which did not close 
with the Poet's life, and to which we owe many 
of his most dignified and happy letters. 

But the notice of lords, the attention of pro- 
fessors, and the kindness of beauty, were empty, 
though honourable, things ; the twenty pounds, 
which his speculation in verse brought, dimin- 
ished rather than increased, and he felt, with a 
darkening spirit, that he could not live on ap- 
plause. It never seems to have occurred to any 
one of his wealthy admirers that he was in a 



88 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



178(5. 



state of destitution, and that many places of 
profit existed which he could fill with honour. 
He who is invited to feast, at a distance, with the 
powerful and the polite — who has to walk seven 
miles of rough road to the dinner -table — is ex- 
pected to write songs on the beautiful — be witty 
with the witty, and at midnight return to his 
blanket and his straw, must be considered as 
having earned his dinner fairly — and this hap- 
pened often to Burns. All that his poetry 
brought him was barren applause ; and when 
he consulted "Wee Johnnie" about publishing 
a second edition, the printer demurred, which 
so incensed the Poet that he would not speak 
again on the subject, and refused the generous 
offers of several of his first and best friends, to 
subscribe for copies enow to secure Wilson 
against loss. He now looked seriously to the 
West Indies, procured the situation of overseer 
on an estate in Jamaica, belonging to Dr. 
Douglas, and prepared for departure. Of this 
all his friends seem to have been aware, but no 
one interposed. It was now the middle of No- 
vember, and the sound which his poems had 
raised in the country began to die away. 

There was still one family of influence in the 
district to whom Burns had not been intro- 
duced ; and as no one had tried to do this for 
him, he now resolved to do it for himself. In 
the preceding July, it seems, he had accidentally 
met Miss Alexander, of Ballochmyle, a young 
lady of great beauty, among her native woods 
on the banks of Ayr. How the river banks 
looked in those days I know not, but the bard 
instantly clothed them with flowers, gave odor- 
ous dews to the grass, a richer incense to the 
fields of beans, a sweeter song to the thrush, 
and a brighter sunshine to the tree-tops ; and 
into this natural shrine introduced his new ob- 
ject of adoration, under the name of " The Lass 
of Ballochmyle." Neither elegance of thought 
nor of expression were wanting to render the 
compliment acceptable : — 

" With careless step I onward stray 'd 

My heart rejoic'cl in nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper' d, passing by, 

* Behold the lass of Ballochmyle !'" 

As he proceeds with his song, the Bard re- 
collects that loveliness is sent into the world for 
other purposes than to be gazed at, and ex- 
claims, much to the distress of gentle critics and 
fastidious spinsters — who looked, it seems, for a 
display of chivalry instead of nature : — 

" O! had she been a country maid, 
And I the happy country swain, 



* [The exact or direct purpose of this letter has been dis- 
guised wilfully, or mistakingly, by Dr. Currie, in consequence 
of the omission of a concluding sentence, in which the Poet 



Tho' shelter' d in the lowest shed 
That ever rose on Scotland's plain, 

Thro' weary winter's wind and rain, 
With joy, with rapture, I would toil, 

And nightly to my bosom strain 
The bonny lass of Ballochmyle." 

He copied this fine lyric out in a fair hand, and 
sent it to Miss Alexander, accompanied by a 
letter, the composition of which, it is said, cost 
him more labour than the song. It has not, 
however, all the happy ease of the verse. Of 
the song he says : — " The scenery was nearly 
taken from real life, though I dare say, madam, 
you do not recollect it, as I believe you scarcely 
noticed the poetic reveur as he wandered by 
you. I had roved out as chance directed, in 
the favourite haunts of my muse on the banks 
of Ayr, to view nature in all the gaiety of the 
vernal year. The evening sun was flaming 
over the distant western hills ; not a breath 
stirred the crimson opening blossom or the ver- 
dant spreading leaf. It was a golden moment 
for a poetic heart. I listened to the feathered 
warblers pouring their harmony on every hand 
with a congenial kindred regard, and frequently 
turned out of my way, lest I should disturb 
their little songs, or frighten them to another 
station. Such was the scene and such the hour, 
when in a corner of my prospect I spied one of 
the fairest pieces of Nature's workmanship that 
ever crowned a poetic landscape or met a poet's 
eye, those visionary bards excepted who hold 
converse with aerial beings. Had Calumny 
and Villany taken my walk, they had at that 
moment sworn eternal peace with such an ob- 
ject. What an hour of inspiration for a poet ! 
it would have raised plain dull historic prose 
into metaphor and measure. The enclosed song 
was the work of my return home ; and, per- 
haps, it but poorly answers what might have 
been expected from such a scene."* 

What the lady thought of the song we are 
not told — what Burns thought of her silence he 
has informed us. She paid no attention to his 
effusions, and wounded his self-love by her un- 
gracious neglect. Currie and Lockhart have 
united in defending the " Lass of Ballochmyle." 
" Her modesty," says the first, " might prevent 
her from perceiving that the muse of Tibullus 
breathed in this nameless poet, and that her 
beauty was awakening strains destined to im- 
mortality on the banks of the Ayr. Burns was 
at that time little known, and, where known at 
all, noted rather for the wild strength of his 
humour than for those strains of tenderness in 
which he afterwards so much excelled. To the 
lady herself, his name, perhaps, had never been 
mentioned." — " His verses," says the latter, 
" written in commemoration of that passing 
glimpse of her beauty, are conceived in a strain 

requested Miss Alexander's permission to print the verses in 
the second edition of his poems. This was an object to 
which the Poet attached some importance. Wilson.] 



2ETAT. 27. 



DR. BLACKLOCK. 



of luxurious fervour, which, certainty, coming 
from a man of Burns' station and character, 
must have sounded very strangely in a delicate 
maiden's ear." These remarks might have been 
spared ; the man and his poems were well known 
to all in the west country long before the 18th 
of November, 1786 : we must not suppose Miss 
Alexander more fastidious and difficult to please, 
than Mrs. Stewart of Catrine, Mrs. Stewart of 
Stair, or Mrs. Dunlop, with whom he was 
living on terms of friendship before that time. 
He who had written and published " Man was 
made to mourn," " The Daisy," " The Mouse," 
and " The Cotter's Saturday Night," was 
known for more than the wild strength of his 
humour ; nor can we imagine that any lady of 
education could feel much alarm at the fervour 
of the song : Miss Alexander knew that poetry 
and love are brothers, and that the latter ac- 
knowledges no other merit than what is per- 
sonal. The Poet chose, rather than " raise 
a mortal to the skies," to " bring an angel 
down." The heroine lived till lately — but 
she lived to think the honours of the muse 
the highest that could be conferred on her; 
the song, elegantly framed, was hung in her 
chamber, and was carried with her wherever 
she travelled. 

This was the last of his efforts to obtain 
notice in his native district. He now wrote to 
his friends, Hamilton and Aiken, saying, he 
was afraid that his follies would prevent him 
from enjoying a situation in the Excise, even if 
it could be procured ; he was pining in secret 
wretchedness ; disappointment, pride, and re- 
morse were settling on his vitals like vultures, 
and in an hour of social mirth his gaiety was 
the madness of an intoxicated criminal, under 
the hands of the executioner. — " All these rea- 
sons," he says, " urge me to go abroad, and to 
all these reasons I have only one answer — the 
feelings of a father. This, in the present mood 
I am in, overbalances everything that can be 
laid in the scale against it." He wrote in the 
same strain to others. This was on the 19th of 
November ; on the 20th he enclosed a copy of 
"Holy Willie's Prayer" to his comrades, 
Chalmers and M^Adam, desiring it might be 
burnt, as a thing abominable and wicked, at 
the Cross of Ayr ; and on the twenty-second, 
he wrote, as he imagined, the last song he was 
to measure in Caledonia : — 

" The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast. 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, — 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr." 

It was well for the world, and, perhaps, 
unfortunate for Burns, that, when he had 



bid farewell to his friends, put his chest on 
the way to Greenock, and was about to follow, 
a letter from Dr. Blacklock overthrew all 
his schemes. The way this came about has 
something in it of the romantic. Laurie, 
minister of Loudon, a kind and steadfast friend, 
sent a copy of the poems to his friend Dr. 
Blacklock, a middling poet, but a most wor- 
thy man, with unbounded kindness of nature 
and generosity of soul. Blacklock was blind, 
and, as he could not read for himself, an 
almost fatal delay took place : the ship was 
unmooring, and the Poet on the wing, when 
his opinion of the poems, and the steps which 
he advised the author to take, reached the 
hands of Laurie. The letter was instantly for- 
warded to Burns, who read it with surprise 
not unmingled with tears. The blind bard Mas 
none of your cold formal men who give guarded 
opinions — he said what he felt; and, as his 
heart was in the right place, spoke out with 
a warmth and an ecstasy new in the province 
of criticism : 

" Many instances have I seen,'' he says, "of 
nature's force or beneficence exerted under nu- 
merous and formidable disadvantages; but none 
equal to that with which you have been kind 
enough to present me. There is a pathos and 
delicacy in his serious poems, a vein of wit and 
humour in those of a more festive turn, which 
cannot be too much admired nor too warmly 
approved : and I think I shall never open the 
book without feeling my astonishment renewed 
and increased. It has been told me, by a gen- 
tleman to whom I showed the performances, 
and who sought a copy with diligence and ar- 
dour, that the whole impression is already ex- 
hausted. It were, therefore, much to be wished, 
for the sake of the young man, that a second 
edition, more numerous than the former, could 
immediately be printed ; as it appears certain 
that its intrinsic merit, and the exertions of the 
author's friends, might give it a more uni- 
versal circulation than anything of the kind 
which has been published in my memory." — 
"This encouragement," says Burns, "fired me 
so much, that away I posted to Edinburgh, 
without a single acquaintance or a single letter 
of introduction. The baneful star that had so 
long shed its blasting influence on my zenith ' 
for once made a revolution to the nadir ; 
and a kind Providence placed me under the 
patronage of one of the noblest of men, the 
Earl of Glencairn. That he was personally 
unknown to any one of influence in Edin- 
burgh, save Dugald Stewart, and that he 
took letters of introduction to no one, is per- 
fectly true. Pride had something to do in 
this. He had begun to feel that a warm 
dinner and a kind word were to be his chief 
portion in Kyle ; and the silence of one, and 
the coldness of another, stung him, it is said, 
deeper than he was willing to allow. Lie de- 



40 



LIFE OF BUKNS. 



1787, 



termined to owe his future fortune, whatever it 
might be, to no one around ; he turned his face 
to Arthur's Seat, and sung with much buoy- 
ancy of heart, as he went, a sootlung snatch of 
an old ballad : — ■ 

" As I came in by Glenap, 

I met with an aged woman, 
She bade me cheer up my heart, 
For the best of my days was coming." 



PART II.— EDINBURGH. 

The first appearance of Burns in Edinburgh 
was humble enough. The money, reserved to 
waft him to the "West Indies, had been laid out 
on clothes for this new expedition, or on the 
family at Mossgiel ; and, having little in his 
pocket, he found his way to his friend Rich- 
mond, a writer's apprentice, and accepted the 
offer of a share of his room and bed, in the 
house of a Mrs. Carfrae, Baxter's-close, Lawn- 
market. Though he had taken a stride from 
the farrowed field into the land of poetry, and 
abandoned the plough for the harp, beseemed 
for some days to feel, as in curlier life, unfitted 
with an aim, and wandered about, looking 
down from Arthur's Seat, surveying the palace, 
gazing at the castle, <>r contemplating the win- 
dows of the booksellers' shops, where he snv 

all works, save the Poems of ihe Ayr-shire 

Ploughman. He found his way to the lowly 
grave of Fergusson, ami, kneeling down, kissed 
the sod : he sought out the house of Allan Ram- 
say, and, on entering ir, took off his hat ; ami. 
wnen he was afterwards introduced to Creech, 
the bibliopole remembered that he had before 
beard him inquiring if this had been the shop 
of the author of " The Gentle Shepherd." In 
one of these excursions he happened to meet 
with an Ayr-shire friend, Mr. Dalrymple, of 
Orangefield ; others say Mr. Dalzell — and some 
say both— by whom he was introduced to James 
Karl of Glencairn, who took him by the hand, 
and with small persuasion prevailed on Creech 
to become the publisher of the contemplated 
edition, on terms favourable to Burns. The 
Poet stipulated to receive one hundred pounds 
for the copyright of one edition, with the profits 
of the subscription copies. A prospectus was 
drawn out, a vast number printed and circulated 
over the island, and subscriptions came pouring 
in with a rapidity unknown in the history of 
Scottish genius. 

It is honourable to the patricians of the north 
that they welcomed the Poet with much cor- 
diality, and subscribed largely ; it is honourable 
to the stately literati of Edinburgh that they 
not only received their rustic brother gladly in- 
to their ranks, but spoke everywhere of his fine 
genius with undissembled rapture, and intro- 
duced him wherever introductions were benefi- 
cial: but it is still more honourable to the 



husbandmen, the shepherds, and the mechanics 
of Scotland, that, though wages were small, and 
money scarce, they subscribed for copies in 
fifties and in hundreds, and thus extended the 
patronage always the most welcome, since it 
implies admiration. Of the noblemen, the most 
active was the Earl of Glencairn : through his 
influence the association called the Caledonian 
Hunt, consisting of the chiefs of the northern 
aristocracy, consented to accept the dedication 
of the new edition, and to subscribe individu- 
ally for copies : the gentlemen, too, of the 
west, proud that their district, long unproduc- 
tive in high genius, had ceased to be barren, 
vied with each other in promoting the interest 
of the Bard of Kyle ; while Blair, Robertson, 
Blacklock, Smith, Fergusson, Stewart, Mac- 
kenzie, Tytlcr, and Lords Craig and Monboddo 
— all men distinguished in the world of letters, 
lent their still more effectual aid ; nay, some 
of them carried the subscription-lists in their 
pockets, and obtained names through all their 
wide range of acquaintance. 

Burns arrived in Edinburgh at the close of 
November, 17H(>; and before, a? he poetically 
said, the cry of the cuckoo was heard, no less 
than two thousand eight hundred and odd copies 
were subscribed for by fifteen hundred and odd 
subscribers. His genius was already felt by 
high and low — lettered and unlettered. The 
Caledonian Hunt took one hundred copies; 
( reech took five hundred ; the Earl of Eglin- 
ton, forty-two ; the Duchess of Gordon, twen- 
ty-one ; the Earl of Glencairn and his Countess, 
twenty-four; the Scots College at Valladolid, 
the Scots College at Douay, the Scots College 
at Paris, the Scots Benedictine Monastery at 
Ratisbon, severally took copies; Campbell, of 
Clathick, subscribed for twelve; Douglas, of 
Cavers, for eight ; Dalrymple, of Orangefield, 
for ten ; Dunlop, of Dunlop, for six; Sir Wil- 
liam Forbes, of Pitsligo, for eight ; Lord Gra- 
ham, for twelve ; Gray, of Gartcraig, for six ; 
Sir James Hunter Blair, for eight ; Hamilton, 
of Argyle-square, Edinburgh, for eight. Sub- 
scriptions for four copies are very numerous: 
one-half, however of the list, is composed of 
humble names ; nor should the weavers of the 
west be forgotten. The sons of the shuttle went 
not more willingly from Kilmarnock to Mauch- 
line Holy Fair, than they poured in their names 
for their Poet's works. 

Of the manners and appearance of Burns in 
Edinburgh much has been written and said ; 
every step which he took to the right or to the 
left has been noted ; the company which he 
kept has afforded matter for philosophic specu- 
lation, and his sayings and doings have found a 
place in the memoranda of the learned, and in 
the memories of the polite. Even when weighed 
in the balance of acquired taste and artificial 
manners, the Poet was scarcely found wanting : 
he was come of a class who think strongly, 



JET AT. 28. 



EDINBURGH. — DUGALD STEWART. 



41 



speak freely, and act as they think. The na- 
tural good manners, which belong to genius, 
were his; but, accustomed to hold argument 
with his rustic compeers, and to vanquish them 
more by rough vigour, than by delicate persua- 
sion, he had some difficulty in schooling down 
his impetuous spirit, into the charmed circle of 

conventional politeness. That he sometimes 
observed and sometimes neglected this, is 
natural enough : the fervid impatience of his 
temper hurried him into the van, at times when 

his post was in the rear. He had too little 
tolerance for the stately weak and the learnedly 
dull: and, holding the patent of his own 
honours immediately from God, he scarcely 
could he brought to pay homage to honours 
arising from humbler sources. 

But if he refused to be tame in the society of 
the titled and the learned, he was another being 
in the company of the fair and the lovely. 1 1 is 
poetry at first sprang from love ; and, though 
ambition now claimed its share, the softness 
ami amenity of the purer passion triumphed, 
and with the lovely he was all pathos and per- 
suasion, gaiety and grace. Mis look changed, 
his eye beamed milder, all that was stern or 
contradictory in his nature vanished when he 
heard the rustle of approaching silks : charmed 
himself by beauty, he charmed beauty in his 
turn. In large companies, the loveliness of the 
north formed a circle round where he sat; and, 
with the feathers of duchesses and ladies of high 
degree fanning his brow, he was all gentleness 
and attention. The Duchess of Gordon said 
that Burns, in his address to ladies, was ex- 
tremely deferential, and always with a turn to 
the pathetic or the humorous, which won their 
attention : and added, with much naivety that 
she never met with a man whose conversation 
carried her so completely off her feet. He who 
was often intractable and fierce, in the presence 
of man, grew soft and submissive in the com- 
pany of woman : this was neither unobserved 
nor unrewarded. When, in his later days, many 
men looked on the setting of the star of Burns 
with unconcern or coldness, the fair and the 
lovely neither slackened in their admiration 
nor their friendship. 

[Dugald Stewart has given us the following 
account of the manners, character, and conduct 
of Burns at this period: — " The first time I saw 
Robert Burns was on the 23d of October, 1786, 
when he dined at my house in Ayr-shire, toge- 
ther with our common friend Mr. John Mac- 
kenzie, surgeon, in Mauchline, to whom I am 
indebted for the pleasure of his acquaintance. 
I am enabled to mention the date particularly, 
by some verses which Burns wrote after he 
returned home, and in which the day of our 
meeting is recorded. I cannot positively say, 
at this distance of time, wmether, at the period 
of our first acquaintance, the Kilmarnock edi- 
tion of his poems had been just published, or 



was yet in the press. I suspect that the latter 
was the ease, as 1 have still in my possession 
copies, in liis own hand-writing, of some of 
his favourite performances; particularly of his 
verses ' On turning up a Mouse with his Plough/ 
'On the Mountain Daisy,' and ' The Lament/ 
On my return to Edinburgh, I shewed the 
volume, and mentioned what I knew of the 
author's history to several of my friends, and, 
among others, to Mr. Henry -Mackenzie, who 
first recommended him to public notice, in the 
ninety-seventh number of ' The Lounger.' At 
this time Burns's prospects in life were so 
extremely gloomy that he had seriously formed 
a plan of going out to .Jamaica in a very hum- 
ble situation — not, however, without lamenting 
that his want of patronage should force him to 
think of a project so repugnant to his feelings, 

when his ambition aimed at no higher an ob- 
ject than the station of an exciseman or gaugei 
in his own country. He came," says the Pro- 
fessor, 'Mo Edinburgh early in the winter: 
the attentions which he received during his 

Stay in town, from all ranks and descriptions 

of persons, were Mich a> would have turned any 
head but his own. I cannot, say that I could 
perceive any unfavourable effect which they 
left on his mind. lie retained tin; same sim- 
plicity of manners and appearance, which had 
struck me so forcibly, when I first saw him in 
the country : nor did he seem to feel any addi- 
tional seli-importance from the number and 
rank of his new acquaintance. His dress was 
perfectly suited to his station — plain and un- 
pretending, with sufficient attention to neatness. 
If I recollect right, he always wore boots ; and, 
when on more than usual ceremony, buck-skin 
breeches. His manners were then, as they 
continued ever afterwards, simple, manly, and 
independent ; strongly expressive of conscious 
genius and worth, but without anything that 
indicated forwardness, arrogance, or vanity. 
He took his share in conversation, but not more 
than belonged to him ; and listened with appa- 
rent attention and deference, on subjects, where 
his want of education deprived him of the 
means of information. If there had been a 
little more of gentleness and accommodation in 
his temper, he would, I think, have been still 
more interesting ; but he had been accustomed 
to give law in the circle of his ordinary ac- 
quaintance, and his dread of anything approach- 
ing to meanness, or servility, rendered his 
manner somewhat decided and hard. Nothing, 
perhaps, was more remarkable among his vari- 
ous attainments than the fluency, and precision, 
and originality of his language, when he spoke 
in company : more particularly as lie aimed at 
purity in his turn of expression, and avoided, 
more successfully than most Scotchmen, the 
peculiarities of Scottish phraseology. 

" In the course of the spring (1787), he called 
on me once or twice, at my request, early in the 



1-2 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



morning, and walked with me to Braid Hills, 
in the neighbourhood of the town, where he 
charmed me still more by his private conversa- 
tion, than he had ever done in company. He 
was passionately fond of the beauties of nature ; 
and I recollect he once told me, when I was 
admiring a distant prospect in one of our morn- 
ing walks, that the sight of so many smoking 
cottages gave a pleasure to his mi ml, which 
none could understand who had not witnessed, 
like himself, the happiness and worth which 
they contained. In his political principles he 
was then a Jacobite; which was, perhaps, owing 
partly to this, that his father was originally 
from' the estate of Lord Mareschall. Indeed 
he did not appear to have thought much on 
such subjects, nor very consistently. He had a 
very >trong sense of religion, and expressed 
deep regret at the levity with which he had 
heard it treated occasionally in some convivial 
meetings which he frequented. I speak of him 
as he was in the winter of 17N6-7; for after- 
wards we met but seldom, and our conversa- 
tions turned chiefly on bis literary projects, or 
bis private affairs. I do not recollect whether 
it appears or not from any of your letters to me 
that you had ever seen Burns." If you have, 
it is superfluous tor me to add that the idea 
his conversation conveyed of the powers of his 
mind, exceeded, if possible, that which is sug- 
gested by his w ritings. Among the poets \\ horn 
1 have happened to know, I have been struck, 
in more than one instance, with the unaccount- 
able disparity between their genera] talents, 
and. the occasional inspirations of their more 
favoured moments. Hut all the faculties of 
Burns' mind were, a- far as I could judge, 
equally vigorous; and his predilection for poetry 
was nither the result of his own enthusiastic and 
impassioned temper, than of a genius exclusively 
adapted to that species of composition. From 
his conversation, 1 should have pronounced him 
to be fitted to excel in whatever walk of ambi- 
tion he had chosen to exert his abilities. Among 
the subjects on which be was accustomed to 
dwell, the characters of the individuals with 
whom he happened to meet was plainly a fa- 
vourite one. The remarks he made on them 
were always shrewd and pointed, though fre- 
quently inclining too much to sarcasm. His 
praise of those he loved was sometimes indis- 
criminate and extravagant ; but this, I suspect, 
proceeded rather from the caprice and humour 
of the moment than from the effects of attach- 
ment in blinding his judgment. His wit was 
ready, and always impressed with the marks of 
a vigorous understanding ; but to my taste, not 
often pleasing or happy. 

" Notwithstanding various reports I heard, 
during the preceding winter, of Burns' predi- 
lection for convivial, and not very select, society, 

I* Dr. Currie had seen and conversed with Burns.] 



I should have concluded in favour of his habits of 
sobriety, from all of him that ever fell under my 
own observation. He told me, indeed, himself, 
that the weakness of his stomach was such as to 
deprive him of any merit in his temperance. I 
was, however, somewhat alarmed about the ef- 
fect of his now comparatively sedentary and 
luxurious life, when he confessed to me the first 
night he spent in my house, after bis winter's 
campaign in town, that he had been much dis- 
turbed when in bed by a palpitation at his 
heart, which, he said, was a complaint to which 
he had of late become subject." 

The remainder of the learned Professor's com- 
munication to Dr. Currie is too valuable to be 
omitted here 1 "In the summer, 1787, I passed 
some weeks in Ayr-shire, and saw Burns occa- 
sionally I think that he made a pretty long 
excursion that season to the Highlands, and 
that he also visited, what Beatty calls, the Ar- 
cadean ground of the Tiviot and the Tweed. 
In the course of the same season I was led by 
curiosity to attend for an hour or two a Mason- 
Lodge in Mauchline, where Burns presided. He 
had occasion to make some short unpremeditated 
compliments to different individuals from whom 
he had no reason to expect a visit, and every- 
thing he said was happily conceived, and for- 
cibly, as well as fluently, expressed. If I am 
not mi-taken, he told me that, in that village, 
before going to Edinburgh, he had belonged lo 
a -mall (dub of such of the inhabitants as had a 
taste for book-. > ' . ,1 they used to converse and 
debate on any interesting questions that oc- 
curred to them in the course of their reading. 
His manner of speaking in public had evi- 
dently the marks of some practice in extempore 
elocution. 

" I must not omit to mention, what I have 
always considered as characteristical in a high 
degree of true genius, the extreme facility and 
good-nature of his taste in judging of the com- 
positions of others, where there was any real 
ground for praise. I repeated to him many 
passages of English poetry with which he was 
unacquainted, and have more than once wit- 
nessed the tears of admiration and rapture with 
which he heard them. The collection of songs 
by Dr. Aiken, which I first put into his hands, 
he read with unmixed delight, notwithstanding 
his former efforts in that very difficult species of 
writing ; and I have little doubt that it had 
some effect in polishing his subsequent compo- 
sitions. 

"In judging of prose, I do not think his 
taste was equally sound. I once read to him a 
passage or two in Franklin's Works which I 
thought very happily executed, upon the model 
of Addison ; but he did not appear to relish or 
to perceive the beauty which they derived from 
their exquisite simplicity, and spoke of them 
with indifference, when compared witn the 
point, and antithesis, and quaintness of Junius. 



MTAT. 28. 



EDI N HI RG H.~ PROFESSOR WALKER. 



43 



Tin' influence of this taste is very perceptible in 
his own prose compositions, although their great 
and various excellencies render some of them 
Bcarceh less obj< cts of wonder than his poetical 
performances. The late \h-. Robertson used to 
:. considering bis education, the former 
seemed to him the more extraordinary of the 
two, 

u His memory was uncommonly retentive, at 
least for poetry, of which he recited to me fre- 
quently long compositions with the most minute 

accuracy. They were chiefly ballads, and Other 

pieces in our Scottish dialect ; great part of 

them (he told me) he hud learned in his child- 
hood, from his mother, who delighted in such 
recitations, ami whose poetical taste, rude as it 
probably was, gave, it is presumable, the first 
direction to her son's genius. 

"Of the more polished verses which acci- 
dentally fell into his hand- in his earl\ years, 
he mentioned particularly the recommendatory 
poems, by different authors, prefixed to'Her- 
\<-\*s Meditations ;'— a hook which ha- always 
had a very wide circulation among such of the 
country-people of Scotland ;h affect to unite 
some degree of taste with their religious studies. 
.And these poems (although they are certainly 
below mediocrity) he continued to read with a 
degree ofraptu i beyond expression. Jle took 
notice of this fact himself, as a proof how much 
the taste is liable to be influenced by accidental 
circumstances. 

" His lather appeared to me, from the account 
he gave of him, to have been a respectable and 
worthy character, possessed of a mind superior 
to what might have been expected from his sta- 
tion in life. He ascribed much of his own prin- 
ciples and feelings to the early impressions he 
had received from his instructions and example. 
I recollect that he once applied to him (and he 
added that the passage was a literal statement 
of fact) the two last lines of the following pas- 
sage in the ' Minstrel.' the whole of which he 
repeated with great enthusiasm : — 

" Shall 1 be left forgotten in the dust, 

When fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ; 
Shall nature's voice, to man alone unjust, 

Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live ? 
Is it for this fair virtue oft must strive 

With disappointment, penury, and pain ? 
No! Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive ; 

And man's majesric beauty bloom again, 
Bright through th' eternal year of love's triumphant 
reign." 

" "With respect to Burns' early education I 
cannot say anything with certainty. He al- 
ways spoke with respect and gratitude of the 
schoolmaster who had taught him to read En- 
glish ; and who, finding in his scholar a more 
than ordinary ardour for knowledge, had been 
at pains to instruct him in the grammatical prin- 
ciples of the language. He began the study of 
Latin, but dropped it before he had finished, the 



verbs. I have sometimes heard him quote a 
few Latin words, Buch as omnia vincit amor, 
&c., but they seemed to be such as he had caught 
from conversation, and which he repeated by 

rote. 1 think he had a project, after he came 

to Edinburgh, of prosecuting the study under 

his intimate friend, the late Mr. Nicol, one of 

the masters of the grammar-school here; but 1 
do not know that he ever proceeded BO far as to 

make the attempt. He certainly possessed a 
smattering of French ; and, if he had an affec- 
tation in anything, ii was in introducing occa- 
sionally a word <r phrase from that language. 
If is possible that his knowledge in this respect 

might be more extensive than I suppose it to 
be; but this you can learn from his more inti- 
mate acquaintance. It would be worth while to 
enquire whether he was able to read the French 
authors with such facility as to receive from 
them any improvement to his taste. For my 

own part I doubt it much, nor would I believe 

it but on very Strong and pointed evidence. If 
m\ memory does not tail me, he was well-in- 
structed in arithmetic, and knew something of 

practical geometry, particularly of surveying. 

All his other attainment- were entirely his own. 
The last time L saw him was during the winter, 
1789-90, when he passed an evening with me 
at Drumseugh, in the neighbourhood, of Edin- 
burgh, where I was then living. My friend 
Mr. Alison was the only other person in com- 
pany. I never saw him more agreeable nor 
interesting."] 

Nor is the testimony of Professor Walker less 
decided ; for him, a- well a- for Hums, Doon 
had poured all her floods — the rising sun had 
glinted gloriously over G-alston Moors, and snow 
had lain untrodden on the hills of Ochiltree: 
he was a native of Kyle, and interested in all 
that added to its renown. " In conversation 
Burns was powerful : his conceptions and ex- 
pressions were of corresponding vigour, and on 
all subjects were as remote as possible from 
common-place. Though somewhat authorita- 
tive, it was in a way that gave little offence, 
and was readily imputed to his inexperience in 
those modes of smoothing dissent, and softening 
assertion, which are important characteristics of 
polished manners. After breakfast, I requested 
him to communicate some of his unpublished 
pieces, and he recited his farewell song to the 
Banks of Ayr, introducing it with a description 
of the circumstances in which it was composed, 
more striking than the poem itself. He had 
left Dr. Laurie's family, and on his way home 
had to cross a wide stretch of solitary moor. 
His mind was strongly affected by parting for 
ever with a scene where he had tasted so much 
elegant and social pleasure. The aspect of 
nature harmt nized with his feelings — it was a 
lowering and heavy evening ; the wind was up, 
and whistled through the rushes and long spear- 
grass, which bent before it ; the clouds were 



= 



44 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



driven across the sky, and cold pelting showers, 
at intervals, added discomfort of body to cheer- 
lessness of mind. His recitation was plain, 
slow, articulate, and forcible, but without any 
eloquence of art. He did not always lay the 
emphasis with propriety, nor did he humour 
the sentiment by the variations of his voice." 

As Heron — a man who rose by the force of 
his talents, and fell by the keenness of his pas- 
sions — is the least favourable to the Poet of all 
his biographers, we may quote him without 
fear ; — " The conversation of Burns was, in 
comparison with the formal and exterior cir- 
cumstances of his education, perhaps even more 
wonderful than his poetry. He affected no soft 
airs or graceful motions of politeness, which 
might have ill accorded with the rustic plain- 
ness of his native manners. Conscious superi- 
ority of mind taught him to associate with the 
great, the learned, and the gay, without being 
over-awed into any such bashfulness, as might 
have made him confused in thought, or hesita- 
ting in elocution. In conversation, he displayed 
a sort of intuitive quickness and rectitude of 
judgment upon every subject that arose ; the 
sensibility of his heart and the vivacity of his 
fancy, gave a rich colouring to whatever reason- 
ing he was disposed to advance, and his lan- 
guage in conversation was not at all less 
happy than his writings ; for these reasons he 
did not fail to please immediately after having 
been first seen. I remember that the late Dr. 
Robertson once observed to me, that he had 
scarcely ever met with any man whose conver- 
sation discovered greater vigour and activity of 
mind than that of Burns." 

[The recollections of Mr. John Richmond, 
writer in Mauchline, respecting Burns' arrival, 
and the earlier period of his residence, in Edin- 
burgh, are curious. Mr. Richmond, who had 
been brought up in the office of a country writer, 
or attorney, and was now perfecting his studies 
in that of a metropolitan practitioner, occupied 
a room in the Lawnmarket, at the rent of three 
shillings a-week. His circumstances, as a 
youth just entering the world, made him willing 
to share his apartment and bed with any agree- 
able companion, who might be disposed to 
take part in the expense. These terms suited 
his old Mauchline acquaintance, Burns, who 
accordingly lived with him, from his arrival in 
November till his leaving town in May, on his 
southern excursion. Mr. Richmond mentions 
that the poet was so knocked up, by his walk 
from Mauchline to Edinburgh, that he could not 
leave his room for the next two days. During 
the whole time of his residence there, his habits 
were temperate and regular. Much of his time 
was necessarily occupied in preparing his poems 
for the press — a task in which, as far as tran- 
scription was concerned, Mr. Richmond aided 
him, when not engaged in his own office duties. 
Burns, though frequently invited out into com- 



pany, usually returned at good hours, and went 
soberly to bed, where he would prevail upon 
his companion, by little bribes, to read to him 
till he fell asleep. Mr. Loekhart draws an un- 
favourable inference from his afterwards remov- 
ing to the house of his friend Nicol : but for 
this removal Mr. Richmond supplies a reason 
which exculpates the bard. During Burns' 
absence in the south and at Mauchline, Mr. 
Richmond took in another fellow-lodger ; so 
that, when the poet came back, and applied 
for re-admission to Mrs. Carfrae's humble me- 
nage, he found his place filled up, and was 
compelled to go elsewhere. 

The exterior of Burns, for some time after his 
arrival in Edinburgh, was little superior to that 
of his rustic compeers. " What a clod-hopper !" 
was the descriptive exclamation of a lady to 
whom he was abruptly pointed out one day in 
the Lawnmarket. In the course of a few weeks, 
he got into comparatively fashionable attire — 
a blue coat with metal buttons, a yellow and 
blue striped vest (being the livery of Mr. Fox), 
a pair of buckskins, so tight that he seemed to 
have grown into them, and top-boots, meeting 
the buckskins under the knee. His neckcloth, 
of white cambric, was neatly arranged, and 
his whole appearance was clean and respectable, 
though the taste in which he was dressed was 
still obviously a rustic taste. 

Though his habits during the winter of 1786-7 
were upon the whole good, he was not alto- 
gether exempt from the bacchanalianism which 
at this period reigned in Edinburgh. Mr. 
William Nicol of the High School, and Mr. 
John Gray, City-clerk, were among his most 
intimate convivial friends. Nicol lived in the 
top of a house over what is called Buccleuch 
Pend, in the lowest floor of which there was a 
tavern, kept by a certain Lucky Pringle, hav- 
ing a back entry from the pend, through which 
visiters could be admitted, unwotted of by a 
censorious world. There Burns was much with 
Nicol, both before and after his taking up his 
abode in that gentleman's house. He also 
attended pretty frequently the meetings of the 
Crochallan Fencibles, at their howff in the 
Anchor Close ; and of Johnnie Dowie's tavern, 
in Libberton's Wynd, he was also a frequent 
visiter. Mr. Alexander Cunningham, jeweller, 
and Mr. Robert Cleghorn, farmer at Saughton 
Mills, may be said to complete the list of Burns's 
convival acquaintance in Edinburgh. The inti- 
macy he formed with Mr. Robert Ainslie, then 
a young writer's apprentice, appears to have 
been of a different character. 

Mr. Dalrymple of Orangefield, and the Hon. 
Henry Erskine, may be mentioned as indivi- 
duals who exerted themselves in behalf of 
Burns, immediately after his arrival in Edin- 
burg. Dr. Adam Fergusson, author of the 
History of the Roman Republic, may also be 
added to Dr. Currie's list of his literary and 



©= 



.ETAT. 28. 



EDINBURGH. — NASMYTH'S PICTURE. 



philosophical patrons. At the house of the lat- 
ter gentleman, Sir Walter Scott met with Burns, 
of whom he has given his recollections in the 
following interesting letter to Mr. Lockhart :— 
" As for Burns, I may truly say, Virg ilium 
vidi tantum. I was a lad of fifteen in 1786-7, 
when he came first to Edinburgh, but had sense 
and feeling enough to be much interested in his 
poetry, and would have given the world to 
know him ; but I had veiy little acquaintance 
with any literary people, and still less with the 
gentry of the west country, the two sets whom 
he most frequented. Mr. Thomas Grierson was 
at that time a clerk of my father's. He knew 
Burns, and promised to ask him to his lodgings 
to dinner, but had no opportunity to keep his 
word ; otherwise I might have seen more of 
this distinguished man. As it was, I saw him 
one day at the late venerable Professor Fer- 
gusson's, where there were several gentlemen 
of literary reputation, among whom I remem- 
ber the celebrated Mr. Dugald Stewart. Of 
course, we youngsters sate silent, looked, and 
listened. The only thing I remember, which 
was remarkable in Burns's manner, was the 
effect produced upon him by a print of Bun- 
bury's, representing a soldier lying dead on the 
snow, his dog sitting in misery on one side, — on 
the other, his widow, with a child in her arms. 
These lines were written beneath : 

" Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, 
Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain — 
Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, 
The big drops mingling with the milk he drew, 
Gave the sad presage of his future years, 
The child of misery baptized in tears." 

u Burns seemed much affected by the print, or, 
rather, the ideas which it suggested to his mind. 
He actually shed tears. He asked whose the 
lines were, and it chanced that nobody but my- 
self remembered, that they occur in a half- 
forgotten poem of Langhorne's, called by the 
unpromising title of ' The Justice of Peace.' I 
whispered my information to a friend present, 
who mentioned it to Burns, who rewarded me 
with a look and a word, which, though of mere 
civility, I then received, and still recollect, 
with veiy great pleasure. 

"His person was strong and robust; his 
manners rustic, not clownish ; a sort of dig- 
nified plainness and simplicity, which received 
part of its effect, perhaps, from one's knowledge 
of his extraordinary talents. His features are 
represented in Mr. Nasmyth's picture ; but 
to me it conveys the idea that they are di- 
minished, as if seen in perspective. I think 
his countenance was more massive than it looks 
in any of the portraits. I would have taken 
the poet, had I not known what he was, 
for a very sagacious country farmer of the old 
Scotch school ; i. e. none of your modern 
agriculturists, who keep labourers for their 



drudgery, but the douce gudeman who held his 
own plough. There was a strong expression 
of sense and shrewdness in all his lineaments ; 
the eye alone, I think, indicated the poetical 
character and temperament. It was large, and 
of a dark cast, which glowed (I say literally 
glowed) when he spoke with feeling or interest. 
I never saw such another eye in a human head, 
though I have seen the most distinguished 
men of my time. His conversation expressed 
perfect self-confidence, without the slightest 
presumption. Among the men who were the 
most learned of their time and country, he ex- 
pressed himself with perfect firmness, but with- 
out the least intrusive forwardness ; and when 
he differed in opinion, he did not hesitate to 
express it firmly, yet, at the same time, with 
modesty. I do not remember any part of his 
conversation distinctly enough to be quoted ; nor 
did I ever see him again, except in the street, 
where he did not recognize me, as I could not 
expect he should. He was much caressed in 
Edinburgh, but (considering what literary emo- 
luments have been since his day) the efforts 
made for his relief were extremely trifling. 

" I remember, on this occasion, I thought 
Burns's acquaintance with English poetry was 
rather limited, and also, that having twenty 
times the abilities of Allan Ramsay and of 
Fergusson, he talked of them with too much 
humility as his models : there was, doubtless, 
national predilection in his estimate* 

1 ' This is all I can tell you about Burns. I have 
only to add, that his dress corresponded with his 
manner. He was like a farmer dressed in his best 
to dine with the laird. I do not speak in malam 
partem, when I say, I never saw a man in com- 
pany with his superiors in station and informa- 
tion, more perfectly free from either the reality 
or the affectation of embarrassment. I was told, 
but did not observe it, that his address to fe- 
males was extremely deferential, and always 
with a turn either to the pathetic or humorous, 
which engaged their attention particularly. I 
have heard the late Duchess of Gordon remark 
this. — I do not know any thing I can add to 
these recollections of forty years since."] 

The more generous looked with wonder on 
the bold Peasant, who had claimed and taken 
place with the foremost, and who seemed to 
have endowments of every kind equal to his 
ambition ; while other geniuses, raised by the 
artificial heat of colleges and schools, glanced 
with scorn or envy on one who had sprung 
into fame, through the genial warmth of nature. 
Henry Mackenzie was not of the latter; as 
soon as he read the poems of Burns, he per- 
ceived that the right inspiration was in them, 
and recommended them and their author to 
public notice, in a paper in " The Lounger," 
written with feeling and truth. His poems dis- 
cover a tone of feeling, a power and energy of 
expression, particularly and strongly charac- 



40 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



teristic of the mind and voice of a poet. The 
critic perceives, too, passages solemn and sub- 
lime, touched, and that not slightly, with a 
rapt and inspired melancholy : together with 
sentiments tender, and moral, and elegiac. Of 
" The Daisy," he says, "I have seldom met with 
an image more truly pastoral than that of the 
lark in the second stanza. Such strokes as these 
mark the pencil of the poet, which delineates 
nature with the precision of intimacy, yet with 
the delicate colouring of beauty and of taste. 
Burns possesses the spirit as well as the fancy 
of a poet ; that honest pride and independence 
of soul, which are sometimes the muses' only 
dower, break forth on every occasion in his 
works."' The criticism struck the true note of 
his peculiar genius, and, with something like 
prescience, claimed the honours of " National 
Poet," which have since been so strongly 
conceded." 

This was regarded by some as not a little 
rash, on the part of Mackenzie ; the rustic harp 
of Scotland had not been for centuries swept 
by a hand so forcible and free ; the language 
was that of humble life, the scenes were the 
clay-cottage, the dusty barn, and the stubble- 
field, and the characters the clouterly children 
of the penfold and the plough. There was 
nothing in the new prodigy which could be 
called classic, little which those who looked 
through the vista of a college reckoned poetical ; 
and his verses were deemed rather the effusions 
of a random rhymer than a true poet. Speak- 
ing from his heart, Mackenzie spoke right ; 
and, in claiming for Burns the honours due to 
the elect in song, he did a good deed for 
genius. The Poet now stood at the head of 
northern song, and with historians, and philo- 
sophers, and critics applauding, he looked upon 
himself as " owned " by the best judges of 
his country. 

The well-timed kindness of Mackenzie was 
never forgotten by Burns ; from this time he 
prized the " Man of Feeling" as a book next in 
worth to the Bible j he never mentioned the 
author save in terms of affectionate admiration, 
and ranked him among his benefactors : — 

" Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace, 
As Rome ne'er saw." 

He felt his high, and, to his fancy, dangerous 
elevation : — " You are afraid," he thus writes, 
January 15, 1787, to Mrs. Dunlop, " I shall 
grow intoxicated with my prosperity as a poet. 
Alas ! madam, I know myself and the world 
too well. I do not mean any airs of affected 
modesty; I am willing to believe that my 
abilities deserve some notice : but in a most 
enlightened age and nation, when poetry is and 
has been the study of men of the first natural 
genius, aided with all the powers of polite 
learning, polite books, and polite company — to 
be dragged forth to the full glare of learned 



and polite observation, with all my imperfections 
of awkward rusticity and crude unpolished 
ideas on my head — I assure you, madam, I do 
not dissemble when I tell you, I tremble for 
the consequences. I have studied myself, and 
know what ground I occupy ; and, however a 
friend, or the world, may differ from me in that 
particular, I stand for my own opinion, in silent 
resolve, with all the tenaciousness of property. 
I mention this to you once for all to disburthen 
my mind, and I do not wish to hear or say 
more about it. — But 

" When proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes," 

you will bear me witness, that when my bubble 
of fame was at the highest, I stood unintoxicated, 
with the inebriating cup in my hand, looking 
forward, with rueful resolve, to the hastening 
time, when the blow of calumny should dash it 
to the ground with all the eagerness of venge- 
ful triumph." 

The Poet speaks, about the same time, in a 
similar strain to the Rev. Mr. Laurie, who, it 
seems had warned him to beware of vanity, 
and of prosperity's spiced cup. A tone of de- 
spondency, too, is visible in his letters to Dr. 
Moore : — " Not many months ago," he ob- 
serves, " I knew no other employment than 
following the plough, nor could boast anything 
higher than a distant acquaintance with a coun- 
try clergyman. Mere greatness never embar- 
rasses me ; I have nothing to ask from the great, 
and I do not fear their judgment ; but genius, 
polished by learning, and at its proper point of 
elevation in the eye of the world, this, of late, 
I frequently meet with, and tremble at its 
approach. I scorn the affectation of seeming 
modesty to cover self-conceit. That I have 
some merit I do not deny ; but I see, with 
frequent wringings of heart, that the novelty 
of my character, and the honest national pre- 
judice of my countrymen, have borne me to a 
height altogether untenable to my abilities." 

Burns indicates the station to which he must 
soon descend, still more plainly to another cor- 
respondent. The Earl of Buchan had advised 
him to visit the battle-fields of Caledonia, and, 
firing his fancy with deeds wrought by heroes, 
pour their deathless names in song. When the 
prophet retired to meditate in the desert, he 
was miraculously fed by ravens ; but the peer 
forgot to say how the poet was to be fed when 
musing on the fields of Stirling, Falkirk, and 
Bannockburn. That Heaven would send food 
while he produced song seems not to have en- 
tered into his mind : for he says — " My Lord — 
in the midst of these enthusiastic reveries, a 
long - visaged, dry, moral - looking, phantom 
strides across my imagination, and pronounces 
these emphatic words : — ' I, Wisdom, dwell 
with Prudence. Friend, I do not come to open 
the ill-closed wounds of your follies and mis- 
fortunes, merely to give you pain. 1 have given 



jstat. 28. . EDINBURGH.— DUCHESS OF GORDON. 



<t7 



you line upon line, and precept upon precept ; 
and while I was chalking out to you the straight 
way to wealth and character, with audacious 
effrontery you have zig-zagged across the path, 
contemning me to my face. You know the 
consequences. Nov/ that your dear-loved 
Scotia puts it in your power to return to the 
situation of your forefathers, will you follow 
these will-o'-the wisp meteors of fancy and 
whim, till they bring you once more to the 
brink of ruin ? I grant that the utmost ground 
you can occupy is but half a step from the 
veriest poverty — still it is half a step from it. 
You know how you feel at the iron-gripe of 
ruthless oppression — you know how you bear 
the galling sneer of contumelious greatness. 
I hold you out the conveniences, the comforts of 
life, independence, and character, on the one 
hand ; I tender you servility, dependence, and 
wretchedness, on the other. I will not insult your 
understanding by bidding you make a choice.' " 

He intimated his intention of returning to 
the plough still more publicly, when, in the 
new edition of his works, April, 1787, he thus 
addressed the noblemen and gentlemen of Scot- 
land : — " The poetic genius of my country 
found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha 
— at the plough — and threw her inspiring 
mantle over me. She bade me sing the loves, 
the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of 
my natal soil, in my native tongue. I tuned 
my wild, artless notes, as she inspired. — She 
whispered me to come to this ancient metropolis 
of Caledonia, and lay my songs under your 
honoured protection. I do not approach you, 
my lords and gentlemen, in the usual style of 
dedication, to thank you for past favours 5 that 
path is so hackneyed, by prostituted learning, 
that honest rusticity is ashamed of it. Nor do 
I present this address with the venal soul of 
a servile author, looking for a continuation of 
those favours. I was bred to the plough, and. 
am independent." This bold language sounded 
strangely in noble ears. It was set down by 
some as approaching to arrogance — was re- 
garded by others as the cant of independence ; 
or considered by a few as rude and vulgar, and 
remembered, when the Poet looked for some 
better acknowledgment of his genius than a 
six-shilling subscription, or an invitation to 
dine. Silence, perhaps, would have been best ; 
but if it were necessary to speak, I cannot see 
that he could have spoken better. 

The Poet spent the winter and spring of 1787, 
in Edinburgh, much after his own heart ; he 
loved company, and was not unwilling to shew 
that nature sometimes bestowed gifts, against 
which rank and education could scarcely make 
good their station. This was, perhaps, the 
unwisest course he could have pursued : a man 
with ten thousand a year will always be con- 
sidered, by the world around, superior to a man 
whose wealth lies in his genius ; the dullest can 



estimate what landed property is worth, but 
who can say what is the annual value of an 
estate which lies in the imagination ? In fame 
there was no rivalry ; and in station, what hope 
had a poet with the earth of his last turned 
furrow still red on his shoon, to rival the Mont- 
gomerys, the Hamiltons, and the Gordons, with 
counties for estates, and the traditional eclat of 
a thousand years accompanying them ? In the 
sight of the great and the far-descended, he 
was still a farmer, for whom the Grass-market 
was the proper scene of action, and the hus- 
bandmen of the land the proper companions ; 
his company was sought, not from a sense that 
genius had raised him to an equality with lords 
and earls, but from a wish to see how this wild 
man of the west would behave himself, in the 
presence of ladies, plumed and jewelled, and 
lords, clothed in all the terrors of their wealth 
and titles. 

The beautiful Duchess of Gordon was, in 
those days, at the head of fashion in Edin- 
burgh ; a wit herself, with some taste for music 
and poetry ; she sought the acquaintance of 
Burns, and invited him to her parties. Lord 
Monboddo, equally accomplished and whimsi- 
cal, gave parties, after what he called the classic 
fashion 5 he desired to revive the splendid sup- 
pers of the ancients, and placed on his tables 
the choicest wines, in decanters of a Grecian 
pattern, adorned with wreaths of flowers : 
painting lent its attraction as well as music, 
while odours of all kinds were diffused from 
visible or invisible sources. Into scenes of this 
kind, and into company coldly polite and sen- 
sitively ceremonious, the brawny Bard of Doon, 
equally rash of speech and unceremonious in 
conduct, precipitated himself; but rich wines 
and lovely women, like the touch of the goddess 
which rendered Ulysses acceptable in the sight 
of a princess, brightened up the looks of the 
Poet, and inspired his tongue with that conquer- 
ing eloquence which pleased fastidious ladies. 
In fine company, where it was imagined he 
would have failed, he triumphed. The fame of 
all these doings flew into Ayrshire. — "There is 
a great rumour here/' said one of his friends, 
" concerning your intimacy with the Duchess 
of Gordon ; I am really told that 

" Cards to invite fly by thousands each night ; " 

and if you had one, I suppose there would be 
also ' bribes for your old secretary.' It seems 
that you are resolved to make hay while the 
sun shines, a good maxim to thrive by ; you 
seemed to despise it while in this country, but 
probably some philosopher in Edinburgh has 
taught you better sense." 

Of his own feelings on these occasions the 
Poet has said but little : Lord Monboddo's 
table had other attractions than wine called 
Falernian, and dishes like those praised in 



48 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787 



Latin verse. The beauty of his daughter is 
celebrated by Burns both in prose and poetry — 

" Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
I see the Sire of Love on high, 
And own his work indeed divine ! ' ' 

" I enclose you," he says to his friend 
Chalmers, "two poems which I have carded 
and spun since I passed Glenbuck. One blank 
in the Address to Edinburgh, ' fair B — ' is the 
heavenly Miss Burnet, daughter of Lord Mon- 
boddo, at whose house I have had the honour 
to be more than once. There has not been any 
tiling nearly like her in all the combinations of 
beauty, grace, and goodness, the great Creator 
has formed since Milton's Eve, on the first day 
of her existence." 

Those who were afraid that amid feasting and 
flattery — the smiles of ladies and the applauding 
nods of their lords — Burns would forget him- 
self, and allow the mercury of vanity to rise too 
high within him, indulged in idle fears. When 
he dined or supped with the magnates of the 
land, he never wanted a monitor to warn him 
of the humility of his condition. When the 
company arose in the gilded and illuminated 
rooms, some of the fan- guests — perhaps 

" Her grace, 
Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies, 
And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass," 

took the hesitating arm of the Bard; went 
smiling to her coach, waved a graceful good- 
night with her jewelled hand, and, departing 
to her mansion, left him in the middle of the 
street to grope his way through the dingy alleys 
of the " gude town " to his obscure lodging, 
with his share of a deal table, a sanded floor, 
and a chaff bed, at eighteen pence a week. 
That his eyes were partly open to this, we know ; 
but he did not perceive that these invitations 
arose from a wish to relieve the ennui of a 
supper-table, where the guests were all too 
well-bred to utter any thing strikingly original 
or boldly witty. Had Burns beheld the matter 
in this light, he would have sprung up like 
Wat Tinlinn, when touched with the elfin bod- 
kin ; and, overturning silver dishes, garlanded 
decanters, and shoving opposing ladies and 
staring lords aside, made his way to the plough- 
tail, and recommenced turning the furrows upon 
his cold and ungenial farm of Moss^iel. — "I 
have formed many intimacies and friendships 
here," he observes, in a letter to Dr. Moore ; 
"but I am afraid they are all of too tender a 
construction to bear carriage a hundred and 
fifty miles. To the rich, the great, the fashion- 
able, the polite, I have no equivalent to offer ; 
and I am afraid my meteor appearance will by 
no means entitle me to a settled correspondence 
with any of you, who are the permanent lights 



of genius and literature." In these words he 
expressed his fears : they were prophetic. 

While his volume was passing through the 
press, he added "The Brigs of Ayr," the "Ad- 
dress to Edinburgh," and one or two songs and 
small pieces. The first poem, " The Brigs of 
Ayr," seems to have been written for the two- 
fold purpose of giving a picture of old times 
and new, and honouring in rhyme those who 
befriended him on the banks of Doon ; and, 
like Ballantyne, to whom it is inscribed, had 

" Handed the rustic stranger up to fame." 

There were two poems which some of his 
friends begged him to exclude from his new 
volume. On the score of delicacy, they re- 
quested the omission of " The Louse ;" and on 
that of loyalty and propriety, " The Dream." 
He defended the former, because of the moral 
with which the poem concludes, and main- 
tained the propriety of the latter with such wit 
and indiscretion that cautious divines and cool 
professors shrugged their shoulders, and talked 
of the folly of the sons of song. Mrs. Dunlop 
seems to have taken the matter much to heart. 
— " Your criticisms, madam," says the Poet, 
nettled a little by her remonstrance, " I under- 
stand very well, and could have wished to have 
pleased you better. You are right in your 
guess that I am not very amenable to counsel ; 
I set as little by princes, lords, clergy, and 
critics, as all those respective gentry do by my 
hardship. I know what I may expect from the 
world by-and-bye — illiberal abuse, and, per- 
haps, contemptuous neglect." 

In this sarcastic Dream, there was much to 
amuse and more to incense a king, who endured 
advice as little as he did contradiction. The 
life of George the Third was pure and blame- 
less ; but the young princes of his house had 
already commenced their gay and extravagant 
courses. The song of the Bard is prophetic of 
the two elder ones : — 

" For you, young Potentate o' Wales, 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly sairly, 
That e'er ye brak' Diana's pales, 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie, 

" For you, Right Rev'rend Osnaburg, 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a ribbon at your lug, 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the keys o' Peter, 
Then swith ! an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth ! ye'll stain the mitre." 

The "Address to Edinburgh" contains some 
noble verses. I have heard the description of 
the castle praised by one, whose genius all but 
exempted him from error : — 



^TAT. 28. 



EDINBURGH— ANECDOTES. 



" There, watching high the least alarms, 
Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar, 
Like some bold vet'ran, grey in arms, 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar : 
The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, 
Have oft withstood assailing War, 
And oft repell'd th' invader's shock." 

When Burns told Mrs. Dunlop that he was 
determined to flatter no created being, she 
might have smiled; for in his " Earnest Cry 
and Prayer," he scattered praise as profusely as 
ever he scattered corn over his new-turned fur- 
rows. He, who could see Demosthenes and 
Cicero in half-a-dozen northern members of 
Parliament, was inclined to flatter : Dempster, 
Cunningham, the Campbells, — 

" And ane, a chap that's damn'd auld-farran, 
Dundas his name," 

were respectable debaters, but not eloquent. 
" Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie," came 
nearer to the comparison, and almost reconciles 
us to the lavish waste of honours on the others. 

Burns' taste, which in all things resembled 
his genius, was almost always correct : he de- 
pended on its accuracy, and, as he used no 
words at random, was unwilling to alter aught. 
In the " Cotter's Saturday Night" he called 
Wallace the " unhappy," in allusion to his 
fate ; he hesitated now to change the word to 
" undaunted," in compliance with the criticism 
of Mrs. Dunlop. — " Your friendly advice" — he 
says to that lady, " I will not give it the cold 
name of criticism, I receive with reverence. I 
have made some small alterations in what I be- 
fore had printed. I have the advice of some 
very judicious friends among the literati here : 
but with them I sometimes And it necessary 
to claim the privilege of thinking for myself. 
The noble Earl of Glencairn, 1o whom I owe 
more than to any man, does me the honour of 
giving me his strictures ; his hints, with respect 
to impropriety or indelicacy, I follow implicitly." 

During the spring, he sat to Alexander 
Nasmy th for his portrait ; it was engraved by 
Beugo, whose boast it was that he had added 
to the merit of the likeness by inducing Burns 
to give him a sitting or two while he touched 
up the plate. He also allowed his profile to be 
taken in small : the brow is low, the hair hangs 
over it, and there is a short queue behind. The 
portrait by Nasmyth is the best, though want- 
ing a little in massive vigour and the look of 
[ inspiration. He sat to whoever desired him, 
nor seemed to be aware that genius went to 
such works as well as to the manufacture of 
rhyme. He took pleasure in presenting proof 
impressions of this portrait to his friends : some- 
j times the gift was accompanied by verse, and it 
lias been remarked that he imagined he looked 
very well on paper, and expected some notice 
I to be taken of his face as well as of his poetry. 



Of his verse, indeed, the notice was not 
always taken that he desired. On the death 
of Dundas of Arniston, Lord President of the 
Court of Session, he wrote a " Lamentation," 
forty lines in length. There are vigorous pas- 
sages ; the Poet affects an excess of grief ; he 
complains to the hills, the plains, and the tem- 
pests, of the too early removal of one who 
redressed wrongs, restrained violence, defeated 
fraud, and protected innocence. He copied the 
poem into a volume now before me, and pre- 
sented it to Dr. Geddes, with the following 
note, describing the success of his " Lamenta- 
tion." — " The foregoing poem has some tolera- 
ble lines in it, but the incurable wound of my 
pride will not suffer me to correct or even to 
peruse it. I sent a copy of it, with my best 
prose letter, to the son of the great man, the 
theme of the piece, by the hands, too, of one of 
the noblest men in God's world, Alex. Wood, 
surgeon ; when, behold ! his solicitorship took 
no more notice of my poem or me than I had 
been a strolling fiddler, who had made free with 
his lady's name, over the head of a silly new 
reel ! Did he think I looked for any dirty 
gratuity V' 

Some of the anecdotes related of the Poet 
and his proof-sheets are amusing enough. 
When he had made up his mind to retain a 
line in the words of its original inspiration — 
such as " When I look back on prospects 
drear," — he stated his reasons briefly for re- 
fusing to make any change, and then sat, like 
his own heroine, "deaf as Ailsa Craig" to all 
persuasion or remonstrance. Nor did he lose 
his serenity of mind, though the way in which 
he unconsciously, perhaps, crumpled up the 
sheet in his hand, till he almost made it illegible, 
shewed what was passing within him. It was 
on one of these occasions that a clergyman, 
stung with the irreverent way that Burns had 
handled the cloth, in some of his earlier pieces, 
hazarded some stern remarks on the " Holy 
Fair ;" not, he said, but that the poem was a 
clever picture, he only wished to shew that it 
was not constructed according to the true rules 
of composition. The reverend censor did not 
acquit himself well in his perilous undertaking : 
the eye of the Poet began to lighten, and his 
lips to give a sort of twitching announcement 
that something sarcastic was coming. All pre- 
sent looked towards him ; he spoke as they 
expected, saying, " No, by heaven ! I'll not 
touch him — 

' Dulness is sacred in a sound divine.' ' 

— " I'll hna you as apt a quotation as that," 
said the aggressor, " and from a poet whom I 
love more — 

' Corbies and Clergy area shot right kittle.' " 

Burns laughed, held out his hand, saying, 
"Then we are friends again." 



50 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



He did not always come off so happily : on 
another occasion, Cromek tells us that, at a 
breakfast, where a number of the literati were 
present, a critic, one of those fond of seeming 
very acute and wise, undertook to prove that 
Gray's Elegy in a country Church-yard, a 
poem of which Burns was enthusiastically fond, 
violated the essential rules of verse, and trans- 
gressed against true science, to which he held 
true poetry to be amenable. He failed, how- 
ever, in explaining the nature of his scientific 
gauge, and he also failed in quoting the lines 
correctly, which he proposed to censure ; upon 
which Burns exclaimed with great vehemence, 
" Sir, I now perceive a man may be an excel- 
lent judge of poetry by square and rule, and, 
after all, be a d d blockhead." 

One of those critical scenes is well described 
by Professor Walker, who happened to be pre- 
sent ; it occurred at the table of Dr. Blair, who 
was fond of hearing the Poet read his own 
verses. — "The aversion of Burns," he observes, 
" to adopt alterations which were proposed to 
him, after having fully satisfied his own taste, 
is apparent from his letters. In one passage, 
he says that he never accepted any of the 
corrections of the Edinburgh Literati, except 
in the instance of a single word. If his ad- 
mirers should be desirous to know this ' single 
word,' I am able to gratify them, as I hap- 
pened to be present when the criticism was 
made. It was at the table of a gentleman of 
literary celebrity (Dr. Blair), who ooserved, 
that in two lines of the ' Holy Fair,' beginning — 

' For Moodie speels the holy door, 
Wi' tidings of salvation.' 

The last word, from his description of the 
preacher, ought to be damnation. This change, 
both embittering the satire, and introducing a 
word to which Burns had no dislike, met with 
his instant enthusiastic approbation. ' Excel- 
lent !' he exclaimed with great warmth, e the 
alteration shall be made, and I hope you will 
allow me to say, in a note, from whose sugges- 
tion it proceeds ;' a request which the critic 
with great good humour, but with equal deci- 
sion, refused." The Poet had not yet disco- 
vered what was due to clerical decorum. I 
must copy another of Professor Walker's pic- 
tures of the Poet and the Edinburgh Literati : — 
" The day after my introduction to Burns," 
says the Professor, " I supped in company with 
him at Dr. Blair's. The other guests were 
very few ; and, as each had been invited chiefly 
to have an opportunity of meeting with the 
Poet, the Doctor endeavoured to draw him out, 
and make him the central figure of the groupe. 
Though he, therefore, furnished the greatest 
proportion of the conversation, he did no more 
than what he saw was evidently expected. 
Men of genius have ofcen been taxed with a 
proneness to commit blunders in company, from 



that ignorance or negligence of the laws of 
conversation, which must be imputed to the 
absorption of their thoughts on a favourite sub- 
ject, or to the want of that daily practice in 
attending to the petty modes of behaviour, 
which is incompatible with a studious life. 
From singularities of this sort, Burns was 
unusually free : yet, on the present occasion, 
he made a more awkward slip than any that 
are reported of the poets or mathematicians, 
most noted for absence. Being asked from which 
of the public places of worship he had received 
the greatest gratification, he named the high 
church, but gave the preference as a preacher 
to (the Rev. Robert Walker) the colleague 
(and most formidable rival) of our worthy en- 
tertainer — whose celebrity rested on his pulpit 
eloquence — in a tone so pointed and decisive as 
to throw the whole company into the most 
foolish embarrassment. The Doctor, indeed, 
with becoming self-command, endeavoured to 
relieve the rest by cordially seconding the en- 
comium so injudiciously introduced ; but this 
did not prevent the conversation from labouring 
under that compulsory effort which was una- 
voidable, while the thoughts of all were full of 
the only subject on which it was improper to 
speak. Of this blunder Burns must instantly 
have been aware, but he shewed the return of 
good sense by making no attempt to repair it. 
His secret mortification was indeed so great 
that he never mentioned the circumstance until 
many years after, when he told me that his 
silence had proceeded from the pain which he 
felt in recalling it to his memory." 

It must be mentioned, to the honour of Blair, 
that this mortifying blunder had no influence 
over his well-regulated mind, and that he ap- 
pears, from his correspondence, to have aug- 
mented rather than lessened his kindness for the 
Poet ; the strong sense of propriety which is 
visible in all that Blair ever said or wrote pre- 
served him from this : yet he probably thought 
of the Poet's preference when he first saw the 
fragment on America, beginning : — 

" When Guilford good our pilot stood ;" 

and said, "Burns' politics always smell of the 
smithy." The Bard disapproved of the war 
waged with America ; the world at large has 
shared in his feelings, and the sarcasm of the 
Doctor falls harmless on this little hasty, 
though not very happy production. It was 
likely to Blair that Burns glanced when, in 
reply to the question if the critical literati of 
Edinburgh had aided him with their opinions, 
— "The best of these gentlemen," said he, 
" are like the wife's daughter in the west — they 
spin the thread of their criticism so fine, that it 
is fit for neither warp nor waft." He was 
never at a loss for illustrations drawn from do- 
mestic life or rural affairs. 



.asTAT. 28. 



EDINBURGH— LAWYERS. 



51 



[No one has equalled Lockhart's account of 
Bu'rns among the literati and lawyers of Edin- 
burgh : — " It needs no effort of imagination to 
conceive what the sensations of an isolated set 
of scholars (almost all either clergymen or pro- 
fessors) must have been in the presence of this 
big -boned, black - browed, brawny stranger, 
with his great flashing eyes, who, having forced 
his way among them from the plough-tail, at a 
single stride, manifested, in the whole strain of 
his bearing and conversation, a most thorough 
conviction that, in the society of the most eminent 
men of his nation, he was exactly where he was 
entitled to be ; hardly deigned to flatter them 
by exhibiting even an occasional symptom of 
being flattered by their notice ; by turns calmly 
measured himself against the most cultivated 
understandings of his time in discussion ; over- 
powered the bon wots of the most celebrated 
convivialists by broad floods of merriment, im- 
pregnated with all the burning life of genius ; 
astounded bosoms habitually enveloped in the 
thrice-piled folds of social reserve, by compel*- 
ling them to tremble — nay, to tremble visibly — 
beneath the fearless touch of natural pathos ; 
and all this without indicating the smallest 
willingness to be ranked among those profes- 
sional ministers of excitement, who are content 
to be paid in money and smiles, for doing what 
the spectators and auditors would be ashamed of 
doing in their own persons, even if they had the 
power of doing it ; and — last, and probably 
worst of all, — who was known to be in the 
habit of enlivening societies, which they would 
have scorned to approach, still more frequently 
than their own, with eloquence no less magnifi- 
cent ; with wit, in all likelihood, still more 
daring ; often enough, as the superiors whom 
he fronted without alarm might have guessed 
from the beginning, and had, ere long, no occa- 
sion to guess, with wit pointed at themselves. 

"The lawyers of Edinburgh, in whose wider 
circle Burns figured at his outset, with at least 
as much success as among the professional lite- 
rati, were a very different race of men from 
these, they would neither, I take it, have par- 
doned rudeness, nor been alarmed by wit. But 
being, in those days, with scarcely an exception, 
members of the landed aristocracy of the coun- 



* [The fact is, those who accuse Burns of drunkenness 
know nothing about the history cf drunkenness in Scotland 
at all. Let them look at the character of the Baron of 
Bradwardine in one age, and of High Jinks in another, by Sir 
Walter Scott, and they will find the epitome of drinking in 
those ages drawn to the very life. About the beginning of 
the last century, and for some time previous, drinking, 
among the nobility and first-rate gentry of Scotland, was 
carried to a very great height. The late Provost Creech of 
Edinburgh told many good stories illustrative of that age, 
and among others was the following : — There was one Angus- 
shire laird went to visit a neighbour, whose christian name 
was George. The visitor was the laird of Balnamoon, com- 
monly called Bonnymoon ; he would drink nothing but 
claret : so his friend, George, made up a great number of 
bottles of half-brandy and half- claret, knowing that the laird 
would stick to his number. He did so, and commended the 



try, and forming by far the most influential 
body (as, indeed, they still do) in the society of 
Scotland, they were, perhaps, as proud a set of 
men as ever enjoyed the tranquil pleasures of 
unquestioned superiority. What their haughti- 
ness, as a body, was, may be guessed, when we 
know that inferior birth was reckoned a fair 
and legitimate ground for excluding any man 
from the bar. In one remarkable instance, 
about this very time, a man of very extraordi- 
nary talents and accomplishments was chiefly 
opposed in a long and painful struggle for ad- 
mission, and in reality, for no reasons but those 
I have been alluding to, by gentlemen, who, in 
the sequel, stood at the very head of the Whig 
party in Edinburgh ; and the same aristocra- 
tical prejudice has,' within the memory of the 
present generation, kept more persons of emi- 
nent qualifications in the back-ground, for a 
season, than any English reader would easily 
believe. To this body belonged nineteen out of 
twenty of those " patricians," whose stateliness 
Burns so long remembered, and so bitterly re- 
sented. It might, perhaps, have been well for 
him had stateliness been the worst fault of 
their manners. Wine-bibbing appears to be 
in most regions a favourite indulgence with 
those whose brains and lungs are subjected to 
the severe exercises of legal study and forensic 
practice. To this day, more trace** of these 
old habits linger about the inns of courts than 
in any other sections of London. In Dublin and 
Edinburgh, the barristers are even now emi- 
nently convivial bodies of men ; but among the 
Scotch lawyers of the time of Burns, the prin- 
ciple of jollity was indeed in its " high and 
palmy state." He partook largely in those 
tavern scenes of audacious hilarity, which then 
soothed, as a matter of course, the arid labours 
of the northern noblesse de la robe (so they are 
well called in Red Gauntlet), and of which we 
are favoured with a specimen in the " High 
Jinks" chapter of Guy Mannerin'g. 

The tavern-life is now-a-days nearly extinct 
every where ; but it was then in full vigour in 
Edinburgh, and there can be no doubt that 
Burns rapidly familiarized himself with it 
during his residence. He had, after all, tasted 
but rarely of such excesses while in Ayr-shire.*] 



wine greatly ; but sat on with his friend three days and two 
nights without perceiving it, he being all that time in the 
highest glee. At the end of the third day Bonnj'moon failed, 
grew pale, and sunk back on his chair. " Come, laird, fill 
your glass ; this will never do." "O, — George, — lean — do 
— no more — for you." " Then you had bet^r go to bed." 
" O, no ! — I never sleep — from — home. Never — stay from 
home a — night :— never !" So off went the laird with his 
servant behind him— both on capital horses. The night was 
dark and stormy, and, in riding over a waste, off went the 
laird's hat. John galloped after it, and seized it, leaning on 
a furze bush. " John, this is not my hat at all ; go and look 
for the right one." " There is very little wale o' cockit hats 
here the night, your honour." " I say, John, this is not 

my hat. It would hold two heads like mine. I'll be d d 

but it has taken the wig away with it." After lon^r groping, 
John got the wig on another furze bush, and handed it to his 

E 9 



52 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



Towards the close of April the subscription 
volume 

" On wings of wind came flying all abroad," 

and was widely and warmly welcomed. All 
that coterie influence and individual exertion — 
all that the noblest or the humblest could do, 
was done to aid in giving it a kind reception ; 
Creech, too, had announced it through the 
booksellers of the land, and it was soon diffused 
over the country, over the colonies, and where- 
ever the language was spoken. The literary 
men of the south seemed even to fly a flight be- 
yond those of the north. Some hesitated not to 
call him the northern Shakspeare ; criticism at 
that period had not usurped the throne, and as- 
sumed the functions of genius ; reviews were 
few in number, and moderate in influence, and 
followed opinion rather than led it. Had he 
lived in a later day, with what a triumphant 
air of superiority would the two leading critical 
journals have crushed him ! They would 
have agreed in this, though in nothing else, to 
trample down a spirit which wrote not as they 
wrote, and felt not as they felt; they would 
have assumed the air of high philosophy and 
searching science, and buried him, as he did the 
Daisy, under the weight of a deep-drawn critical 
farrow. The Whig of the north would have 
pounced'on his poetical jacobitism ; the Tory of 
the south upon his love of freedom ; and both 
would have tossed him to the meaner hounds of 
the kennel of criticism, after they had dissected 
the soul and heart out of him. Much of this 
these journals tried to do at a later period, when 
the Poet was low in the dust, and his fame as 
high as Heaven, and beyond their rancour or 
their spite. 

While Burns lodged with his Mauchline 
friend, Richmond, he kept good hours and sober 
company. In the course of the spring he be- 
came acquainted with William Nicol, one of the 
masters of the High-school, who lived in the 
Buccleugh-road, and found more suitable ac- 
commodation under his roof. This has been 
considered as a symptom that the keeping of 
good hours was growing irksome. The poverty 
of the Poet made him live frugally — nay, 
meanly, when he arrived in Edinburgh ; but 
when money came pouring in, and gentlemen 
of note called on him, it did not become him to 
remain in an apartment of which he had but a 
share. I see little harm in this, or proof of in- 
creasing irregularity. Nicol, it is true, was of 
a quick, fierce temper — loose and wavering in 
his religious opinions — fond of social company, 
and now and then indulged in excesses, though 



master. "John, this is not my wig; just look at it : this is 
not my wig at all:" — (he had put it on with the wrong side 
foremost.) "Ah! guid faith, your honour, if there's little 
wale o' hats, there's nae wale o' wigs here, this night." 
They rode on, and on coming to the North Esk, the laird's 
horse dashed down his head to drink, and off went the laird, 



his situation required sobriety. Lockhart, who 
charges the imputed irregularities of Burns on 
the example of Nicol, supports his conclusion 
by the testimony of Heron. But Heron is a 
doubtful evidence ; he was himself not only in- 
clined to gross sensual indulgence, but has been 
regarded as one not at all solicitous about the 
truth. — " The enticements of pleasure," says 
Heron, " too often unman our virtuous resolu- 
tions, even while we wear the air of rejecting 
them with a stern brow. We resist, and resist, 
and resist ; but at last suddenly turn and em- 
brace the enchantress. The bucks of Edinburgh 
accomplished, in regard to Burns, that in which 
the boors of Ayr-shire had failed. After resid- 
ing some months in Edinburgh, he began to 
estrange himself, not altogether, but in some 
measure, from graver friends. Too many of his 
hours were now spent at the tables of persons 
who delighted to urge conviviality to drunken- 
ness." Heron knew not what resolutions Burns 
formed, nor how much he resisted : and to push 
conviviality to intoxication was common in 
those days at the tables of the gentlemen of the 
north. The entertainer set down the quantity 
to be drunk, locked the door, put the key in his 
pocket, and the guests had either to swallow all 
his wine, or fill the landlord tipsy, steal the key, 
and escape. 

Though Burns had expressed doubts to Lord 
Buchan on the prudence of a pennyless poet 
visiting the battle-fields, and fine natural scenery 
of Scotland, and intimated to many of his friends 
his resolution to return to the plough, he longed 
to pull broom on the Cowden-knowes, look at 
the Birks on the Braes of Yarrow, and see whe- 
ther Flora smiled as sweetly on the Tweed as 
Crawford had represented. On the third of 
May he wrote to Dr. Blair — " I leave Edin- 
burgh to-morrow morning, bat could not go 
without troubling you with half a line, sincerely 
to thank you for the kindness, patronage, and 
friendship which you have shown me." The Doc- 
tor answered his farewell at once, and his words 
weigh those of Heron to the dust. — -"Your 
situation was indeed very singular ; and, being 
brought out all at once from the shades of deep- 
est privacy to so great a share of public notice 
and observation, you had to stand a severe trial. 
I am happy you have stood it so well ; and, as 
far as I have known or heard — though in the 
midst of many temptations — without reproach 
to your character and behaviour. You are now, 
I presume, to retire to a more private walk of 
life, and I trust you will conduct yourself there 
with industry, prudence, and honour. You 
have laid the foundation for just public esteem. 



head foremost, into the river, with a prodigious plunge. He 
soon, however, set up his head. "John, what was that?" 
" I dinna ken. I thought it had been your honour." 
" John, I dinna understand this." " Get up, your honour, 
you'll maybe understand it by and by." Hogg.] 






BORDER TOUR. 



fifl 



In the midst of those employments which your 
situation will render proper, you will not, I hope, 
neglect to promote that esteem by cultivating 
your genius, and attending to such productions 
of it, as may raise your character still higher. 
At the same time, be not in too great haste to 
come forward. Take time and leisure to im- 
prove and mature your talents ; for, on any 
second production you give the world, your fate, 
as a poet, will very much depend." Burns, it 
is said, received this letter when about to mount 
his horse on his Border excursion ; he read as 
far as I have transcribed, then crumpled up the 
communication, and, thrusting it into his pocket, 
exclaimed, " Kindly said, Doctor ; but a man's 
first-born book is often like his first-born babe 
— healthier and stronger than those which fol- 
low." In this mood he quitted Edinburgh, 
after a residence of five months and some odd 
days. 

Burns was accompanied in this tour by Robert 
Ainslie, a young gentleman of talents and edu- 
cation, whose friendship bis genius had procured, 
and who is still living to enjoy the esteem and 
some of the applause of the world. The Poet 
directed his course by Lammermoor — whose 
hills he pronounced dreary in general, but at 
times picturesque — through Peebles, where he 
chanted a stave of the old song of " The Wife 
of Peebles ;" passed Coldstream, where he 
thought of Monk and his " reformadoe saints," 
find from Lanton-Edge gazed on the Merse, 
which he pronounced "glorious." 

[Of this tour, Burns kept a journal ; it is now 
before me : the entries are brief, but generally to ; 
the point. — "May 6th, 1787. Reach Berry well ; j 
old Mr. Ainslie an uncommon character ; his 
hobbies — agriculture, natural philosophy, and 
politics. In the first, he is unexceptionably the 
clearest-headed, best-informed man I ever met 
with ; in the other two, very intelligent : as a 
man of business he has uncommon merit, and 
by fairly deserving it, has made a very decent 
I independence. Mrs. Ainslie, an excellent, sen- 
sible, cheerful, amiable woman. Miss Ainslie, 
her person a little embonpoint, but handsome, 
her face, particularly her eyes, full of sweetness 
and good humour. She unites three qualities 
rarely to be found together ; keen penetration, 
*ly witty observation and remark, and the 
' gentlest, most unaffected, female modesty. — 
\ Douglas, a clever, fine, promising young fellow. 
— The family-meeting with their brother, my 
comjiagnon de voyage, very charming ; par- 
ticularly the sister. The whole family remark- 
ably attached to their menials — Mrs. A. full of 



[" During the discour-e Burns produced a neat im- 
promptu, conveying an elegant compliment to Miss Ainslie. 
'i Dr. B. had selected a text of Scripture that con ained a 
ueavy denunciation against obstinate sinners. In the course 
if the sermon Burns observed the young lady turning over 
the leaves of her Bible, with much earnestness, in search of 
he text. He took out a slip of paper, and with a pencil 



stories of the sagacity and sense of the little 
girl in the kitchen. — Mr. A. high in the praises 
of an African, his house servant — all his people 
old in his service — Douglas's old nurse came to 
Berrywell yesterday to remind them of its being 
his birth-day." Here he met with the author ol 
" The Maid that tends the Goats," of whom he 
says, — " Mr. Dudgeon— a poet at times, a wor- 
thy, remarkable character, natural penetration, 
a great deal of information, some genius, and 
extreme modesty." In the pulpit of Dunse 
church, he found a character of another stamp. 
— " Dr. Bowmaker, a man of strong lungs, and 
pretty judicious remark ; but ill skilled in pro- 
priety, and altogether unconscious of his want 
of it." He preached a sermon against "obsti- 
nate sinners." " I am found out," whispered 
the Poet to a friend, " wherever I go." * 

On reaching the Tweed, Ainslie requested 
Burns to pass the stream, that he might say he 
had been in England. The following brief entry 
is all the memoranda he makes of this event : — 
11 Coldstream — went over to England — glorious 
river Tweed, clear and majestic." His compa- 
nion has enabled me to complete the picture — 
"The Poet accompanied me on a horseback 
excursion from Edinburgh to Peebles, down 
the Tweed, all the way to Coldstream, and 
thence to Berrywell, near Dunse, the resi- 
dence of my father. The weather was charm- 
ing ; both parties then youthful and in good 
spirits ; and the Poet delighted with the fine 
scenery, and the many poetical associations 
connected with it. When we arrived at Cold- 
stream, where the dividing line between Scot- 
land and England is the Tweed, I suggested 
our going across to the other side of the river 
by the Coldstream bridge, that Burns might 
have it to say he ' had been in England. ' We 
did so, and were pacing slowly along on English 
ground, enjoying our walk, when I was aston- 
ished to see the Poet throw away his hat, and. 
thus uncovered, look towards Scotland, kneel- 
ing down with uplifted hands, and, apparently, 
in a state of great enthusiasm. I kept silence, 
uncertain what was next to be done, when 
Burns, with extreme emotion, and an expres- 
sion of countenance which I will never forget, 
prayed for and blessed Scotland most solemnly, 
by pronouncing aloud, in accents of the deepest 
devotion, the two concluding verses of ' The 
Cotter's Saturday Night:' — 

' O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! 



wrote the following lines on it, which he immediately pre- 
sented to her: 

' Fair maid, you need not take the hint, 
Nor idle texts pursue : 
'Twas guilty sinners that he meant, 
Not angels such as you 1 ' " 

Cbomek.J 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



And, Oh ! may Heav'n their simple lives prevent 

From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. 

' O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart, 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, the second glorious part ; 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert ; 
But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard !' " 

At Lenel-House lie drank tea with Biydone 
the traveller ; of this he makes a brief record. 
— " Mr. Brydone is a man of an excellent 
heart, kind, joyous, and benevolent; but a 
good deal of the French indiscriminate com- 
plaisance — from his situation, past and present, 
an admirer of everything that bears a splendid 
title, or that possesses a large estate ; Mrs. Biy- 
done, a most elegant woman in her person and 
manners ; the tones of her voice remarkably 
sweet — my reception extremely flattering." He 
slept at Coldstream, and then proceeded to 
Kelso, of which he pronounced the situation 
charming. — " Fine bridge over the Tweed — 
enchanting views and prospects on both sides 
of the river, particularly the Scottish side ; 
introduced to Mr. Scott of the Royal Bank — an 
excellent, modest fellow." 

He walked on to the ruins of Roxburgh 
castle ; and wrote in his journal : — "A holly- 
bush growing where James II. of Scotland was 
accidently killed by the bursting of a cannon. 
A small old religious ruin, and a fine old garden, 
planted by the religious, rooted out and de- 
stroyed by an English Hottentot, a maitre 
oVhotel of the duke's, a Mr. Cole. Climate and 
soil of Berwick-shire, and even Roxburgh- 
shire, superior to Ayr-shire — bad roads. Turnip 
and sheep husbandly, their great improvements. 
Mr. M'Dowal, of Caverton-Mill, a friend of 
Mr. Ainslie's, with whom I dined to day, sold 
his sheep, ewe and lamb together, at two guineas 
a piece. They wash their sheep before shearing ; 
seven or eight pounds of washen wool in a fleece. 
Low markets, consequently low rents ; fine 
lands not above sixteen shillings a Scotch acre : 
magnificence of farmers and farm-houses." On 
his way up the Tiviot and the Jed, he visited 
an old gentleman, whose boast it was that he 
possessed an arm-chair which had belonged to 
Thomson the poet. Burns reverently examined 
the relique, could scarcely be prevailed to sit in 
it, and seemed to feel inspiration from its touch. 

In Jedburgh, the Poet found much to interest 

him. — " Breakfast with Mr. , a squabble 

between the old lady, a crazed, talkative slat- 



* [After seeing this remark in print, Dr. Somerville never 
punned more. He was the author of two substantial works 
on the history of England between the Restoration and the 
accession of the Brunswick dynasty. He died, May 16, 1830, 



tern, and her sister, an old maid, respecting a 
relief minister — Miss gives Madam the he ; and 
Madam, by way of revenge, upbraids her for 
having laid snares to entangle the said minister in 
the net of matrimony. Go about two miles out 
of the town to a roup (sale) of parks ; meet a 
polite soldier-like gentleman, a Captain Ruth- 
erford, who had been many years in the wilds 
of America, a prisoner among the Indians. 
Charming, romantic situation of Jedburgh, with 
gardens and orchards intermingled among the 
houses. Fine old ruins ; a once magnificent 
cathedral, and strong castle. All the towns 
here have the appearance of old rude grandeur, 
but the people extremely idle. Jed, a fine ro- 
mantic little river." Burns dined with Captain 
Rutherford — the Captain a polite fellow, fond 
of money in his farming way ; shewed a par- 
ticular respect to my hardship — his lady a proper 
matrimonial second part of him — Miss Ruther- 
ford a beautiful girl, but too much of a woman 
to expose so much of a fine swelling bosom — 
her face very fine. Return to Jedburgh — walk 
up Jed with some ladies to be shewn Love-lane 
and Blackburn, two fairy scenes. Introduced 
to Mr. Potts, writer, a very clever fellow ; and 
to Mr. Somerville, the minister of the place; 
a man, and a gentleman, but sadly addicted to 
punning." *] 

Here he met with something not unlike a 
love adventure : in one of his walks he was ac- 
companied by several ladies : — " Miss Hope, a . 
pretty girl, fond of laughing and fun ; Miss 
Lindsay, a good-humoured, amiable girl ; rather 
short, et embonpoint, but handsome, and ex- 
tremely graceful ; beautiful hazel eyes full of 
spirit, and sparkling with delicious moisture ; 
an engaging face, un tout ensemble that speaks 
her of the first order of female minds ; her sister, 
a bonny strappan, rosy, sonsie lass." The Poet, 
would, perhaps, have contented himself with 
silently admiring this dangerous companion ; 
but two venerable spinsters persecuted him so 
with their conversation that he took refuge 
with Miss Lindsay, who was touched, as he 
imagined, with his attentions. — " My heart," 
he says in his record, " is thawed into melting 
pleasure after being so long frozen up in the 
Greenland bay of indifference, amid the noise 
and nonsense of Edinburgh. Miss seems very 
well pleased with my Bardship's distinguishing 
her, and after some slight qualms, which I could 
easily mark, she sets the titter round at defiance, 
and kindly allows me to keep my hold ; and 
when parted by the ceremony of my introduc- 
tion to Mr. Somerville, she met me half, to r#^ 
sume my situation. Not a Bene. — The Poet 
within a point and a half of being damnably 
in love ; I am afraid my bosom is still nearly as 

at the a?e of ninety years, sixty-four of which had been 
passed in the clerical profession. A son of Dr. Somerville is 
husband to a lady distinguished in the scientific world.l 



=® 



iETAT. 28. 



BORDER TOUR. 



much tinder as ever ; I find Miss Lindsay 
would soon play the devil with me. The old, 
cross-grained, whiggish, ugly, slanderous Miss 
, with all the poisonous spleen of a dis- 
appointed, ancient maid, stops me, very unsea- 
sonably, to ease her bursting breast, by falling 
abusively foul on the Miss Lindsays, particu- 
larly on* my Dulcinea ; — I hardly refrain from 
cursing her to her face for daring to mouth her 
calumnious slander on one of the finest pieces 
of the workmanship of Almighty Excellence ! 
Sup at Mr. ? s ; vexed that the Miss Lind- 
says are not of the supper party, as they only 

are wanting. Mrs. ■ and Miss still 

improve infernally on my hands. Set out next 
morning for Wauchope, the seat of my corres- 
pondent, Mrs. Scott ; — breakfast by the way 
with Dr. Elliott, an agreeable, good-hearted, 
climate-beaten, old veteran, in the medical line ; 
now retired to a romantic, but rather moorish 
place, on the banks of the Roole — he accom- 
panies us almost to Wauchope — we traverse the 
country to the top of Bochester, the scene of 
an old encampment, and A^oolee Hill. Wau- 
chope — Mr. Scott exactly the figure and face 
commonly given to Sancho Panca — very shrewd 
in his farming matters, and not unfrequently 
stumbles on what may be called a strong thing 
rather than a good thing. Mrs. Scott all the 
sense, taste, intrepidity of face, and bold, criti- 
cal decision, which usually distinguish female 
authors. — Sup with Mr. Potts — agreeable party. 
— Breakfast next morning with Mr. Somerville 
■ — the bruit of Miss Lindsay and my hardship, 
by means of the invention and malice of Miss 

. Mr. Somerville sends to Dr. Lindsay, 

begging him and family to breakfast if conve- 
nient, but at all events to send Miss Lindsay ; 
accordingly Miss Lindsay only comes — I met 
with some little flattering attentions from her. 
Mrs. Somerville an excellent, motherly, agree- 
able woman, and a fine family. — Mr. Ainslie 

and Mrs. S , junrs., with Mr. , Miss 

Lindsay, and myself, go to see Esther, a very 
remarkable woman for reciting poetry of all 
kinds, and sometimes making Scotch doggerel 
herself — she can repeat by heart almost every 
thing she has ever read, particularly Pope's 
Homer from end to end — has studied Euclid by 
herself, and, in short, is a woman of very ex- 
traordinary abilities. — On conversing with her 
I find her fully equal to the character given of 
her.* — She is very much flattered that I send 
for her, and that she sees a poet who has put 
out a book, as she says. — She is, among other 
things, a great florist — and is rather past the 
meridian of once celebrated beauty. I walk in 
Esther's garden with Miss Lindsay, and after 



* [" This extraordinary woman then moved in a very 
humble walk of life ; — the wile of a common working gar- 
dener. She is still living — her time is principally occupied 
in her attentions to a little day school, which not being suf- 



some little chit-chat of the tender kind, I pre- 
sented her with a proof print of my Nob, which 
she accepted with something more tender than 
gratitude. She told me many little stories 

which Miss had retailed concerning her 

and me, with prolonging pleasure — God bless 
her ! " He seems ready to burst into song as he 
proceeds with his journal. " Took farewell of 
Jedburgh with some melancholy, disagreeable 
sensations. Jed, pure be thy crystal streams, 
and hallowed thy sylvan banks ! Sweet Isabella 
Lindsay, may peace dwell in thy bosom unin- 
terrupted, except by the tumultuous throbbings 
of rapturous love ! That love - kindling eye 
must beam on another, not on me : that grace- 
ful form must bless another's arms, not mine ! 
Was waited on by the magistrates, and hand- 
somely presented with the freedom of the town. 

" Kelso ; dine with the Farmer's Club ; all 
gentlemen talking of high matters : each of 
them keeps a hunter, of from thirty to fifty 
pounds' value, and attends the fox-huntings in 
the county. Go out with Mr. Ker, one of 
the club, and a friend of Mr. Ainslie's, to sleep ; 
Mr. Ker, a most gentlemanly, clever fellow ; a 
widower, with some fine children ; his mind and 
manner astonishingly like my dear old friend, 
Robert Muir, in Kilmarnock ; he offers to ac- 
company me on my English tour : dine with 
Sir Alexander Don ; a pretty clever fellow, but 
far from being a match for his divine lady." 

On the thirteenth of May, Burns visited 
Dry burgh Abbey, and, though the weather was 
wild, spent an hour among the ruins, since hal- 
lowed by the dust of Scott ; he crossed the 
Leader, and went up the Tweed to Melrose, 
which he calls a " far-famed glorious ruin." 
Though desirous of musing on battle-fields, he 
seems to have left Ancram - moor unheeded ; 
nor did he pause to look at the spot where 

" Gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear 
Reek'd on dark Elliot's border spear." 

He sat for some time, indeed, among the broom 
of the Cowden-knowes, and had a chat with 
the Souters of Selkirk, concerning the field of 
Flodden ; but no one seems to have told him of 
Huntly-burn, where True Thomas flirted with 
the Fairy Queen ; nor of Philiphaugh, where 
Montrose and his cavaliers were routed by 
Lesly : nor of Carterhaugh, made memorable 
in song by the fine ballad of Tamlane. He was 
not in a pastoral mood ; for he says briefly, — 
" The whole country hereabout, both on Tweed 
and Ettrick, remarkably stony." In the inspi- 
ration necessary for verse, there is none of the 
spirit of prophecy ; he passed over some broken 
ground and peat-haggs, where his mare, Jenny 



ficient for her subsistence, she is obliged to solicit the charity 
of her benevolt-nt neighbours. 

' Ah, who would love the lyre ! ' " 

Ckomee.] 



5(3 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



Geeldes, kept her feet with difficulty, uncon- 
scious that on that desolate spot the Towers of 
Abbotsford would, ere long, arise, and those 
immortal romances be written which have made 
his own the second name in Scottish literature. 
The weather having settled, the Poet visited 
Inverleithing, a famous shaw, and in the vici- 
nity of the palace of Traquaid, " where/' says 
he, " I dined and drank some Galloway whey, 
and saw Elibanks and Elibraes on the other side 
of the Tweed." In the morning he continued his 
journey, and found other places made famous in 
tale and song. — " Dine at a country inn, kept 
by a miller in Earlston, the birth-place and re- 
sidence of the celebrated Thomas the Rhymer, 
and saw the ruins of his castle." He now shaped 
his course to Dunse, where he dined with the 
Farmers'-Club — found it impossible to do them 
justice — met " the Rev. Mr. Smith, a famous 
punster, and Mr. Meikle, a celebrated mechanic, 
and inventor of the threshing-mills." The 
next day, " breakfast at Berry well, and walk 
into Douse to see a famous knife made by a 
cutler there, and to be presented to an Italian 
prince. — A pleasant ride with my friend Mr. 
Robert Ainslie, and his sister, to Mr. Thom- 
son's, a man who has newly commenced farmer, 
and has married a Miss Patty Grieve, formerly 
a flame of Mr. Robert Ainslie's. — Company — 
Miss Jacky Grieve, an amiable sister of Mrs. 
Thomson's, and Mr. Hood, an honest, worthy, 
facetious farmer, in the neighbourhood. Ber- 
wick he looked on as ' an idle town, rudely 
picturesque.' Meet Lord Errol in walking 
round the walls. — His Lordship's flattering no- 
tice of me. — Dine with Mr. Clunzie, merchant 
— nothing particular in company or conversa- 
tion. — Come up a bold shore, and over a wild 
country to Eyemouth — sup and sleep at Mr. 
Grieve's. Wm. Grieve, the oldest brother, a 
joyous, warm-hearted, jolly, clever fellow — 
takes a hearty glass, and sings a good song. — 
Mr. Robert, his brother, and partner in trade, 
a good fellow, but says little. Take a sail after 
dinner. — Fishing of all kinds pays tythes at 
Eyemouth. The Miss Grieves very good girls. 
My Bardship's heart got a brush from Miss 
Betsey. Mr. William Grieve's attachment to 
the family-circle, so fond that when he is out, 
which by the bye is often the case, he cannot 
go to bed 'till he see if all his sisters are sleeping 
well. — Pass the famous Abbey of Coldingham, 
and Pease-bridge. — Call at Mr. Sheriff's, where 
Mr. A. and I dine. — Mr. S. talkative and con- 



* [The entry made on this occasion in the Lodge Books of 
St. Abb's is honourable to 

"The brethren of the mystic level." 

''Eyemouth, 19th May, 1787- 

" At a general Encampment held this day, the following 

brethren werd made Royal Arch Masons, viz. Robert Burns, 

from the Lodge of St James's, Tarbolton, Ayr-shire, and 

Robert Ainslie, from the Lodge of St. Luke's, Edinburgh, by 



ceited. I talk of love to Nancy the whole I 
evening, while her brother escorts home some 
companions like himself." At Eyemouth, he 
loved the look of the sea and shore so much that 
he took a sail after dinner ; here, in compli- 
ment to his genius, so runs the brotherly 
record, he was made a royal arch mason of 
St. Abb's lodge.* — " Sir James Hall, of Dun- 
glass, having heard," he says, "of my being in 
the neighbourhood, comes to Mr. Sheriff's to 
breakfast ; takes me to see his fine scenery on 
the stream of Dunglass. Dunglass, the most 
romantic, sweet place I ever saw. Sir James 
and his lady, a pleasant happy couple ; he 
points out a walk, for which he has an uncom- 
mon respect, as it was made by an aunt of his 
to whom he owes much." Burns seems to have 
fallen into something of a cynical mood on leav- 
ing the author of the ingenious Avork on the 
" Origin of Gothic Architecture." " A Mr. 
Robinson, brewer, at Ednam, sets out with us 
to Dunbar." — A lady, of whose charms and 
conversation he was no admirer, resolved to 
accompany him by way of making a parade 
of him as a sweetheart 5 his description of her 
is severe and clever : — " She mounts an old 
cart-horse, as huge and lean as a house ; a 
rusty old side-saddle without girth or stirrup, 
but fastened on with an old pillion-girth : 
herself as fine as hands could make her, in 
cream-coloured riding clothes, hat and feather, 
&c. I, ashamed of my situation, ride like the 
devil, and almost shake her to pieces on old 
Jolly — get rid of her by refusing to call at her 
uncle's with her." 

On reaching Dunbar he notes in his journal 
— " Passed through the most glorious corn 
country I ever saw. Dine with Provost Fall, 
an eminent merchant, and respectable charac- 
ter, but indescribable, as he exhibits no marked 
traits. Mrs. Fall, a genius in painting ; fully 
more clever in the fine arts and sciences than 
my friend, Lady Wauchope, without her con- 
summate assurance of her own abilities. Call 
with Mr. Robinson (who, by the bye, I find to 
be a worthy, much respected man, very modest ; 
warm, social heart, which with less good sense 
than his would be perhaps, with the children 
of prim precision and pride, rather inimical to 
that respect which is man's due from man) 
on Miss Clarke, a maiden, — in the Scotch 
phrase, i Guid enough.' She wanted to see 
what sort of raree show an author was ; and to 
let him know that, though Dunbar was but a 



James Carmichael, Wm. Grieve, Daniel Dow, John Clay, 
Robert Grieve, &c. &c. Robert Ainslie paid one guinea 
admission dues ; but, on account of R. Burns's remarkable 
poetical genius, the Encampment unanimously agreed to 
admit him gratis, and considered themselves honoured by 
having a man of such shining abilities for one of their 
companions." 

Extracted from the Minute Book of the Lodge by 

Thos. Bowhili,.] 



.KTAT. 28. 



BORDER TOUR. 



57 



little town, yet it was not destitute of people of 
parts. Breakfast next morning at Skateraw, 
at Mr. Lee's, a farmer of great note. — Mr. Lee, 
an excellent, hospitable, social fellow, rather 
oldish ; warm-hearted and chatty — a most judi- 
cious, sensible farmer. Mr. Lee detains me till 
next morning'. — Company at dinner. — My Rev. 
acquaintance Dr. Bowinaker, a reverend, rat- 
tling old fellow. — Two sea lieutenants ; a cousin 
of the landlord's." The sarcastic humour of the 
Poet continues : he meets a lady, " but no brent 
new ; a clever woman, with tolerable pretensions 
to remark and wit, while time had blown the 
blushing bud of bashful modesty into the full-blos- 
somed flower of easy confidence." " A fellow 
whose looks are of that kind which deceived me in 
a gentleman at Kelso, and has often deceived 
me ; a goodly, handsome figure and face, which 
incline one to give them credit for parts which 
they have not." "Mr. Clarke, a much cleverer 
I fellow, but whose looks, a little cloudy, and his 
appearance rather ungainly, with an every day 
observer, may prejudice the opinion against him. 
Dr. Brown, a medical young gentleman from 
Dunbar, a fellow whose face and manners are 
: open and engaging. — Leave Skateraw for Dunse 

, next day, along with collector , a lad of 

! slender abilities, and bashfully diffident to an 
i extreme." The cloud now begins to pass away. 
I In good time comes an antidote ; he reached 
Dunse, and " found Miss Ainslie, the amiable, 
the sensible, the good - humoured and sweet 
Miss Ainslie, all alone at Berrywell. Heavenly 
powers, who know the weakness of human 
hearts, support mine ! AVhat happiness must I 
see only to remind me that I cannot enjoy it ! 
Lammer-muir Hills, from East Lothian to 
Dunse very wild. — Dine with the Farmer's Club 
at Kelso. Sir John Hume and Mr. Lumsden 
there, but nothing worth remembrance, when 
the following circumstance is considered — I walk 
into Dunse before dinner, and out to Berrywell 
in the evening with Miss Ainslie. How well- 
bred, how frank, how good she is ! Charming 
Rachel ! may thy bosom never be wrung by 
the evils of this life of sorrows, or by the vil- 
lany of this world's sons!" 

Burns was now joined by Mr. Ker : they 
dined with Mr. Hood, and set ofF on a jaunt 
to England : sudden illness seized him by 
the way ; the entry in his journal is charac- 
teristic. — "I am taken extremely ill, with 
strong feverish symptoms, and take a ser- 
vant of Mr. Hood's to watch me all night. 
Embittering remorse scares my fancy at the 
gloomy forebodings of death. I am determined 
to live for the future in such a manner as not to 
be scared at the approach of Death : I am sure 
I could meet him with indifference but for The 
something beyond the grave." He recovered 
his health and spirits, and went to see the roup 
'auction) of an unfortunate farmer's stock. He 
surveyed the scene with a darkening brow and a I 



troubled eye. — " Rigid economy, and decent 
industry," he said, a do you preserve me from 
being the principal dramatis persona in such 
a scene of horror ! Meet my good old friend 
Mr. Ainslie, who calls on Mr. Hood in the 
evening, to take farewell of my Bardship. 
This day I feel myself warm with sentiments 
of gratitude to the great Preserver of men, 
who has kindly restored me to health and 
strength once more. A pleasant walk with 
my young friend, Douglas Ainslie, a sweet, 
modest, clever young fellow." He now recom- 
menced his tour. 

" Sunday, May 27. — Cross Tweed, and tra- 
verse the moors, through a wild country, 
till I reach Alnwick — Alnwick-Castle, a seat 
of the Duke of Northumberland, furnished in 
a most princely manner. A Mr. Wilkin, agent 
of His Grace, shews us the house and policies 
Mr. Wilkin, a discreet, sensible, ingenious man. 
Monday — Come still through bye -ways to 
Warkworth, where we dine. Warkworth, situ- 
ated very picturesque, with Coquet Island, a 
small rocky spot, the seat of an old monastery, 
facing it a little in the sea ; and the small but 
romantic river Coquet running through it. 
Sleep at Morpeth, a pleasant- enough little 
town, and on next day to Newcastle." Meet 
with a very agreeable, sensible fellow, a Mr. 
Chattox, who shews us a great many civilities, 
and who dines and sups with us." The Poet 
seems to have found little in Newcastle to 
interest him : tradition says that at dinner 
he was startled at seeing the meat served 
before the soup. " This," said his facetious 
entertainer, "is in obedience to a Northum- 
berland maxim, which enjoins us to eat the 
beef before we sup the broth, lest the hungry 
Scotch make an inroad and snatch it." Burns 
laughed heartily. On leaving Newcastle he 
rode over a fine country to Hexham, to break- 
fast — from Hexham to Wardrue, the celebrated 
Spa, where he slept. Thence he proceeded on 
to Longtown, which he reached on a hiring 
day. — " I am uncommonly happy," he says, 
"to see so many young folks enjoying life-" 
Here he parted with his good friends, Messrs. 
Hood and Ker. He arrives at Carlisle, and 
meets his good friend, Mr. Mitchell, and walks 
with him round the town and its environs, and 
through his printing-works, &c. — "four or five 
hundred people employed, many of them wo- 
men and children. — Dine with Mr. Mitchel, 
and leave Carlisle. — Come by the coast to An- 
nan. — Overtaken on the way by a curious old 
fish of a shoemaker, and miner, from Cumber- 
land mines." 

[Here the Manuscript of his Border Tour 
abruptly terminates.] 

He sat down and gave a brief account of his 
jaunt, to his friend Nicol, in very particular 
Scotch ; saying, in conclusion, " Til be in Dum- 
fries the morn, gif the beast be to the fore, and 



58 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



the branks bide bale. Gude be wi' you, Willie. 
Amen." 

From Carlisle be went along the coast to 
Annan and Dumfries. — " I am quite charmed," 
he says, " with Dumfries folks. Mr. Burnside, 
the clergyman, in particular, is a man whom I 
shall ever gratefully remember : and his wife — 
Gude forgie me ; I had almost broke the tenth 
Commandment on her account. Simplicity, 
elegance, good sense, sweetness of disposition, 
good humour, and kind hospitality, are the 
constituents of her manner and heart : in short 
— but if I say one word more about her, I shall 
be directly in love with her." Burns next pro- 
ceeded to Dalswinton, and walked over the 
unoccupied farms ; but, though he expressed 
himself pleased with the general aspect of the 
valley, he declined for the time the handsome 
offer of a four-nineteen years' lease on his own 
terms ; and, saying he would return in autumn, 
departed. " From my view of the lands," he 
said in a letter to Nicol, "and Mr. Miller's 
reception of my hardship, my hopes in that 
business are rather mended, but still they are 
but slender." 

The friends of Burns considered this an agri- 
cultural rather than a poetic tour. It partook 
of the nature of both ; remarks on varieties of 
soil ; rotation of crop, and on land, pastoral or 
cultivated, mingle curiously with sketches of 
personal character, notices of visits paid to 
hoary ruins, or to scenes memorable in song. 
His curiosity was excited : his heart a little 
touched, but neither the fine scenery, nor the 
lovely women, produced any serious effect on his 
muse. The sole poetic fruit of the excursion 
is an epistle to Creech, dated Selkirk, May 13, 
and written, he says, " Nearly extempore, in 
a solitary inn, after a miserable wet day's 
riding." It is, in its nature, complimentary : 
the dripping sky, and, "the worst inn's worst 
room," induced the Poet to make light of 

" The Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks, now roaring red," 

and think of the wit and the wine of Edinburgh, 
and see, in imagination, philosophers, poets, 

" And toothy critics by the score, 
In bloody raw," 

crowding to the levee of the patronizing biblio- 
pole. 

After an absence of six busy, and to him 
eventful, months, Burns returned to Mossgiel 
the 8th of June, 1787. His mother, a woman 
of few words, met him with tears of joy in her 
eyes at the threshold, saying, " Oh, Robert !" 
He had left her hearth in the darkness of night, 
and he came back in the brightness of day ; he 
went away an obscure and almost nameless ad- 
venturer, and he returned with a name, round 
which there was already a halo not destined 
soon to be eclipsed. In his own eyes, his early 



aspirations after fame seemed as hopeless as " the 
blind groping of Homer's Cyclops round the 
walls of his cave ;" he had now made his way 
to the mountain-top, his pipe was at his lips, 
and all the country round was charmed with 
his melody. The last lines which he expected 
to measure in Caledonia were not yet uttered, 
and he who, to use his words, was lately 

" Darkling dern'd in glens and hallows, 
And hunted, as was William Wallace, 
By constables, those blackguard fallows, 
And b<tilies baith," 

was now a poet of the highest order ; the fit 
and accepted companion of the proud and the 
lordly, with gold, the fruits of his genius, in 
his pocket, and more promised by the muse. 
Those who formerly were cold or careless, now 
approached to praise and to welcome him ; 
while his mother, who never imagined that 
aught good could come from idle rhyme, re- 
ceived all as something dropped from heaven, 
and rejoiced in the fame of her son. 

He remained at home some ten or twelve 
days. He went little out. His acquaintance 
with Jean Armour was probably not at that 
time renewed, nor did he visit more than one 
friend or two ; his chief occupation was in 
writing to his literary acquaintances, and dis- 
cussing with his brother Gilbert the chances of 
success in agriculture. He was restless — he 
was not satisfied with his position in society ; 
he neither belonged to the high nor to the low. 
Rank, he felt, had taken his hand coldly to 
squeeze and to drop it, while his rustic brethren 
looked upon him as having risen above their 
condition. The feelings which agitated him 
are forcibly — nay, darkly, expressed in a letter 
to Nicol, dated Mauchline, June 18 : — " I 
never, my friend, thought mankind very capa- 
ble of any thing generous ; but the stateliness 
of the patricians in Edinburgh, and the servi- 
lity of my plebeian brethren (who perhaps 
formerly eyed me askance) since I returned 
home, have nearly put me out of conceit al- 
together with my species. I have bought a 
pocket Milton, which I carry perpetually a- 
bout with me, in order to study the sentiments 
— the dauntless magnanimity — the intrepid, un- 
yielding independence — the desperate daring, 
and noble defiance of hardship, in that great 
personage, Satan. 'Tis true, I have just now a 
little cash ; but I am afraid the star that hitherto 
has shed its malignant, purpose-blasting rays 
full in my zenith — that noxious planet, so bane- 
ful in its influences to the rhyming tribe, I much 
dread it is not yet beneath my horizon. Misfor- 
tune dodges the path of human life ; the poetic 
mind finds itself miserably deranged in, and un- 
fit for, the walks of business. Add to all that, 
thoughtless follies and hare-brained whims, like 
so many ignes fatiti, eternally diverging from 
the right line of sober discretion, sparkle with 



JETAT. 28. 



HIGHLAND TOUR. 



59 



step-bewitching blaze in the idly-gazing eyes 
of the poor heedless bard, till pop, ' he falls, 
like Lucifer, never to hope again.' God 
grant this may be an unreal picture with re- 
spect to me ! but should it not, I have very 
little dependence on mankind .... The many 
ties of acquaintance and friendship which I 
have, or think, I have, in life, I have felt along 

the lines, and d n them, they are almost all 

of them of such frail contexture that I am sure 
they would not stand the breath of the least 
adverse breeze of fortune." 

[" Among those," says Lockhart, " who 
having formerly l eyed him askance,' now ap- 
peared sufficiently ready to court his society, 
were the family of Jean Armour. Burns's af- 
fection for the beautiful young woman had out- 
lived his resentment of her compliance with her 
father's commands in the preceding summer ; 
and, from the time of this reconciliation, it is 
probable he always looked forward to a perma- 
nent union with the mother of his children. 

' ' Burns at least fancied himself to be busy with 
serious plans for his future establishment ; and 
was very naturally disposed to avail himself, as 
far as he could, of the opportunities of travel and 
observation, which an interval of leisure, des- 
tined probably to be a short one, might present. 
Moreover, in spite of his gloomy language, a 
specimen of which has just been quoted, we are 
not to doubt that he derived much pleasure 
from witnessing the extensive popularity of his 
writings, and from the flattering homage he 
was sure to receive in his own person, in the 
various districts of his native country ; nor can 
any one wonder that, after the state of high 
excitement in which he had spent the winter 
and spring, he, fond as he was of his family, 
and eager to make them partakers in all his 
good fortune, should have, just at this time, 
found himself incapable of sitting down con- 
tentedly, for any considerable period together, 
in so humble and quiet a circle as that of 
Mossgiel."] 

In this mood he left Mauchline, and hurried 
to Edinburgh. 

In some of the doings of Burns during the 
latter half of the year 1787, we see a mind 
" unfitted with an aim ;" he moved much about 
without any visible purpose in his motions. 
We have now to follow him northward in three 
successive and hurried excursions, in which he 
passed into the Western Highlands, examined 
Stirling-shire, and penetrated eastward as far as 
Inverness. In his first tour he was mounted 
on Jenny Geddes, named after the devout 
virago who threw a stool at the Dean of Edin- 
burgh's head— perhaps the lady celebrated in 
song : — 

" Jenny Geddes was the gossip 
Put the gown upon the Bishop." 

Of this journey we know little that is pleasant. 



Burns seems to have been possessed with a 
spirit of ill-humour during the greater part of 
the expedition. He first bent his steps to Car- 
ron, and, desiring to see the celebrated Foun- 
dry, was repulsed from the gate, rudely as he 
thought : for he put his complaint into no very 
decorous language : — 

" We came na' here to view your warks 
In hopes to be mair wise, 
But only, lest we gang to hell, 
It might be nae surprise." 

He then proceeded to Stirling. The Poet 
was an intense lover of his country and her 
glory : the displeasure with which the people 
of Scotland regarded the Union, which had re- 
moved all visible symbols of power and inde- 
pendence, was not in those days subsided ; and, 
when he looked on the Hall, where princes once 
raied and Scottish parliaments assembled, and 
reflected that it was laid in ruins by a prince of 
the house of Hanover, he gave vent to his pvo- 
per indignation in the following lines : — 

" Here Stuarts once in glory reigned, 
And laws for Scotland's weal ordained ; 
But now unroof'd their palace stands, 
Their sceptre's sway'a by other hands ; 
The injur'd Stuart line is gone, 
A race outlandish fills the throne." 

Two other lines followed, forming the bitter 
point to the epigram — they were remembered 
in after-days to the poet's injury. He seems 
not to have been very sensible at that time of 
his imprudence ; — for some one said, " Burns, 
this will do you no good." — " I shall reprove 
myself," he said ; and wrote these aggravating 
words : 

'* Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name 
Shall no longer appear in the records of fame ; 
Does not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible, 
Says, the more 'tis a truth, Sir, the more 'tis a libel?" 

Such satire was not likely to pass without re- 
monstrance ; Hamilton, of Gladsmuir, wrote a 
reply, wherein he lamented that a mind, 

" Where Genius lights her brightest fires," 

should disdain truth, and law, and justice ; 

" And, skulking with a villain's aim, 
Thus basely stab his monarch's fame." 

There are few who will not concur in the pro- 
priety of this rebuke. This writer, however, 
resolved to be prophet, as well as poet and 
priest : — 

" Yes, Burns, 'tis o'er — thy race is run, 
And shades receive thy setting sun : 
These few rash lines shall damn thy name, 
And blast thy hopes of future fame." 

Poetic sarcasms on ruling powers may keep a 
man from rising in the church where princes are 
patrons, but they have no influence on his 



=® 



~v 



60 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



ascent up Parnassus : of this no one was more 
aware than Burns, nor was he long at a loss 
for an answer to the minister of Gladsmuir, 

"Like Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel 
All others scorn— but damn that ass's heel." 

After leaving Stirling, we hear no more of 
Burns till, having traversed a portion of the 
Western Highlands, passed through Inverary, 
and made his appearance at Arrochar, he thus 
addresses Ainslie : "I write you this on my tour 
through a country where savage streams tum- 
ble over savage mountains ; thinly overspread 
with savage flocks, which starvingly support 
as savage inhabitants. My last stage was In- 
verary — to-morrow night's stage Dumbarton. 
I ought sooner to have answered your kind 
letter, but you know I am a man of many sins." 
This was on the 28th of June. At Inverary, 
he found the principal inn filled by a visiting 
party to the Duke of Argyle, who engrossed 
all the attention of the landlord ; and the poor 
Bard, mounted on a sorry mare, without friend 
or lackey, was neglected. He avenged him- 
self with unmerited bitterness : — 

" Whoe'er he be who sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Unless he's come to wait upon 

The lord their god, his Grace ; 
There's naething here but Highland pride, 

But Highland cauld and hunger; 
If Providence has sent me here 

'Twas surely in his anger." 

If the Poet wrote these lines on the window of 
the inn, he must have administered the spur at 
his departure with little mercy to the sides of 
Jenny Geddes ; for Highland wrath is as hot 
as Highland hospitality. 

Burns recovered his composure of mind be- 
fore reaching Dumbarton ; he had, moreover, 
fallen into very pleasant company. Having 
dined with a hospitable Highland gentleman, 
he was introduced to a merry part}^ and danced 
till the ladies left them, at three in the morn- 
ing. — " Our dancing," says the Bard, " was 
none of the French or English insipid formal 
movement?. The ladies sung Scotch songs like 
Angels ; then we flew at ' Bab at the bowster,' 
' Tulloch-gorum,' 'Loch-Erroch side,' &c, 
like midges sporting in the mottie sun, or craws 
prognosticating a storm in ahairst day. When 
the dear lasses left us, we ranged round the 
bowl till the good-fellow hour of six ; except 
a few m'nutes that we went out to pay our 
devotions to the glorious lamp of day peering 
over the towering top of Benlomond. We all 
kneeled. Our worthy landlord's son held the 
bowl, each man a full glass in his hand, and 
I, as priest, repeated some rhyming nonsense : 
like Thomas the Rhymer's prophecies, I sup- 
pose." 

These Highland high-jinks were not yet con- 
cluded. After a few hours' sleep they dined I 



at another good fellow's house, and conse- 
quently pushed the bottle ; Burns then mounted 
his mare, and, accompanied by two friends, 
rode along Lochlomond side on his way to 
Dumbarton. — " W'e found ourselves," he says, 
" ' no very fou, but gayly yet,' and I rode 
soberly, till by came a Highlandman at the 
gallop, on a tolerably good horse, but which 
had never known the ornaments of iron or 
leather. We scorned to be out-galloped by a 
Highlandman, so off we started, whip-and-spur. 
My companions fell sadly a~stern ; but my old 
mare, Jenny Geddes, one of the Rosinante fa- 
mily, strained past the Highlandman, in spite of 
all his efforts with the hair halter. Just as I 
was passing him, Donald wheeled his horse, as 
if to cross before me to mar my progress, when 
down came his horse, and threw his rider's 
breekless bottom into a dipt hedge, and down 
came Jenny Geddes over all, and my hardship 
between her and the Highlandman's horse. 
Jenny trode over me with such cautious re- 
verence that matters were not so bad as might 
well have been expected ; so I came off with 
a few cuts and bruises, and a thorough resolu- 
tion to be a pattern of sobriety for the future. 
As for the rest of my acts and my wars, and all 
my wise sayings, and why my mare was called 
Jenny Geddes, they shall be recorded, in a few 
weeks hence at Linlithgow, in the chronicles 
of your memory." 

Burns returned to Mauchline by the way of 
Glasgow, and remained with his mother during 
the latter part of the month of July. He re- 
newed his intercourse with the family of the 
Armours. Jean's heart still beat tenderly to- 
wards " the plighted husband of her youth ;" 
and Burns, much as his pride was wounded, 
could not help regarding her with affection. 
He had, as yet, no very defined notion of what 
he should do in the world : he trusted to time 
and chance. " I have yet fixed," he thus 
writes to a friend, " on nothing with respect to 
the serious business of life. I am just as usual 
— a rhyming, mason-making, raking, aimless 
fellow. However, I shall somewhere have a 
farm soon — I was going to say a wife, too ; 
but that must never be my blessed lot. I 
am afraid I have almost ruined one source, 
the principal one indeed, of my former happi- 
ness — that eternal propensity I always had to 
fall in love. My heart no more glows with 
feverish rapture. I have no paradisiacal 
evening interviews, stolen from the restless 
cares and prying inhabitants of this weary 
world. I have only * * * *. This last is one 
of your distant acquaintances, has a fine figure, 
and elegant manners ; and, in the train of 
some great folks whom you know, has seen the 
politest quarters in Europe. I do like her a 
good deal ; but what piques me is her conduct at 
the commencement of our acquaintance. I fre- 
quently visited her when I was in , 



;etat. '28. 



SECOND HIGHLAND TOUR. 



01 



and after passing regularly the intermediate de- 
grees between the distant formal bow and the 
familiar grasp round the waist, I ventured, in my 
careless way, to talk of friendship in rather am- 
biguous terms 5 and after her return to , 

I wrote to her in the same style. Miss, con- 
struing my words farther, I suppose, than even I 
intended, flew oft' in a tangent of female dignity 
and reserve, like a mounting lark in an April 
morning ; and wrote me an answer which mea- 
sured me out very completely what an immense 
way I had to travel before I could reach the 
climate of her favour. But I am an old hawk 
at the sport, and wrote her such a cool, delibe- 
rate, prudent reply as brought my bird from her 
aerial towerings, pop, down at my foot, like 
Corporal Trim's hat." The young lady to whom 
the poet alludes in this letter was veiy beautiful 
and very proud — it is said she gave his bard- 
ship such a specimen of both her pride and 
temper as 

" Made poor Robin stand abeigh." 

" I am but a younger son of the house of Par- 
nassus ; and, like other younger sons of great 
families, I may intrigue, if I choose to run all 
risks, but must not marry." 

It is plain that Burns regarded the burning of 
his marriage lines as not only destroying all 
evidence of his engagements with Jean Armour, 
but as a deliberate revocation of vows, on her 
part, which released him from the responsibili- 
ties of wedlock. Nay, this seems to have been 
the notion of graver men ; for the Poet thus 
writes to David Bryce, July 17th, 1786 : — 
" Poor Jean is come back to Mauchline. I 
went to call for her, but her mother forbade me 
the house. I have already appeared publicly 
in church, and was indulged in the liberty of 
standing in my own seat. I do this to get a 
certificate as a bachelor, which Mr. Auld has 
promised me." In this I see the anxiety of 
Mr. Armour to obliterate all traces of the mar- 
riage, and the concurrence, at least, of the Poet 
in the proceeding. Robert Burns and Jean 
Armour might permit their friends to regard 
them as unmarried, and, if such was their own 
pleasure, call themselves single ; but their 
children were not, 1 apprehend, affected in their 
claims to legitimacy by this disavowal on the 
part of their parents ; the law would, I think, 
enforce their rights for them in spite of the dis- 
clamation of both father and mother. Nay, I 
suspect, the law refuses to recognize any other 
dissolution of wedlock than what is effected by 
civil or ecclesiastical authority. However this 
may be, the Poet affected all the freedom of 
speech and action which custom concedes to 
bachelors, and seemed oftener than once on the 
point of unwittingly agitating the question, 
whether an Ayr-shire lass or an Edinburgh lady 
should plead a property in his hand. 



The second excursion of Burns towards the ' 
north was made in the company of Dr. Adair, 
of Harrow - gate, whom chance made into a 
comrade, and who fortunately retained the par- \ 
ticulars of the journey in his memory. He set 
out early in August from Edinburgh, passed 
through Linlithgow, and made his appearance 
again at the gates of Carron Foundry — they 
were opened with an apology for former rude- 
ness, which mollified the bard ; and he beheld 
in their tremendous furnaces and broiling labours 
a resemblance to the cavern of the Cyclops. A 
resemblance of a less classical kind had before 
occurred to him. From Carron he hurried to 
Stirling, that he might break and replace the 
pane of glass in the inn window, on which he 
had written those rash and injurious lines al- 
ready alluded to ; and then he proceeded to 
visit Ramsay of Ochtertyre, whose romantic re- 
sidence on the Teith he admired greatly, and 
whose conversation, rife as it was with know- 
ledge of Scottish literature, was altogether after 
his own heart. This visit was brief, but full of 
interest. The laird of Ochtertyre had a memory 
filled with old traditions and old songs. He 
had written some ingenious essays on the olden 
poetry, displaying feeling and taste ; and more- 
over, the walls of his house were hung with 
long Latin inscriptions, much to the wonder of 
the unlearned Bard of Kyle. 

They discussed fit topics for the muse — a 
rustic drama, and Scottish Georgics. " What 
beautiful landscapes of rural life and manners," 
says Ramsay, " might not have been expected 
from a pencil so faithful and forcible as his, 
which could have exhibited scenes as familiar 
and interesting as those in the Gentle Shepherd, 
which everyone who knows our swains, in their 
unadulterated state, instantly recognizes as true 
to nature. But to have executed either of 
these plans, steadiness and abstraction from 
company were wanted, not genius." Of Burns' 
power of conversation, he says, " I have been in 
the company of many men of genius, some of them 
poets, but never witnessed such flashes of in- 
tellectual brightness as from him — the impulse 
of the moment — sparks of celestial fire." It is 
painful to think that the celestial sayings of the 
Poet have vanished from men's memories, while 
the less mental and grosser things remain. He 
continued two days on the Teith, and then pro- 
ceeded to Harvieston, where he was received 
with much respect and kindness by Mrs. 
Hamilton and her daughters. Here he saw 
Charlotte Hamilton for the first time. — " She 
is not only beautiful," he thus wrote to her 
brother Gavin, of Mauchline, " but lovely. 
Her form is elegant, her features not regular, 
but they have the smile of sweetness, and the 
settled complacency of good nature in the 
highest degree ; and her complexion, now that 
she has happily recovered her wonted health, 
is equal to Miss Burnet's After the exercise 



62 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



of our riding to the Falls, Charlotte was exactly 
Dr. Donne's mistress : — 

' Her pure and eloquent blood 
Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, 
That one would almost say her body thought.' 

Her eyes are fascinating ; at once expressive of 
good sense, tenderness, and a noble mind." 

The account of Dr. Adair supplies some cir- 
cumstances which Burns has omitted : — 

"At Stirling we met with a company of tra- 
vellers from Edinburgh, among whom was a cha- 
racter in many respects congenial with that of 
Burns. This was Nicol, one of the teachers of 
the High Grammar School at Edinburgh — the 
same wit and power of conversation ; the same 
fondness for convivial society, and thoughtless- 
ness of to-morrow characterised both. Jaco- 
bitical principles in politics were also common to 
both of them ; and these have been suspected, 
since the Revolution of France, to have given 
place in each to opinions apparently opposite. 
I regret that I have preserved no memorabilia 
of their conversation. Many songs were sung, 
which I mention for the sake of observing that, 
when Burns was called upon in his turn, he 
was accustomed, instead of singing, to recite 
one or other of his own shorter poems, with tone 
and emphasis which, though not correct or har- 
monious, were impressive and pathethic. 

u From Stirling we went next morning through 
the romantic and fertile vale of Devon to Har- 
vieston, in Clackmannanshire, then inhabited by 
Mrs. Hamilton, with the younger part of whose 
family Burns had been previously acquainted. 
He introduced me to the family ; and there was 
formed my first acquaintance with Mrs. Hamil- 
ton's eldest daughter, to whom I have been mar- 
ried for many years. Thus was I indebted to 
Burns for a connexion from which I have 
derived, and expect further to derive, much 
happiness. 

" During a residence of about ten days at Har- 
vieston, we made excursions to various parts of 
the surrounding scenery, particularly Castle- 
Campbell, the ancient seat of the family of 
Argyle ; and the famous cataract of the Devon, 
called the Cauldron-Linn ; and the Rumbling- 
Bridge, a single broad arch, thrown by the 
devil, if tradition is to be believed, across the 
river, at about the height of a hundred feet a- 
bove its bed. I am surprised that none of these 
scenes should have called forth an exertion 



* According to Fordun, Robert Bruce was buried in the 
middle of the choir of Dunfermline Abbey. Barbour de- 
scribes the interment of this illustrious Scottish monarch in 
these lines : — 

' They have had him to Dunfermline 
And him solemnly yirded syne, 
In a fair tomb into the quire, 
Bishops and prelates that were there 
Assoilzed him, when the service 
Was done, as they best could device, 
And syne upon the other day, 
Sorry and wo they went their way ; 



of Burns' muse ; but I doubt if he had much 
taste for the picturesque, I well remember 
that the ladies at Harvieston, who accompanied 
us on the jaunt, expressed their disappointment 
at his not expressing in more glowing and fer- 
vid language his impressions of the Cauldron- 
Linn scene — certainly highly sublime, and 
somewhat horrible. A visit to Mrs. Bruce, of 
Clackmannan, a lady above ninety, the lineal 
descendant of that race which gave the Scottish 
throne its brightest ornament, interested his 
feelings powerfully. This venerable dame, with 
characteristic dignity, informed me, on my 
observing that I believed she was descended 
from the family of Robert Bruce, that Robert 
Bruce was sprung from her family. She was 
in possession of the hero's helmet and two- 
handed sword, with which she conferred on 
Burns and myself the honour of knighthood, 
observing that she had a better right to confer 
that title than some people. Her political 
tenets were as Jacobitical as the Poet's, a con- 
formity which contributed not a little to the 
cordiality of our reception. She gave us as her 
first toast after dinner, ' Awa uncos/ or away 
with the strangers ; — who these strangers were 
you will readily understand. 

" Mrs. Adair corrects me by saying it should be 
1 Hoohi uncos' — a sound used by the shepherds 
in directing their dogs to drive away the sheep. 

11 At Dunfermline, we visited the ruined 
abbey, and the abbey - church, now consecrated 
to Presbyterian worship. Here I mounted the 
cutty-stool, or stool of repentance, assuming 
the character of a penitent for fornication ; 
while Burns, in the character of priest, admo- 
nished me from the pulpit on the enormity of 
my transgression, and the frequency of its occur- 
rence. The ludicrous reproof and exhortation 
which he addressed to me were, of course, 
parodied from what had been delivered to him- 
self in Ayrshire, were he assured me he had once 
been one of seven who mounted the seat of 
shame together. 

" In the churchyard, Burns knelt down, and 
kissed with much fervour the broad flag-stone 
which covered the grave of the great restorer 
of Scottish independence, Robert Bruce, and 
execrated the want of respect shewn by the 
local authorities to the dust of the first of Scot- 
tish heroes.* They returned to Edinburgh by 
the way of Kinross and Queensferry. 



And he debowelled was cleanly, 

And also balmed syne full richly ; 

And the worthy Lord of Douglas, 

His heart as it forsaken was, 

Received ay in great dewtie, 

With fair and great solemnitie.' 
The neglect so much execrated by Burns has been since re- 
paired. When the new parish church of Dunfermline was 
erectedin 1818, it was made to enclose the burial place of the 
kings, and on this occasion the tomb of the Bruce was 
opened. The body of the hero was found reduced to a ske- 
leton. The lead in which it had been wrapped was still 
entire, and even some of a fine linen cloth, embroidered with 



jETAT. 28. 



SECOND HIGHLAND TOUR. 



68 



The complaint of Dr. Adair and the Har- 
vieston ladies that Burns broke out into no 
poetic raptures on visiting the magnificence 
of the Caldron-Linn, or the melancholy splen- 
dour of Castle - Campbell, and that, because 
he was next to silent, they concluded he had 
no taste for the picturesque, may be assigned 
to other reasons : — he disliked to be tutored in 
matters of taste, and could not endure that one 
should run shouting before him whenever 
any fine object appeared. On one occasion of 
this kind, a lady at the Poet's side said, " Burns, 
have you nothing to say of this?" — "Nothing, 
madam," he replied, glancing at the leader of 
the party, " for an ass is braying over it." One 
evening, Lockhart relates, as the Poet passed 
near the Carron Foundry, when the furnaces 
were casting forth flames, his companion ex- 
claimed, " Look, Burns ! look ! good heavens, 
look! look — what a glorious sight!" — "Sir ? " 
said the Bard, clapping spurs to Jenny Geddes, 
" I would not look ! look ! at your bidding, 
if it were the mouth of hell!" When he 
visited Creehope-Linn, in Dumfries-shire, at 
every turn of the stream and bend of the wood 
he was called loudly upon to admire the shelv- 
ing sinuosities of the burn, and the caverned 
splendour of its all but inaccessible banks — it 
was thought bj those with him that he did not 
shew rapture enough — " I could not admire it 
more, Sir," said the Poet, " If He who made it 
were to ask me to do it." 

There were other reasons for the Poet being 
u so bashful and so grave " in the company of 
the Harvieston ladies. From his frequent praise 
in prose, from his admiration in song, and the 
general tone of his conversation, I cannot 
avoid concluding that he thought more than 
favourably of Charlotte Hamilton. In the 
presence of female loveliness, Burns could see 
no landscape beauty ; with Charlotte beside 
him, the Caldron-Linn seemed an ordinary 
cascade, and Castle- Gloom not at all romantic. 
There is no positive evidence that he paid his 
addresses to the " Fairest Maid of Devon 
Banks ; " but he did much to render himself 
acceptable, and, as an oblique way of making 
his approach, he strove, and not without suc- 
cess, to merit the good opinion of her companion, 
Margaret Chalmers, a young lady of beauty as 
well as sense, now Mrs. Hay of Edinburgh. 
I can give but an imperfect account of the pro- 
gress of the Poet's passion, for some twelve or 
fourteen of his most carefully written and gently 
expressed letters were, in an evil hour, thrown 
into the fire by Charlotte Hamilton, and all 
the record we have are his songs and what is 
contained in his correspondence. 

Of the lyrical lime-twigs which the Poet 

gold, which had formed his shroud. His bone3 having been 
deposited in a new leaden coffin, half an inch thick, seven feet 
long, two feet five inches broad, and two feet in depth, into 
Which was poured melted pitch to preserve them, he was re- 



laid on the banks of the Devon, he gives the 
following intimation, in a letter to Margaret 
Chalmers : — " Talking of Charlotte, I must 
tell her that I have, to the best of my power, 
paid her a poetic compliment. The air is ad- 
mirable ; true old Highland ; it was the tune 
of a Gaelic song which an Inverness lady sung 
me, and I was so charmed with it that I begged 
her to write me a set of it from her singing, 
for it had never been set before. I am fixed 
that it shall go in Johnson's next number, so 
Charlotte and you need not spend your precious 
time in contradicting me. I won't say the 
poetry is first-rate, though I am convinced it is 
very well ; and, what is not always the case 
with compliments to ladies, it is not only sin- 
cere, but just." The Poet alludes to his sweet 
and graceful song, " The Banks of the Devon/' 
The praise is figurative : — ■ 

" Let Bourbon exult in his gaj 1, gilded lilies, 
And England, triumphant, display her proud rose, 
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows." 

Having secured her immortality in song, and 
probably observed the coldness with which his 
harmonious compliments were received, Burns 
complains, obliquely, of Charlotte's want of 
sympathy, by imagining that his words have 
no longer any fascination for woman. " My 
rhetoric," he says, " seems quite to have lost its 
effect on the lovely half of mankind ; I have seen 
the day — but that is ' a tale of other years.' — 
In my conscience, I believe that my heart has 
been so often on fire that it is absolutely vitri- 
fied. I look on the sex with something like 
the admiration with which I regard the starry 
sky in a frosty December night ; I admire the 
beauty of the Creator's workmanship ; I am 
charmed with the wild but graceful eccentricity 
of their motions, and — wish them good night. 
I mean this with respect to a certain passion 
dontfai eu Vhonneurd'etrc'un miserable esclave : 
as for friendship, you and Charlotte have given 
me pleasure — permanent pleasure — ' which the 
world cannot give nor take away,' I hope ; and 
which will outlast the heavens and the earth." 

The third and last tour of Burns was per- 
formed in the company of Nicol. The master 
of the High-school had made himself agree- 
able to the Poet by an intrepid mode of expres- 
sion, and an admiration of whatever was hair- 
brained and sentimental. He was 

" A fiery ether-cap ; a fractious chiel," 

and altogether one of those companions who 
require prudent management. They com- 
menced their tour in a post chaise, on the 25th 
of August, 1787. Burns kept a journal of the 
journey : it is now before me, and begins thus : 



interred with much state and solemnity, by the Barons of the 
Exchequer, many of the most distinguished noblemen and 
gentlemen of the county being present. The tomb of the 
Bruce is immediately under the pulpit of the new church. 



64 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



— " I leave Edinburgh for a northern tour, in 
company with my good friend Mr. Nicol, 
whose originality of humour promises me much 
entertainment. — Linlithgow — a fertile improved 
country. — West Lothian ; — the more elegance 
and luxury among the farmers, I always ob- 
serve, in equal proportion the rudeness and 
stupidity of the peasantry. This remark I have 
made all over the Lothians, Merse, Roxburgh, 
&c. ; and for this, among other reasons, I think 
that a man of romantic taste — a ' man of feel- 
ing ' — will be better pleased with the poverty, 
but intelligent minds, of the peasantry in Ayr- 
shire (peasantry they are all below the justice 
of peace) than the opulence of a club of Merse 
farmers, when he, at the same time, considers 
the Vandalism of their plough-folks, &c. I 
carry this idea so far that an unenclosed, half- 
improved country is to me actually more agree- 
able, and gives me more pleasure as a prospect, 
than a country cultivated like a garden." The 
Poet refused to look on the world through the 
coloured spectacles of political economists ; he 
preferred happiness to wealth. 

The soil about Linlinthgow he considered as 
light and thin ; the town carries the appearance 
of rude, decayed, idle grandeur, and the situ- 
ation charmingly retired and rural. — " The old 
Royal Palace," says his journal, " is a tolerable 
fine but melancholy ruin, sweetly situated on a 
small elevation by the brink of a loch. Shewn 
the room where the beautiful injured Mary Queen 
of Scots was born. A very pretty good old 
Gothic church, with the infamous stool of re- 
pentance standing, in the old Romish way, on 
a lofty situation. What a poor pimping busi- 
ness is a Presbyterian place of worship ! Dirty, 
narrow, and squalid ; stuck in a corner of old 
Popish grandeur, such as Linlithgow, and much 
more, Melrose ! Ceremony and show, if ju- 
diciously thrown in, absolutely necessary for the 
bulk of mankind, both in religious and civil 
matters. Go to my friend Smith's at Avon 
print-field — find nobody but Mrs. Meller, an 
agreeable, sensible, modest, good lady ; as use- 
ful, but not so ornamental, as Fielding's Miss 
1 1 Western — not rigidly polite a la Francois, but 
1 1 easy, hospitable, and housewifely. An old lady 
| J from Paisley, a Mrs. Lawson, whom I promise 

jj to call for in Paisley — like old Lady W , 

I; and still more like Mrs. C , her conversation 

lj is pregnant with strong sense and just remark, 
|j but, like them, a certain air of self-importance 
|, and a duresse in the eye, seem to indicate, as 
| the Ayrshire wife observed of her cow, that 

' She had a mind o' her ain ! ' " 

j He continues his tour, and his remarks — 

" Pleasant view of Dunfermline, and the 



* [" In the last words of Burns' note above quoted," 
says Lockhart, "he perhaps glances at a beautiful trait of 
old Barbour, where he describes Bruce's soldiers crowding 



rest of the fertile coast of Fife, as w r e go down 
to that dirty, ugly place, Borrowstoness — see a 
horse-race, and call on a friend of Mr. Nicol, 
a Bailie Cowan, of whom I know too little to 
attempt his portrait. Come through the rich 
Carse of Falkirk to pass the night. At Falkirk 
nothing remarkable, except the grave of Sir 
John the Grahame, over which, in the succes- 
sion of time, four stones have been placed. — 
Camelon, the ancient metropolis of the Picts, 
now a small village in the neighbourhood of 
Falkirk. — Cross the grand canal to Carron. — 
Come past Larbert and admire a fine monument 
of cast-iron erected by Bruce, the African 
traveller, to his wife. Pass Dunipace — a place 
laid out with fine taste — a charming amphithe- 
atre, bounded by Denny village, and pleasant 
seats. The Carron, running down the bosom 
of the whole, makes it one of the most charm- 
ing little prospects I have seen. Dine at 
Auchinbowie — Mr. Monro an excellent, worthy 
old man, — Miss Monro, an amiable, sensible, 
sweet young woman, much resembling Mrs. 
Grierson. Come on to Bannockburn ; shewn 
the old house where James III. finished so tra- 
gically his unfortunate life ; — the field of Ban- 
nockburn, — the hole where glorious Bruce set 
his standard. Here no Scot can pass uninter- 
ested. — I fancy to myself that I see my gallant, 
heroic countrymen coining o'er the hill, and 
down upon the plunderers of their country, the 
murderers of their fathers : noble revenge and 
just hate glowing in every vein, striding more 
and more eagerly as they approach the oppres- 
sive, insulting, blood-thirsty foe ! I see them 
meet in glorious - triumphant congratulation 
on the victorious field, exulting in their heroic 
royal leader, and rescued liberty and independ- 
ence ! " * 

[" Here," says Lockhart, " we have the 
germ of Burns' famous Ode on the Battle of 
Bannockburn."] 

" Sic words spake they of their king ; 
And for his hie undertaking 
Ferleyit and yernit him for to see, 
That with him aye was wont to be." 

I prefer, however, the account briefly ren- 
dered in one of his letters to all the rapture of 
his journal. — " Stirling, August 26. — This 
morning I knelt at the tomb of Sir John the 
Grahame, the gallant friend of the immortal 
Wallace, and two hours ago I said a fervent 
prayer for old Caledonia, over the hole in a 
blue whinstone, where Robert the Bruce fixed 
his royal standard on the banks of Bannock- 
burn ; and just now, from Stirling Castle, I 
have seen, by the setting sun, the glorious pros- 
pect of the windings of Forth through the rich 



around him at the conclusion of one of his hard-fought days, 
with as much curiosity as if they had never seen his person 
before.] 



.2BTAT. 28. 



THIRD HIGHLAND TOUR. 



Carse of Stirling, and skirting the equally rich 
Carse of Falkirk." The ancient glory of his 
country, and the deeds of her heroes, were ever 
present to his mind. 

In his way to Crieff, Burns saw the Ochel- 
hills, the Devon, the Teith, and the Allan ; he 
rode up the romantic Earn ; visited Strathallan, 
" a fine country, but little improved ; " Auch- 
tertyre, where " grows the aik," as his own in- 
imitable song says, and, going up Glen- Almond, 
he visited the " traditionary grave " of Ossian. 
Making his way to Tay mouth, he gazed long 
and earnestly on the spreading vale, the princely 
towers, and the expanding sea : his journal 
merely states " Tay mouth— described in rhyme.''' 
This alludes to the verses written with a pencil 
over the mantel-piece of the parlour in the inn 
at Kenmore ; some of which, says Lockhart, 
are among his best English heroics — 

" Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 

Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell : 

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods : 

The incessant roar of headlong-tumbling floods." 

Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, 

And look through nature with creative fire ; 

Here, to the wrongs of fate half-reconcil'd 

Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ; 

And disappointment, in these lonely bounds. 

Find balm to sooth her bitter, rankling wounds : 

Here heart-struck grief might heaven- ward stretch her scan, 

And injur'd worth forget, and pardon man." 

He passed through Dunkeld, visited the Lyon 
river, and knelt and said prayers in the Druid's 
temple, a smaller Stonehenge : of this piece of 
antiquity, he says, " Three circles of stone — 
the outermost sunk — the second has thirteen 
stones remaining — the innermost has eight — two 
large detached ones, like a gate to the south- 
east." Of Aberfeldy he briefly writes — " de- 
scribed in rhyme." He composed " The Birks 
of Aberfeldy" as he stood by the falls; the 
scene is truly beautiful, and the song rivals 
in truth and effect the landscape. Thence he 
proceeded to Birnani top : looked down the 
Tay, and visited a Hermitage on the Bran-water 
dedicated to the genius of Ossian. — " Breakfast 
with Dr. Stewart ; Neil Gow plays — a short, 
stout-built, honest Highland figure, with his 
greyish hair shed on his honest social brow ; an 
interesting face, marking strong sense ; kind 
open - heartedness, mixed with unmistrusting 
simplicity;! visit his house — Margaret Gow." 



* [It is not true, says Lockhart, that this stone marks the 
spot where Dundee received his death wound.] 

t [Another northern bard has sketched this eminent 
musician thus : — 

" The blythe Strathspey springs up, reminding some 
Of nights when Gow's old arm (nor old the tale,) 
Unceasing, save when reeking cans went round, 
Made heart and heel leap light as bounding roe. 
Alas ! no more shall we behold that look 
So venerable, yet so blent with mirth, 
And festive joy sedate ; that ancient garb 
Unvaried, — tartan hose, and bonnet blue ! 



He next passed up Loch Tummel to Blair. 
" Fascally, a beautiful romantic nest — wild 
grandeur of the Pass of Gilliecrankie — visit 
the gallant Lord Dundee's stone."* In re- 
membrance of this, in one of his after songs he 
makes a soldier of Mackay's say — 

" The bauld Pitcur fell in a fur, 
And Clavers got a clankie, 
Else I'd hae fed an Athole gled 
On the braes of Killiecrankie." 

From tne battle field, Burns proceeded to tne 
palace of the Duke of Athol, at Blair, where 
he was welcomed with much kindness and 
courtesy : — " Sup with the duchess ; easy and 
happy from the manners of the family ; con- 
firmed in my good opinion of my friend 
Walker." Such is his brief record of this 
event ; Professor Walker, who was at this period 
tutor to the family of Athol, merited the eulo- 
gium, and more ; no sooner did he observe Nicol 
than, knowing the manners of the man, lie 
prepared an entertainment according to the 
nature of the fierce pedagogue. A fishing-rod 
and a servant to attend him by day, and choice 
wine and a snug table at night, charmed Nicol, 
and left Burns leisure to converse with the 
Duke and Duchess, and visit the scenes around, 
which he declared were fine by nature, but 
hurt by bad taste. Of the visit and visiter, the 
Professor has given us the following account : — 

" On reaching Blair, he sent me notice of his 
arrival (as I had previously been acquainted 
with him), and I hastened to meet him at the 
inn. The Duke, to whom he brought a letter 
of introduction, was from home ; but the 
Duchess, being informed of his arrival, gave him 
an invitation to sup and sleep at Athol House. 
Burns accepted the invitation ; but, as the hour 
of supper was at some distance, he begged I 
would in the interval be his guide through the 
grounds. It vas already growing dark ; yet 
the softened, though faint and uncertain, view 
of their beauties, which the moonlight afforded 
us, seemed exactly suited to the state of his 
feelings at the time. I had often, like others, 
experienced the pleasures which arise from the 
sublime or elegant landscape, but I never saw 
those feelings so intense as in Burns. When 
we reached a rustic hut on the river Tilt, 
where it is overhung by a woody precipice, from 
which there is a noble waterfall, he threw him- 



No more shall Beauty's partial eye draw forth 
The full intoxication of his strain, 
Mellifluous, strong, exuberantly rich ! 
No more, amid the pauses of the dance, 
Shall he repeat those measures that, in days 
Of other years, could soothe a falling prince, 
And light his visage with a transient smile 
Of melancholy joy, — like autumn sun 
Gilding a sear tree with a passing beam < 
Or play to sportive children on tne green 
Dancing at gloamin' hour ; on willing cheer 
With strains unbought, the shepherd's bridal day." 

Grahamk — British (Jeurgics. 
V 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



self on the heathy seat, and gave himself up to 
a tender, abstracted, and voluptuous enthusiasm 
of imagination. I cannot help thinking it 
might have been here that he conceived the idea 
of the following lines, which he afterwards in- 
troduced into his poem on Bruar Water, when 
only fancying such a combination of objects as 
were now present to his eye : — 

" Or, by the reapers' nightly beam, 
Mild, chequering through the trees, 
Rave to my darkly-dashing stream, 
Hoarse-swelling on the breeze." 

It was with much difficulty 1 prevailed on him 
to quit this spot, and to be introduced in proper 
time for supper. My curiosity was great to see 
how Burns would conduct himself in company 
so different from what he had been accustomed 
to. His manner was unembarrassed, plain, and 
firm. He appeared to have complete reliance 
on his own native good sense for directing his 
behaviour. He seemed at once to perceive and 
appreciate what was due to the company and to 
himself, and never to forget a proper respect 
for the separate species of dignity belonging 
to each. He did not arrogate conversation, 
but when led into it he spoke with ease, pro- 
priety, and manliness. He tried to exert his 
abilities, because he knew it was ability alone 
gave him a title to be there. The Duchess's 
fine young family attracted much of his admi- 
ration ; he drank their healths as ' honest men 
and bonnie lasses/ an idea which was much 
applauded by the company, and with which 
he has very felicitously closed his poem. Next 
day I took a ride with him through some of the 
most romantic parts of that neighbourhood, and 
was highly gratified by his conversation. As 
a specimen of his happiness of conception and 
strength of expression, I will mention a remark 
which he made on his fellow-traveller, who was 
walking at the time a few paces before us. He 
was a man of a robust but clumsy person ; and 
while Burns was expressing to me the value he 
entertained for him, on account of his vigorous 
talents, although they were clouded at times by 
coarseness of manners ; ' in short/ he added, 
1 his mind is like his body, he has a confounded 
strong in-kneed sort of a soul.' Much atten- 
tion was paid to Burns both before and after 
the duke's return, of which he was perfectly 
sensible, without being vain ; and at his depar- 
ture I recommended to him, as the most appro- 
priate return he could make, to write some de- 
scriptive verses on any of the scenes with which 
he had been so much delighted." 

[It appears that the impression made by our 
poet on the noble family of Athol was in a 
high degree favourable ; it is certain he was 
charmed with the reception he received from 
them, and he often mentioned the two days he 
spent at Athol-house as among the happiest of 
his life. He was warmly invited to prolong his 



stay, but sacrificed his inclinations to his en- 
gagement with Mr. Nicol.] 

It was the wish of the Duke that Burns 
should visit the banks of the Bruar, where the 
scenery is bold and naked. The Poet, accus- 
tomed to the woody banks of the Ayr and the 
Doon, was not disposed to admire the barren 
sublimity of the Bruar, and accordingly wrote 
his " Humble Petition/' in which the water re- 
quests the umbrage of birch and hazel from 
the hands of the noble proprietor. 

" Let lofty firs and ashes cool, 
My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool, 
Their shadows' wat'ry bed ! 
" Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 
My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 
The close embow'ring thorn." 

This was almost the only wish which the Poet 
ever uttered that any pains were taken to gratify. 
The banks of the Bruar are now clothed as he 
prescribed — the trouts are sheltered from the 
sun by the over-hanging boughs — the songster's 
nest is to be seen in its season, 

" And birks extend their fragrant arms 
To screen the dear embrace." 

Burns hastened his departure from Blair ; 
two of his biographers express regret at this. 
Had he remained, they observe, but a few days, 
he would have met Lord Melville, who had the 
chief management of the internal affairs of Scot- 
land, and who "might not improbably have 
been induced to bestow that consideration on 
the claims of the Poet which, in the absence of 
any personal acquaintance, Burns' works ought 
to have received at his hands." Lord Melville 
admired, with the Poet, woman's beauty, wine's 
allurements, and rough intrepidity of conversa- 
tion : there were no other links to unite them. 
It was more to the purpose that Burns, at the 
table of Athole, made the acquaintance of Gra- 
ham of Fintry, who has the merit of doing the 
little that was done for him in the way of 
patronage. 

Historic and poetic scenes — spots where bat- 
tles had been fought and songs sung, were most 
in request with Burns. On quitting Blair he 
shaped his course towards the Spey, and fol- 
lowed the stream. The straths he found rich, 
the mountains wild and magnificent. He saw 
Rothemurche and the gloomy forests of Glen- 
more, and, passing rapidly through Strathspey, 
halted an hour at a wild inn, and visited 
Sir James Grant, whose lady he pronounces 
a sweet and pleasant body. " I passed," said 
he to his brother Gilbert, " through a wild 
country, among cliffs grey with eternal snows 
and glens gloomy and savage." He came upon 
the Findhorn a in mist and darkness," visited 
Castle-Cawdor, where Macbeth murdered Dun- 
can, saw the bed in which tradition says the 






JETAT. 28. 



THIRD HIGHLAND TOUR. 



6? 



king was stabbed ; hurried on to Fort-George, 
and thence to Inverness. He took a hurried 
look at Loch Ness with its wild braes, and the 
General's Hut j visited Urquhart Castle, with 
its fine strath ; and was so rapt at the Falls of 
Fyers that he broke out into verse. 

Short as the Poet's stay was in Inverness, he 
found leisure to admire the classic capital of 
the eastern Highlands. The ladies, with their 
snooded hair and simple elegance of dress ; the 
jail, which was pronounced unable to retain a 
prisoner who belonged to a clan ; the fort, 
raised during the days of Cromwell to keep the 
land in awe ; and the beautiful Hill of Fairies, 
near the river side, claimed by tradition as the 
grave of Thomas the Rhymer, were not looked 
upon without emotion and remark. On leaving 
Inverness he passed over Culloden Moor, a place 
calculated to awaken sad reflections. On that 
heath, so fatal to the hopes of our ancient line 
of princes — a heath desolate and blasted, and 
only relieved in its brown barrenness by the 
green mounds raised over the bones of the brave 
— the Poet paused, and was long lost in thought • 
the fruit of his meditations was a lyric, which 
cannot easily be equalled for simplicity and 
pathos : — 

" The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en an' morn she cries, alas I 

And ay the saut tear blins her ee. 
Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, — ■ 

A waefu' day it was to me ! 
For there I lost my father dear — 

My father dear, and brethren three." 

The Poet reached Kilravock in time for 
breakfast ; his record of this halt is short, but 
to the point : — " Old Mrs. Rose: sterling sense, 
warm heart, strong passions, and honest pride, 
all in an uncommon degree. ' Mrs. Rose, jun., 
a little milder than the mother ; this, perhaps, 
owing to her being younger. Mrs. Rose and 
Mr. Grant accompany us to Kildrummie. Two 
young ladies : Miss Rose, who sung two Gaelic 
songs, beautiful and lovely ; Miss Sophia Brodie, 
most agreeable and amiable ; both of them gen- 
tle, mild ; the sweetest creatures on earth — and 
happiness be with them !" Of this visit the 
Poet had long a grateful recollection : " There 
was something in my reception at Kilravock," 
he says, in a letter to Mrs. Rose, " so different 
from the cold, obsequious, dancing-school bow 
of politeness, that it almost got into my head 
that friendship had occupied her ground with- 
out tho intermediate march of acquaintance. I 
wish I could transcribe, or rather transfuse, into 
language, the glow of my heart. My ready 
fancy, with colours more mellow than life itself, 
painted the beautifully wild scenery of Kilra- 
vock — the venerable grandeur of the castle — 
the spreading woods— the winding river, gladly 
leaving his unsightly, heathy source, lingering 
with apparent delight as he passed the Fairy- 



^c 



Walk at the foot of the garden — your late distress- 
ful anxieties — your present enjoyments — your 
dear little angel, the pride of your hopes — my 
aged friend, venerable in worth and years, whose 
loyalty and other virtues will strongly entitle 
her to the support of the Almighty Spirit here, 
and His peculiar favour in a happier state oi 
existence. You cannot imagine, madam, how 
much such feelings delight me ; they are the 
dearest proofs of my own immortality." 

Burns, it would appear by a letter from Mrs. 
Rose, had been hurried from her fire-side by the 
importunities of Nicol ; the two friends now 
continued their journey in a colder mood ; the 
diary was sadly neglected. It affords, however, 
sundry touches of character : — " Dine at Nairn ; 
fall in with a pleasant enough gentleman — Dr. 
Stewart, who had been abroad with his father 
in the ' Forty-Five ;' and Mr. Falconer, a spare, 
irascible, warm-hearted Norlan and a non- 
juror." He passed by Kinloss, where Edward 
the First halted in his conquering march, inti- 
midated as much by wild woods and savage 
hills as by the warlike people. He admired in 
Elgin the remains of Scotland's noblest cathe- 
dral, and examined at Forres the enormous slab 
of grey stone, in shape resembling a sword-blade, 
erected as a monument of peace between Sweno 
of Denmark, and Malcolm II. Something like 
sculptures on the sides, antiquarians aver, inti- 
mate a drawn battle and a treaty of peace. — 
" Mr. Brodie tells me," says the Poet, " that 
the moor where Shakspeare lays Macbeth's 
witch - meeting is still haunted, and that the 
country folk won't pass it by night." * * * * 
" Venerable ruins of Elgin Abbey — a grander 
effect at first glance than Melrose, but not near 
so beautiful." 

On reaching Fochabers, the Poet left his 
companion at an inn, and went to pay his re- 
spects to the Duke and Duchess of Gordon, to 
whose splendid mansion the village is as a 
suburb. — " He was received," says Currie, 
" with the utmost hospitality and kindness ; and, 
the family being about to sit down to dinner, he 
was invited to take his place at table as a mat- 
ter of course. This invitation he accepted, and 
after drinking a few glasses of wine he rose up, 
and proposed to withdraw. On being pressed 
to stay, he mentioned, for the first time, his en- 
gagement with his fellow-traveller; and, his 
noble host offering to send a servant to conduct 
Mr. Nicol to the castle, Burns insisted on un- 
dertaking that office himself : he was, however, 
accompanied by a gentleman, a particular ac- 
quaintance of the Duke, by whom the invita- 
tion was delivered in all the forms of politeness." 
They found Nicol in a foaming passion : in vain 
the Poet soothed, explained, expostulated ; he 
refused all apology, and kept striding up and 
down the streets of Fochabers, cursing the post- 
illions for not yoking the horses and hurrying 
him away. Burns, it is said, eyed the irascible 

f 2 



6$ 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



pedagogue for a moment, as if deciding whether 
he should confront him with fury equal to his 
own, or quietly seat himself in his own nook of 
the chaise and proceed southward. He chose 
the latter alternative, and turned his back on 
Castle-Gordon with a vexation he sought not 
to conceal. 

["This incident," Lockhart justly remarks, 
" may serve to suggest some of the annoyances 
to which persons moving, like our poet, on the 
debateable land between two different ranks of 
society, must ever be subjected. To play the 
lion under such circumstances must be difficult 
at best ; but a de n icate business, indeed, when 
the jackalls are presumptuous. This pedant 
could not stomach the superior success of his 
friend — and yet, alas for poor human nature ! 
he certainly was one of the most enthusiastic of 
his admirers, and one of the most affectionate 
of all his intimates." " The abridgment of 
Burns's visit to Gordon Castle Avas not only," 
says Walker, " a mortifying disappointment, 
but in all probability a serious misfortune ; as 
a longer stay among persons of such influence 
might have begot a permanent intimacy, and 
on their parts an active concern for his future 
advancement.''" " I shall certainly," says the 
Poet, in a letter to Mr James Hoy, Gordon 
Castle, " among my legacies, leave my latest 
curse on that unlucky predicament which hur- 
ried — tore me away from Castle Gordon. May 
that obstinate son of Latin prose (Nicol) be 
curst to Scotch mile periods, and damned to 
seven league paragraphs ; while Declension and 
Conjugation, Gender, Number, and Time, under 
the ragged banners of Dissonance and Disar- 
rangement, eternally rank against him in hos- 
tile array !"] 

The rough temper of his companion did 
not, however, prevent him from soliciting 
the muse for a song in honour of The Gordon ; 
but the muse seems to have been infected with 
the mood of Nicol ; she spoke, but not happily. 
He says in his journal — " Cross Spey to Foch- 
abers ; fine palace, worthy of the generous pro- 
prietor. The Duke makes me happier than ever 
great man did — noble, princely, yet mild, con- 
descending, and affable; gay. and kind: the 
Duchess witty and sensible — God bless them !" 

The visit of Burns to Castle-Gordon was not 
altogether one of curiosity or chance. The 
Duchess desired to befriend the Poet ; she spoke 
of his merits in the north, and praised his poems 
in the south, in coteries where their language 
was dark and mystical. Her friend, Henry 
Addington, now Viscount Sidmouth, saw in 
the verses of the rustic bard a spontaneous vi- 
gour of expression, and a glowing richness of 
language, all but rivalling Shakspeare. He 
talked of them among the titled and enthusi- 
astic, and took pleasure in quoting them to Pitt 
and to Melville. This was not unknown to the 
Duchess : she invited him to Castle-Gordon, 



and promised him the company of Burns and 
Beattie. The future premier was unable to ac- 
cept the invitation ; but wrote and forwarded, 
it is said, these memorable lines — memorable as 
the first indication of that deep love which En- 
gland now entertains for the genius of Burns : — 

" Yes '.pride of Scotia's favoured plains, 'tis thine 
The warmest feelings of the heart to move ; 
To bid it throb with sympathy divine, 

To glow with friendship, or to melt with love. 

" What though each morning sees thee rise to toil; 
Tho' Plenty on thy cot no blessing showers, 
Yet Independence cheers thee with her smile, 
And Fancy strews thy moorland with her flowers. 

" And dost thou blame the impartial will of Heaven, 
Untaught of life the good and ill to scan? 

To thee the Muse's choicest wreath is given ; 
To thee the genuine dignity of man : 

Then, to the want of worldly gear resign'd, 

Be grateful for the wealth of thy exhaustless mind." 

Aberdeen the Poet calls a lazy town, con- 
trary to the general opinion of Scotland. Here 
he met with " Mr. Chalmers, printer, a facetious 
fellow — Mr. Boss, a fine fellow, like Professor 
Tytler — Mr. Marshall, one of the poetce mi- 
nores — Mr. Sheriffs, author of Jamie and Bess, 
a little decrepid body w r ith some abilities — 
Bishop Skinner, a Nonjuror, son of the author 
of Tullochgorum : — a man," he says, " whose 
mild venerable manner is the most marked of 
any in so young a man. Professor Gordon, a 
good-natured, jolly-looking professor. Near 
Stonehive, the coast a good deal romantic — 
meet my relations. James Burness, writer in 
Stonehive, one of those who love fun, a gill, 
and a punning joke, and have not a bad heart ; 
his wife, sweet and hospitable, without any 
affectation of what is called town-breeding." 
The next day he breakfasted with Mr. Burness, 
and slept at Lawrence Kirk. Visits the Album 
library. Mrs. a jolly, frank, sensi- 
ble, love - inspiring widow. Howe of the 
M earns, a rich, cultivated, but still uninclosed 
country. After visiting Montrose — that finely 
situated handsome town, he now directed his 
steps to Muthie, and inspected the famous 
caverns on its wild romantic coast ; he stopped 
for an hour to examine Arbroath Abbey ; passed 
through Dundee — "a low-lying but pleasant 
town," — and, having examined Broughty 
Castle, a finely situated ruin, on the banks 
of the Tay, he went "through the rich har- 
vests and fine hedge-rows of the Carse of 
Gowrie ; along the romantic margin of the 
Grampian Hills to the fruitful, woody, hilly 
country which encloses Perth." In going up 
Strathern he visited the banks of Endermay, 
fine, fruitful, cultivated Strath, famous in song; 
then mused awhile on the scene made memorable 
by the affecting story of " Bessy Bell and Mary 
Gray;" and, finally, after visiting the fine 
scenery on the banks of the May, and enjoying 



MTAT, 28. 



DANGEROUS ACCIDENT. 



69 



the hospitalities of Mrs. Belcher, whom he de- 
scribes as " gawcie, frank, affable, fond of rural 
sports, hunting, &c," he hurried onto Queens- 
ferry, " through a cold, barren country." 
He parted with the north in a better mood in 
his last than in his first journey ; he had been 
everywhere, save at Arbruchil, kindly received ; 
chief had vied with chief in doing him honour, 
and, though he took but some twenty and odd 
days to this extensive tour, he had seen, ob- 
served, and imbibed so much of the mountain 
spirit as coloured many of his future lyrics. He 
took farewell of the north in character. On 
passing the Lowland line he turned about and 
exclaimed : — 

" When death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
A day that surely shall come, 
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more 
Than just a Highland welcome." 

[He arrived once more in Edinburgh on the 
16th of September, having travelled near six 
hundred miles, windings included, in twenty- 
two days — greatly extended his acquaintance 
with his own country, and visited some of its 
most classical scenery — observed something of 
Highland manners, which must have been as 
interesting as they were novel to him — and 
strengthened considerably, among the sturdy 
Jacobites of the North, those political opinions 
which he at this period avowed.] 

The Poet once more visited his family at 
Mauchline, where he remained a week or 
two with his mother, and having looked leisurely 
over the farms which still awaited his offer on 
Dalswinton estate, Burns proceeded to Edin- 
burgh for the purpose of arranging his affairs 
with Creech, a sharp and yet dilatory person. 
He entertained a hope, too, that some of the 
leading men of Scotland would find him a task 
less alien to his feelings than farming, which in 
those days yielded but a bare subsistence ; and 
as he had been acceptable to them before, he 
expected to be no less so now, when the world 
had sanctioned their praise. His bookseller had 
distant correspondents to consult, and the pro- 
ceeds of a large edition to calculate ; and this 
was the work of time. The patronage, too, 
which the Poet anticipated, required leisure ; 
the great must not be pressed with eager soli- 
citude by the poor and the dependant; their 
deeds of generosity must be allowed to come in 
their own time and season, and seem the off- 
spring of their own natures. 

[It was at this period that his friend Mr. 
Ainslie says, " The Poet was a considerable 
time in Edinburgh, visiting Mr. Cruikshanks, 
then one of the masters of the High School, 
who lived in St. James's Square, New Town. 
I had then a small bachelor house on the north 
side of the square, and, intimate as we were, it 
may be supposed w r e spent many an hour toge- 
ther ; and, to me, most agreeable they were. 



I remember one pleasant summer afternoon, the 
Poet came over to me after dinner. I was 
then but a writer to the signet's apprentice, but 
had already a cellar, though it must be ad- 
mitted it was no extensive one, for it was no 
more than a window bunker, and consisted but 
of five bottles of port— all that remained of a 
dozen which had been my last laid-in store ; 
but it was excellent, and old, and got from a 
wine-merchant who favoured me. I was too 
hospitable not to offer a bottle to my friend, 
who was one of the finest fellows in the world. 
What then was to have been expected to hap- 
pen ? — that some nice points would have been 
discussed — an exercise in which the Poet dis- 
played always great eloquence — and many a 
fine quotation made, in which he constantly 
indulged with great fervour ; and, lastly, that 
the poor five bottles of wine might have suf- 
fered in the cause, to the great elucidation of 
all the questions, and the increase of the beauty 
and sublimity of all the passages quoted. But 
no such thing. ' No, my friend/ said Burns ; 
giving me at the same time, a kindly slap upon 
the shoulder, ' we'll hae nae wine the day ; to 
sit dozing in the house on sic a glorious after- 
noon as this ! Besides, ye ken you and I dinna 
require wine to sharpen our wit, nor its adven- 
titious aid to make us happy. No ; we'll tak 
a walk about Arthur Seat, and come in to a 
late tea.' We did so ; and I almost never 
found the Poet so amusing, so instructive, and 
altogether so delightful, as he was in the charm- 
ing stroll which we had together, and during 
the sober ' tea drinking' w r hich followed it.] 

The active spirit of Burns could not be idle ; 
he addressed himself to the two-fold business of 
love and verse. I have related the success of 
his poetic homage to Charlotte Hamilton. 

In another letter dated November 21st 1787, 
to the same young lady, he says that he has a 
heart for friendship, if not for love, and deserves 
the tender sympathy of the two blooming spin- 
sters. " Charlotte a^d you are just two favourite 
resting - places for my soul in her wanderings 
through the weary, thorny, wilderness of this 
world. God knows I am ill-fitted for the 
struggle ; I glory in being a poet, and want to 
be thought a wise man ; I would fondly be 
generous, and I desire to be rich. After all, I 
am afraid, I am a lost subject. Some folk hae 
a hantle o' fauts, an' I'm but a ne'er-do-weel." 

As the correspondence proceeded, Burns was 
overset in a hackney coach, and one of his 
legs dangerously bruised. He thinks of Har- 
vieston and the condolence of beauty. " Here 
I am," he says, " under the care of a surgeon, 
with a bruised limb extended on a cushion, and 
the tints of my mind vying with the livid 
horror preceding a midnight thunder-storm. 
A drunken coachman was the cause of the first, 
and incomparably the lightest, evil ; misfortune, 
bodil} constitution, hell, and myself, have 



70 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1787. 



formed a quadruple alliance to guarantee the 
other. I have taken, tooth and nail, to the 
Bible ; it is really a glorious book. I would 
give my best song to my worst foe, I mean the 
merit of making it, to have you and Charlotte 
by me. You are angelic creatures, and would 
pour oil and wine into my wounded spirit." 
Charlotte Hamilton, to whose ear and heart 
most of these fine things were obliquely ad- 
dressed, was not to be moved by the muse : she 
was probably aware of the more than equivo- 
cal situation in which the Poet stood with 
regard to Jean Armour, and she felt a growing 
regard for Adair, whom Burns had introduced. 
This, in some measure, accounts for the in- 
different success of the Poet, in a matter on 
which he seems to have set his heart, and also 
for the destruction of his letters 

On the 19th of the following month we find 
the Poet again addressing Miss Margaret Chal- 
mers, who was married in the ensuing year to a 
gentleman named Hay, and who we understand 
still lives (1840) at Pall, in the Pyrennean dis- 
trict of Berne : — " The atmosphere of my soul 
is vastly clearer than when I wrote you last. 
For the first time, yesterday, I crossed the room 
on crutches. It would do your heart good to 
see my Bardship, not in my poetic, but in my 
oaken, stilts, throwing my best leg with an air ! 
and with as much hilarity in my gait and coun- 
tenance as a may-frog leaping across the newly 
harrowed ridge, enjoying the fragrance of the 
refreshed earth after the long expected shower. 
I can't say I am altogether at my ease, when I 
see anywhere in my path that meagre, squalid, 
famine-faced spectre, Poverty, attended, as he 
always is, by iron-fisted Oppression and peering 
Contempt. But I have sturdily withstood his 
bufferings many a hard-laboured day, and still 
my motto is, I DARE ! my worst enemy is 
moi-meme. There are just two creatures that I 
would envy — a horse in his wild state traversing 
the forests of Asia, or an oyster on some of the 
desert shores of Europe. The one has not a 
wish without enjoyment, the other has neither 
wish nor fear."* 

["It seems impossible to doubt," says Lock- 
hart, " that Burns had, in fact, lingered in 
Edinburgh, in the hope that, to use a vague but 
sufficiently expressive phrase, something would 
be done for him. He visited and revisited a 
farm, — talked and wrote scholarly and wisely 
about i having a fortune at the plough-tail,' and 
so forth ; but all the while nourished, and as- 
suredly it would have been most strange if he 
had not, the fond dream that the admiration of 



* The eloquent hypochondriacism of the concluding pas- 
sage of his letter called forth the commendation of Francis 
Jeffry, now a Lord of Session in Scotland. 

[t It is remarkable that Burns himself in the above letter, 
and some of his biographers, allude to Clarinda as being a 
widow, notwithstanding her husband was then living abroad. 
The Poet says in one of his letters to her,—" Your person is 
unapproachable by the laws of your country ; and he loves you 



his country would e'er long present itself in 
some solid and tangible shape. His illness and 
confinement gave him leisure to concentrate his 
imagination on the darker side of his prospects ; 
and the letters which we have quoted may teach 
those who envy the powers and the fame of 
genius to pause for a moment over the annals 
of literature, and think what superior capabi- 
lities of misery have been, in the great majority 
of cases, interwoven with the possession of those 
very talents from which all but their possessors 
derive unmingled gratification."] 

In December 30, 1787, Burns thus addresses 
his friend Richard Brown, mariner : — " I am just 
the same will-o'-wisp being I used to be : about 
the first and fourth quarters of the moon, I gene- 
rally set in for the trade-wind of wisdom ; but 
about the full and the change I am the luckless 
victim of mad tornadoes which blow me into chaos. 
All mighty love still reigns and revels in my bo- 
som, and I am at this moment ready to hang my- 
self for a young Edinburgh widow, f who has wit 
and wisdom more murderously fatal than the 
assassinating stiletto of the Sicilian banditti, 
or the poisoned arrow of the savage African. 
My Highland dirk, that used to hang beside 
my crutches, I have gravely removed into a 
neighbouring closet, the key of which I can- 
not command in case of spring-tide paroxysms. 
You may guess of her wit by the verses which 
she sent me the other day: — 

" Talk not of love ; it gives me pain : 
For love has been my foe ; 
He bound me with an iron chain, 
And plunged me deep in woe ! 

" But friendship's pure and lasting joys 
My heart was formed to prove, — 
There welcome, win, and wear the prize 
But never talk of love ! 

" Your friendship much can make me blest — 
O why that bliss destroy ? 
Why urge the odious one request 
You know I must deny!" 

This Edinburgh beauty was the Mrs. Mac of 
the Poet's toasts when the wine circulated — the 
accomplished Clarinda, to whom, under the 
name of Sylvander, he addressed so much prose 
and verse. This " mistress of the Poet's soul 
and queen of poetesses," could not be otherwise 
than tolerant in her taste, if she sympathized in 
the affected strains which he offered at the altar 
of her beauty. His prose is cumbrous, and his 
verse laboured : there are, it is true, passages of 
natural feeling and sentiments sometimes of a 
high order, but in general his raptures are ar- 

not as I do who would make you miserable." And again, 
he alludes emphatically to a circumstance, the occurrence of 
which would no longer separate them. The matrimonial 
connexion of this lady had proved, from no fault on her part, 
unhappy, and she then resided in Edinburgh, with two young 
children, while her husband was pushing his fortune in Ja- 
maica, where he ultimately became chief clerk of the Court 
of Common Pleas, and died in 1819 — Chambers.] 



=« 



.2BTAT. 28. 



MRS. M'LEHOSE— CLARINDA. 



71 



tificial and his sensibility assumed. He puts 
himself into strange postures and picturesque 
positions, and feels imaginary pains to corres- 
pond ; he wounds himself, to shew how readily 
the sores of love can be mended ; and flogs his 
body like a devotee, to obtain the compassion of 
his patron saint. Nor is this all ; in his ad- 
dresses he is often audaciously bold ; he wants 
tenderness, too, and sometimes taste : — 

" In vain would Prudence with her decent sneer,* 
Point to a censuring world, and bid me fear : 
Above that world on wings of love I rise, 
I know its worst, and can that worst despise. 
Wrong'd, slander'd, shunn'd, unpitied, unredrest, 
The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest, 
Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall — 
Clarinda, rich reward! o'erpays them all I" 

These lines are sufficiently forward, and could 
not but be painful to Mrs. M'Lehose, unless 
she smiled on them as the fantastic effusions of 
a pastoral platonism. In another part of the 
same poem he vows, 

" By all on high adoring mortals know ! 
By all the conscious villain fears below ! 
By your dear self ! the last great oath, I swear, 
Not life nor soul were ever half so dear," 

to love her while wood grows and water runs, 
according to the tenure of entailed property. 

It is some apology for the Poet, perhaps, 
that these compositions, which I am unwilling 
to regard as serious — and which formed, in the 
opinion of James Grahame, the poet, " a ro- 
mance of real platonic attachment" — were pro- 
duced in the painful leisure which a bruised 
limb afforded him • the lady to whom they were 
addressed now and then wrote to the crippled 
Bard, and diverted him with her wit, though 
she refused to soothe him with her presence. 
It is true that the poem from which these lines 
are extracted contains couplets presumptuous 
and familiar, and asserts that they were com- 
mended by his fair correspondent; but this 
cannot well be believed by those who draw 
conclusions from the general spirit of the let- 
ters. Those who know Clarinda cannot but 
feel that Burns thought of her when he said, 
" People of nice sensibility and generous minds 
have a certain intrinsic dignity which fires at 
being trifled with or lowered, or even too 
closely approached." 

Yet cheered as he was by beauty, and praised 
as a poet from " Maidenkirk to John o' Groats," 
the poet was anything but happy. " I have a 
hundred times wished," he says in a letter to 
Mrs. Dunlop, of the 21st of January, 1788, 
" that one could resign life as an officer resigns 
his commission j for I would not take in any 
poor ignorant wretch by selling out. Lately I 
was a sixpenny private, and, God knows, a 
miserable soldier enough ; now I march to the 
campaign a starving cadet, a little more con- 
spicuously wretched. I am ashamed of all 



this ; for, though I do not want bravery for the 
warfare of life, I could wish, like some other 
soldiers, to have as much fortitude or cunning, 
as to dissemble or conceal my cowardice." 

During the abode of Burns in Edinburgh, 
Johnson commenced his " Musical Museum," 
the object of which was to unite the songs and 
the music of Scotland in one general collection. 
The proprietor, a man of more enthusiasm than 
knowledge, inserted in his first volume, pub- 
lished in June, 1787, several airs of at least 
doubtful origin, and several songs of more than 
doubtful merit : before he commenced the se- 
cond volume, he had acquired the help of 
Burns ; indeed, the first bears marks of his 
hand. " Green grow the Rashes" is an ac- 
knowledged production, and " Bonnie Dundee" 
carries the peculiar impress of his genius : — 

" My blessings upon thy sweet wee lippie ; 
My blessings upon thy bonnie e'e bree ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, 
Thou's ay be dearer and dearer tome!" 

To the second volume, published in February, 
1788, Burns contributed the preface, and no 
less than thirty lyrics. In the former he says, 
" The songs contained in this volume, both 
music and poetry, are all of them the work of 
Scotchmen. Wherever the old words could be 
recovered, they have been preferred ; both as 
generally suiting better the genius of the tunes, 
and to preserve the productions of those earlier 
sons of the Scottish muses. Ignorance and 
prejudice may, perhaps, affect to sneer at the 
simplicity of the poetry or music of some of 
these pieces • but their having been for ages 
the favourites of nature's judges, the common 
people, was to the editor a sufficient test of 
their merit. 

Most of the songs which Burns contributed 
are of great merit. " To the Weavers gin ye 
go" is the homely song of a country lass who 
went to warp a web, and forgot her errand : 
for — 

" A bonnie westlin weaver lad 
Sat working at his loom, 
He took my heart as wi' a net, 
In every knot and thrum." 

It relates, I have heard, the story of one of 
his rustic sweethearts. " Whistle an' I'll come 
to you, my lad" is an imperfect version of one 
of his happiest songs. The idea is old — and 
some of the words. The verse which he added 
will ever be new : — 

" Come down the back stairs when ye come to court me ; 
Come down the back stairs when ye come to court me ; 
Come down the back stairs, and let naebody see, 
And come as ye were na coming to me." 

He loved to eke out the old melodies of Cale- 
donia. " I'm o'er young to marry yet" is sung 
by a very young lady, who upbraids her suitor 
with a design to carry her from her mother, 



72 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



17 



and put her into the company of a strange man 
during the lonely nights of winter. She, how- 
ever, discovers a remedy : — 

" Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind, 
Blaws thro' the leafless timmer, sir ; 
But if ye come this gate again, 
I'll aulder be gin simmer, sir." 

" The Birks of Aberfeldy" originated in an 
old strain called the Birks of Abergeldie, but 
surpasses it as far as sunshine excels candlelight. 
The same may be said of " Macpherson's Fare- 
well." Something of the rudiments of this bold 
rant may be found in old verses of the same 
name ; but they are, in comparison, as barley- 
chaff is to gold sand. The hero of the song, 
a musician and noted freebooter, was taken 
redhand, and hurried to execution. When the 
rope was round his neck, he sent for his 
favourite fiddle, played an air, called, after 
him, Macpherson's Rant, offered the instru- 
ment in vain to any one who could play the 
tune, then broke it over the hangman's head, 
and flung himself from the ladder. His song 
s in character, wild, daring, and revengeful : — 

" Oh ! what is death but parting breath ? 

On many a bloody plain 
I've dared his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again. 
Untie these bands from off my hands, 

And bring to me my sword, 
And there's no man in all Scotland, 

But I'll brave him at a word. ' 

The genius of the north had an influence 
over the Poet's musings in other compositions. 
In " The Highland Lassie," the lover com- 
plains of want of wealth, and the faithlessness 
cf fortune, but, strong in affection, declares, 

" For her I'll dare the billows' roar, 
For her I'll trace the distant shore, 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland lassie, O." 

In " The Northern Lass" he otters similar 
sentiments : and in " Braw, braw lads of Galla 
Water," his hand may be traced by the curious 
in Scottish song ; it is too kenspeckle to be 
denied : — 

" Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
Sae bonnie blue her een, my dearie, 
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou', 
The mair I kiss, she's aye my dearie." 

" Stay, my Charmer," if not of Highland ex- 
traction, owes its air to the north. There are 
but eight lines ; but he excelled in saying much 
in small compass :— 

" By my love so ill requited : 
By the faith you fondly plighted, 
By the pangs of loyers slighted, 
Do not, do not leave me so !" 

To a jacobite feeling we owe that fine strain 
" Stratliallan's Lament." " This air," says the 



Poet, " is the composition of one of the worthi- 
est and best men living, Allan Masterton. As 
he and I were both sprouts of jacobitism, we 
agreed to dedicate the words and air to that 
cause." The song is supposed to be the 
" Goodnight" of James Drummond, Viscount 
of Strathallan, who escaped to France from 
Culloden. Even in the days of Burns, the 
language which the exile is made to utter 
could not but be unacceptable to many : — 

" In the cause of right engaged, 
Wrongs injurious to redress, 
Honour's war we strongly waged, 
But the heavens denied success." 

The amended songs are numerous. In his 
hastiest touches there is something always 
which no hand but that of Burns could com- 
municate. " How long and dreary is the 
night !" is mostly his j the last verse will go 
to many hearts : — 

" How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 
As ye were wae and wearie ! 
It was na sae ye glinted by, 
When I was wi' my dearie." 

The hoary wooer in " To daunton me," is 
sketched with all the scornful spirit of a lady 
who has set her heart on a younger person : — 

" He hirples twa-fold as he dow, 
Wi' his teethless gab and his auld held pow, 
And the rain dreeps down frae his red-bleer'd ee, 
That auld man shall never daunton me." 

In " Bonnie Peggie Alison," the Poet in- 
dulges in such license of language as may 
startle the fastidious ; yet it is but the rapture 
of an enthusiastic heart : — 

5 When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure, 
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share 
Than sic a moment's pleasure." 

" The Dusty Miller" exhibits a few of his 
happy emendations. A young woman, in re- 
membering the attractions of a lover who wins 
a shilling before he spends a groat, sings with 
arch simplicity — 

" Dusty was the coat, 
Dusty was the colour, 
Dusty was the kiss 
I got frae the miller." 

He withheld his name from " Theniel Men- 
zies' bonny Mary." The buoyancy of the 
language, and the natural truth of the delinea- 
tion must be felt by all who know what lyric 
composition is : — 

" Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, 
Her haffet locks as brown 's a berry, 
And aye they dimpl'd wi' a smile, 
The rosy cheeks o' bonny Mary." 

" The Banks of the Devon," " Raving 
winds around her blowing," " Musing on the 



32TAT. 29. 



EDINBURGH-MUSICAL MUSEUM. 



73 



roaring ocean," " A rose-bud by my early 
walk," and " Where braving angry Winter's 
storms," were all published in the Poet's name. 
In the first, he paid homage to the charms of 
Charlotte Hamilton ; and in the latter, to the 
gentle and winning graces of Margaret Chalmers. 
These are more finished and equal, yet scarcely 
so happy as some of the hasty and perhaps in- 
considerate snatches with which he eked out 
the fragmentary strains of the old minstrels. 

That his heart was much with this sort of 
work, we may gather from his letter to Mrs. 
Rose of Kilravock, Feb. 17th 1788 : — " I am 
assisting a friend in a collection of Scottish 
songs set to their proper tunes. Every air 
worth preserving is to be included. Among 
others, I have given ' Morag,' and some few 
Highland airs which pleased me most, a dress 
which will be more generally known, though 
far — far inferior in real merit." He wrote to 
his friends — east, west, north, and south, for 
airs and verses for the Museum. From his old 
comrade M'Candlish he begged " Pompey's 
Ghost," by the unfortunate Lowe — from Skin- 
ner of Linshart — from Dr. Blacklock he en- 
treated communications ; and he drew upon his 
own memory for some of those antique strains, 
picked up from the singing of his mother, or the 
maidens of Ayr-shire. 

To those who charge Burns with idleness or 
dissipation during this winter in Edinburgh, 
many will think thirty songs an answer suffici- 
ent, without taking into consideration his maimed 
limb, and his numerous letters to Clarinda. He 
had other matters, too, on his mind ; I have 
said that he exhibited early symptoms of jacobi- 
tism : his Highland tours and conversations with 
the chiefs and ladies of the north strengthened 
a liking which he seems to have inherited from 
his fathers. On the 31st of December previous, 
he was present at a meeting to celebrate the 
birth-day of the last of the race of our native 
princes, the unfortunate Charles Edward : he 
acted the part of laureate on the occasion, and 
recited an ode, lamenting the past, sympathizing 
in the present, and prophesying retribution for 
the future. Like almost all the verse for which 
Burns taxed his spirit, the ode is cumbrous and 
inflated ; neither the fiery impetuosity of Gra- 
ham, nor the calm intrepidity of Balmerino 
inspired him — 

" Ye honoured mighty dead ! 
Who nobly perished in the glorious cause, 
Your king, your country, and your laws : 

From great Dundee, who, smiling, victory led, 



[* The sum paid was £h 10, as appears from the following 
extract of an original letter, in Burns's hand-writing, now in 
the possession of Geo. H. King, Esq , of Glasgow. To Mr. 
Peter Hill, Bookseller, Edinburgh. — Dumfries, February 
5th, 1792. — My dear friend, I send you by the bearer, Mr. 
Clark, a particular friend of mine, six pounds and a shilling, 
which you will dispose of as follows : — five pounds ten 
shillings, per account, I owe to Mr. Robert Burn, Architect, 



And fell a martyr in her arms ; 

What breast of northern ice but warms 
To bold Balmerino's undying name? 
Whose soul of fire, lighted at Heaven's high flame, 
Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim I'' 

Who were the Poet's associates at this anni- 
versary no one has told us. The white rose of 
jacobitism was worn in those days by many 
people of rank and condition : it was the sym- 
bol of all who regretted that Scotland had 
ceased to be a separate kingdom, had lost the 
dignity of her parliament, the honours of her 
monarchy, and was compelled to send hei 
children into another land to represent her in- 
terests, where they were exposed to the scoffs 
and insults of a proud and haughty people. 
This was the jacobitism of Burns ; though he 
sung of the woes of Drumossie, and the suffer- 
ings of Prince Charles, he had no desire to see 
the ancient line restored, and the Hanoverian 
dynasty expelled, since he knew that every step 
towards the throne would be on a bloody corse. 
His heart clung to the immediate descendants 
of Brace, and it is probable that he never 
studied the mystery of a constitution which, to 
secure our freedom, raised a prince to the throne 
who could neither speak our language, nor com- 
prehend the genius of the people. His whole 
affections were concentrated on his native land : 
his whole object was to do it honour : for this 
he sacrificed his time ; to this he dedicated his 
genius; and on this, though poor, he laid out 
some of the little wealth he had. He saw with 
sorrow that the dust of Fergusson, the poet, lay 
among the ignoble dead, and desired to raise a 
memorial, such as might guide the steps of the 
lovers of Scottish song to the grave of his bro- 
ther bard f This humble wish was graciously 
granted by the authorities of the Canongate 
kirk, and he raised a monumental stone, which 
is still to be seen among the thick-piled grave- 
stones of the burial-ground. A communication 
from Delhi informs me that the price paid by 
the Poet was 51., and that the work was ex- 
ecuted by Mr. Burn, father of the present 
distinguished architect.* 

That Burns could write so many songs is to 
be marvelled at, when we reflect that, during 
most of the time, a sort of civil war existed be- 
tween him and his bookseller, of which many 
symptoms are visible in his printed and manu- 
script correspondence. — " I have broke mea- 
sures," he says, " with Creech, and last week I 
wrote him a frosty, keen letter. He replied in 
terms of chastisement, and promised me, upon 



for erecting the stone over the grave of poor Fergusson. He 
was two years in erecting it, after I had commissioned him 
for it ; and I have been two years in paying him, after he 
sent me his account ; so he and I are quits. He had the 
hardiesse to ask me interest on the sum, but, considering the 
money was due by one poet for putting a tombstone over an- 
other, he may, with grateful surprise, thank Heaven that he 
ever saw a farthing of it. R. B.] 



74 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1758. 



Ms honour, that I should have the account on 
Monday ; but this is Tuesday, and yet I have 
not heard a word from him. God have mercy 
on me ! a poor, damned, incautious, duped, un- 
fortunate fool ! The sport, the miserable victim 
of rebellious pride, hypochondriac imagination, 
agonizing sensibility, and bedlam passions ! 

' I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to die.' 

I have this moment got a hint — I fear I am 
something like undone ; but I hope for the best. 
Come stubborn pride and unshrinking resolu- 
tion ; accompany me through this, to me, miser- 
able world ! You must not desert me ! Your 
friendship I think I can count on, though I 
should date my letters from a marching regi- 
ment. Early in life, and all my life, I reckoned 
on a recruiting drum as my forlorn hope. Seri- 
ously, though, life at present presents me with 
but a melancholy path ; but my limb will soon 
be sound, and I shall struggle on." 

These expressions refer to whispers which had 
reached his ear about the solvency of Creech, 
and are contained in a letter to Margaret Chal- 
mers : the conduct of his bookseller dwelt long 
on his mind ; we find him, sometime after- 
wards, thus writing to Dr. Moore. — " I cannot 
boast about Creech's ingenuous dealing ; he kept 
me hanging on about Edinburgh from the 7th 
of August, 1787, until the 13th of April, 1788, 
before he would condescend to give me a state- 
ment of affairs ; nor had I got it even then, but 
for an angry letter I wrote him, which irritated 
his pride. I could not a ' tale,' but a detail, 
' unfold ;' but what am I that I should speak 
against the Lord's anointed bailie of Edin- 
burgh ! I give you this information, but I give 
it to yourself only, for I am still much in the 
gentleman's mercy. Perhaps I injure the man 
in the idea I am sometimes tempted to have of 
him — God forbid I should ! A little time will 
try, for in a month I shall go to town to wind 
up the business, if possible." That Creech, after 
long evasion, behaved honourably and liberally 
to the impatient Poet is well enough known to 
the world ; I record these complaints to vindi- 
cate the latter from the charge of having loitered 
needlessly in Edinburgh, and refrained from 
putting the ploughshare in the ground which 
was offered for his acceptance. 

" His publisher's accounts," says Lockhart, 
" when they were at last made out, must have 
given the impatient author a very agreeable 
surprise ; for, in his letter to Lord Glencairn, 
we find him expressing his hopes that the gross 



[* Nicol, the most intimate friend of Burns, writes to Mr. 
John Sewars, excise-officer of Dumfries, immediately on 
hearing of the poet's death. " He certainly told me that he 
received ,s6 J 600 for the first Edinburgh edition, and <^100 
afterwards for the copyright." Dr. Currie states the gross 
product of Creech's edition at £0500, and Burns himself, in 
one of his letters, at ^400 only. Nicol hints that Burns 
had contracted debts while in Edinburgh, which he might 
not wish to avow on all occasions ; and if we are to believe 



profits of his book might amount to ' better than 
£200 ;' whereas, on the day of settling with 
Mr. Creech, he found himself in possession of 
£500, if not of £600."* 

Burns now set seriously about considering his 
future prospects. Having settled with Creech, he 
wrote to Mr. Miller that he would accept his 
offer with regard to the farm ; he lent two hun- 
dred pounds to his brother Gilbert, to enable him 
to mend himself in the world and support his 
mother, whom he tenderly loved ; and, with five 
hundred pounds in his pocket, he resolved to 
unite himself to Jean Armour, carry her to the 
banks of the Nith, and follow the plough and 
the muses. What he had seen and endured in 
Edinburgh, during his second visit, admonished 
him regarding the reed on which he leant, when 
he hoped for a place of profit and honour from 
the aristocracy on account of his genius. On 
his first appearance the doors of the nobility 
opened spontaneous, " on golden hinges turn- 
ing," and he ate spiced meats and drank rare 
wines, interchanging nods and smiles with " high 
dukes and mighty earls." A colder reception 
awaited his second coming ; the doors of lords 
and ladies opened with a tardy courtesy ; he 
was received with a cold and measured stateli- 
ness, was seldom requested to stop, seldomer to 
repeat his visit ; and one of his companions used 
to relate with what indignant feeling the Poet 
recounted his fruitless calls and his uncordial 
receptions in the good town of Edinburgh. 
That he had high hopes is well known ; there 
were not wanting friends to whisper that lordly, 
nay, royal, patronage was certain ; nor were 
such expectations at all unreasonable, — but 
genius is not the passport to patronage ; he was 
allied to no noble family, and could not come 
forward under the shelter of a golden wing ; he 
was unconnected with any party which could 
pretend to political influence, and who had 
power either to retard or forward a ministerial 
measure; moreover, he was one of those 
" whim-inspired" persons of whom he sings in 
his inimitable " Bard's Epitaph:" — 

" Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool." 

His case was, therefore, next to hopeless ; he 
asked for nothing, and nothing was offered, 
though men of rank and power were aware 
that he was unfitted with an aim in life — that 
poetry alone could not sustain him, and that he 
must go back to the flail and the furrow. He 
went to Edinburgh, strong in the belief that 



this, which is probable, and that the expense of printing the 
subscription edition should, moreover, be deducted from 
the ^700 stated by Nicol, the apparent contradictions in 
these statements may be pretty nearly reconciled. There 
appears to be reason for thinking that Creech subsequently 
paid more than ^100 for the copyright. If he did not, how 
came Burns to realise, as Currie states, " nearly nine hun- 
dred pounds in all by his poems?" Lockhart.] 



JETAT. 29. 



HIS APPOINTMENT TO THE EXCISE. 



75 



genius such as his would raise him in society ; 
but he came not back without a sourness of 
spirit and a bitterness of feeling. 

The pride of Burns, which was great, would 
not allow him to complain, and his ambition, 
" which was still greater, hindered him from re- 
garding his condition as yet hopeless. When 
he complained at all, he did not make his moan 
to man ; his letters to his companions or his 
friends are sometimes stern, fierce, and full of 
defiance ; he uttered his lament in the ear of 
woman, and seemed to be soothed with her at- 
tention and her sympathy? — " When I must 
escape into a corner," he says bitterly to Mrs. 
Dunlop, " lest the rattling equipage of some 
gaping blockhead should mangle me in the 
mire, I am tempted to exclaim, What merits has 
he had, or what demerit have I had, in some 
state of pre-existence, that he is ushered into 
this state of being with the sceptre of rule and 
the key of riches in his puny fist, and I am 
kicked into the world the sport of folly or the 
victim of pride ? I have read somewhere of a 
monarch who was so out of humour with the 
Ptolomean system of astronomy that he said, 
had he been of the Creator's council, he could 
have saved him a great deal of labour and 
absurdity. I will not defend this blasphemous 
speech ; but often, as I have glided with hum- 
ble stealth through the pomp of Prince's-street, 
it has suggested itself to me, as an improve- 
ment on the present human figure, that a man, 
in proportion to his own conceit of his conse- 
quence in the world, could have pushed out the 
longitude of his common size, as a snail pushes 
out his horns, or as we draw out a perspective. 
This trifling alteration, not to mention the pro- 
digious saving it would be in the tear and wear 
of the neck and limb — sinews of many of his 
Majesty's liege subjects, in the Avay of tossing 
the head and tip-toe strutting, would evidently 
turn out a vast advantage in enabling us at 
once to adjust the ceremonials in making a 
bow, or making way to a great man, and that, 
too, within a second of the precise spherical 
angle of reverence, or an inch of the particular 
point of respectful distance, which the import- 
ant creature himself requires ; as a measuring 
glance at his towering altitude would deter- 
mine the affair like instinct." The condition 
of the Poet made, we fear, such bitter reflec- 
tions matters of frequent occurrence. The 
learned authors — and Edinburgh swarmed with 
them — claimed rank above the inspired clod of 
the valley ; the gentry asserted such superiority, 
as their natural inheritance ; the nobility held 
their elevation by act of parliament or the 
grace of majesty ; and none of them were pre- 
pared to accept the brotherhood of one who 
held the patent of his honours immediately 
from nature. 

< In the course of the winter Burns resolved, 
since no better might be, to unite the farmer 

©--=: — : 



with the poet ; some one persuaded him that to 
both he could join the gauger. So soon as this 
possessed his fancy, he determined to beg the 
humble boon from his patrons, and, as no one 
seemed more likely to be kind than the Earl of 
Glencairn, he addressed him anxiously : — " I 
have weighed — long and seriously weighed — 
my situation. I wish to get into the excise : I 
am told your lordship's interest will easily pro- 
cure me the grant from the commissioners ; and 
your lordship's patronage and goodness, which 
have already rescued me from obscurity, wretch- 
edness, and exile, embolden me to ask that in- 
terest. You have likewise put it in my power 
to save the little tie of home that sheltered an 
aged mother, two brothers, and three sisters 
from destruction. I am ill qualified to dog the 
heels of greatness with the impertinence of solici- 
tation, and tremble nearly as much at the thought 
of the cold promise as the cold denial." What 
the earl did in this matter is unknown ; his 
conduct seems to have satisfied Burns, for at his 
death, which soon followed, he poured out a po- 
etic lament full of the most touching sensibility. 
The Excise commission came in an unlooked- 
for way. While Burns was laid up with his 
crushed limb, he was attended by Alexander 
Wood, surgeon, a gentleman still affectionately 
remembered as " kind old Sandy Wood :" to 
him the Poet had mentioned his desire to ob- 
tain a situation in the Excise. Wood went to 
work, and so bestirred himself that Graham 
of Fintray put his name on the roll of Excise- 
men at once. The Poet, who, like the hero of 
his own inimitable song, was 

" Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair," 

communicated this stroke of what he called 
good fortune to Margaret Chalmers in these 
words: — "I have entered into the Excise. I 
go to the west for about three weeks, and then 
return to Edinburgh for six weeks' instructions/' 

[The following is the letter of instructions 
given, by the Board of Excise, to the worthy 
individual under whom Burns was trained for 
the duties of his new office : — 

" Mr. James Findlay, Officer, Tarbolton. 

" The Commissioners order, That you instruct 
the Bearer, Mr. Robert Burns, in the Art of 
Gauging, and practical Dry gauging Casks 
and Utensils ; and that you fit him for survey- 
ing Victuallers, Rectifiers, Chandlers, Tanners, 
Tawers, Maltsters, &c. ; and when he has kept 
books regularly for Six Weeks at least, and 
drawn true Vouchers, and Abstracts therefrom, 
(which Books, Vouchers, and Abstracts must be 
signed by your Supervisor and yourself, as well 
as the said Mr. Robert Burns,) and sent to the 
Commissioners at his expense ; and when he is 
furnished with proper instruments, and well in- 
structed and qualified for an Officer, then (and 
not before, at your perils) you and your Super- 
visor are to certify the same to the Board, ex- 



: . © 



76 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1788. 



pressing particularly therein the date of this 
letter ; and that the above Mr. Robert Burns 
hath cleared his Quarters, both for Lodging 
and Diet ; that he has actually paid each of you 
for his Instructions and Examination ; and that 
he has sufficient at the Time to purchase a 
Horse for his Business. 

I am, your humble Servant, 

" A. Pearson." 

"Excise Office, 
"Edinburgh, 31st March, 1788."] 

" I have chosen this, my dear friend, after mature 
deliberation. The question is not at what door 
of fortune's palace shall we enter in, but what 
doors does she open for us. I was not likely to 
get anything to do. I got this without hang- 
ing-on or mortifying solicitation ; it is imme- 
diate bread, and, though poor in comparison of 
the last eighteen months of my existence, 'tis 
luxury in comparison of all my preceding life." 

Nor did he withhold the tidings of his ap- 
pointment from Mrs. Dunlop : — "I thought 
thirty-five pounds a year no bad dernier resort 
for a poor poet, if Fortune, in her jade tricks, 
should kick him down from the little eminence 
to which she has lately helped him up." Gan- 
ger is a word of mean sound, nor is the calling 
a popular one ; yet the situation is neither so 
humble, nor the emoluments so trifling, as some 
of the Poet's southern admirers have supposed. 
A gauger's income in those days, on the banks 
of Nith, was equal to three hundred a year at 
present in London ; an excise officer is the com- 
panion of gentlemen 5 he is usually a well- in- 
formed person, and altogether fifty per cent, 
above the ordinary excise officers on the banks 
of the Thames. It is true that Burns some- 
times speaks with levity of his situation, but 
that is no proof of his contempt for it ; he loved 
in verse to hover between jest and earnest ; 
and, if he thought peevishly about it at all, it 
was in comparison of a place such as his genius 
merited. Having secured the excise appoint- 
ment, and, on the 13th of March, 1788, bar- 
gained with Mr. Miller of Dalswinton for the 
farm of Ellisland, in Nithsdale, he resolved to 
bid Edinburgh farewell. 

The Poet, it is &aid, visited the graves of 
Ramsay and Fergusson, then took leave of 
some friends — -the Earl of Glencairn was one — 
by letter, and waited upon others : among the 
latter were Blair, Stewart, Tytler, Mackenzie, 
and Blacklock. I have heard that his recep- 
tion was not so cordial as formerly ; it would 
seem that his free way of speaking and free 
way of living had touched them somewhat. 
That Burns wrote joyous letters, uttered un- 
guarded speeches when the wine -cup went 
round, and was now and then to be found in 
the company of writers' clerks, country lairds, 
ind west country farmers, is very true, and 
could not well be otherwise. He was educated 
in a less courtly school than professors and di- 



vines : mechanics and farmers had been his as- 
sociates from his cradle. The language of a 
farmer's fire-side is less polished and more na- 
tural than that of the college ; he spoke the 
language of a different class of people, and he 
kept their company because he was one of them. 
Genius had ranked him with the highest ; but 
it was the pleasure of fortune or his country to 
keep him at the plough. The man who got his 
education in the furrowed field — whose elo- 
quence sprung from the barn and the forge, 

" When ploughmen gather with their graith," 

and who wrote not classic verse, but " namely 
western jingle," could not by any possibility 
please, by his conversation or his way of life, 
the polished, the polite, and the fastidious. 
That Burns appeared fierce and rude in their 
eyes is as true as that they seemed to him 
" white curd of asses' milk," — learnedly dull 
and hypocritically courteous. 

It was not unknown to the literati, and the 
lords of Edinburgh, that Burns kept a memo- 
randum-book, in which he not only noted down 
his Border and his Highland tours, but intro- 
duced full length portraits of all the eminent 
persons whom he chanced to meet or with whom 
he associated. 

" As I have seen a good deal of human life 
in Edinburgh," he says, "a great many cha- 
racters which are new to one bred up in the 
shades of life as I have been, I am determined 
to take down my remarks on the spot. Gray 
observes, in a letter to Mr. Palgrave, ' half a 
word fixed upon or near the spot is worth a 
cart-load of recollection.' I don't know how it 
is with the world in general ; but with me, mak- 
ing my remarks is by no means a solitary plea- 
sure : I want some one to laugh with me ; some 
one to be grave with me ; some one to please 
me, and help my discrimination, with his or her 
own remark, and, at times, no doubt, to admire 
my acuteness and penetration. The world are 
so busied with selfish pursuits, ambition, vanity, 
interest, or pleasure, that very few think it 
worth their while to make any observation on 
what passes around them, except where that 
observation is a sucker or branch of the darling 
plant they are rearing in their fancy. Nor am 
I sure, notwithstanding ah the sentimental 
flights of novel writers, and the sage philosophy 
of moralists, whether we are capable of so in- 
timate and cordial a coali ion of friendship as 
that one man may pour out his bosom, his every 
thought and floating fancy, his very inmost 
soul, with univserved confidence to another, 
without hazard of losing part of that respect 
which man deserves from man ; or, from the 
unavoidable imperfections attending human 
nature, of one day repenting his confidence. 

"For these reasons, I am determined to make 
these pages my confidant. I will sketch every 
character, that any way strikes me, to the best 



,ETAT. 29. 



HIS SKETCH-BOOK. 



77 



of my power, with unshrinking justice. I will 
insert anecdotes and take down remarks in the 
old law-phrase, without feud or favour. Where 
I hit on any thing clever, my own applause 
will, in some measure, feast my vanity ; and, 
begging Patroclus' and Achates' pardon, I 
think a lock and key a security at least equal 
to the bosom of any friend whatever. My 
own private story likewise, my love adventures, 
my rambles ; the frowns and smiles of fortune 
on my hardship ; my poems and fragments, that 
must never see the light, shall be occasionally 
inserted." 

[" How perpetually," says Lockhart, " Burns 
was alive to the dread of being looked down 
upon as a man, even by those who most zealously 
applauded the works of his genius, might per- 
haps be traced through the whole sequence of 
his letters. When writing to men of high sta- 
tion, at least, he preserves, in every instance, 
the attitude of self-defence. But it is only in 
his own secret tables that we have the fibres of 
his heart laid bare, and the cancer of this 
jealousy is seen distinctly at its painful work."] 

"There are few," continues the Poet, "of 
the sore evils under the sun give me more un- 
easiness and chagrin than the comparison how 
a man of genius, nay, of avowed worth, is re- 
ceived every where, with the reception which 
a mere ordinary character, decorated with the 
trappings and futile distinctions of fortune, 
meets. I imagine a man of abilities, his breast 
glowing with honest pride, conscious that men 
are born equal, still giving honour to whom 
honour is due ; he meets at a great man's table 
a. Squire Something, or a Sir Somebody ; he 
knows the noble landlord, at heart, gives the 
bard, or whatever he is, a share of his good 
wishes beyond perhaps any one at table ; yet 
how will it mortify him to see a fellow, whose 
abilities would scarcely have made an eight- 
penny tailor, and whose heart is not worth 
three farthings, meet with attention and notice, 
that are withheld from the son of genius and 
poverty ? The noble Glencairn has wounded 
me to the soul here, because I dearly esteem, 
respect, and love him. He showed so much 
attention, engrossing attention, one day, to the 
only blockhead at table (the whole company 
consisted of his lordship, dunderpate, and my- 
self) that I was within half a point of throwing 
down my gage of contemptuous defiance ; but 
ne shook my hand, and looked so benevolently 
good at parting. God bless him; though I 
should never see him more, I shall love him 
until my dying day ! I am pleased to think I 
am so_ capable of the throes of gratitude, as I 
am miserably deficient in some other virtues." 

Burns kept this formidable book so little of 
a secret that he allowed a visiter sometimes 
to take a look at his gallery of portraits, 
and, as he distributed light and shade with equal 
freedom and force, it was soon bruited abroad 



that the Poet had drawn stern likenesses of 
his chief friends and benefactors. This book 
is not now to be found ; it was carried away 
from the Poet's lodgings by one of his visiters. 
who refused to restore it — enlisted in the artil 
lery — sailed for Gibraltar, and died about tht 
year 1800. From what remain, the following 
characters are extracted ; they make us regret 
the loss of the rest : — 

" With Dr. Blair I am more at my ease ; I 
never respect him with humble veneration ; but 
when he kindly interests himself in my welfare 
— or, still more, when he descends from his 
pinnacle and meets me on equal ground in 
conversation, my heart overflows with what is 
called liking. When he neglects me for the 
mere carcase of greatness, or when his eye 
measures the difference of our points of eleva- 
tion, I say to myself, with scarcely any emotion, 
what do I care for him or his pomp either ? It 
is not easy forming an exact judgment of any 
one, but, in my opinion, Dr. Blair is merely an 
astonishing proof of what industry and application 
can do. Natural parts, like his, are frequently 
to be met with ; his vanity is proverbially known 
among his acquaintance ; but he is justly at the 
head of what may be called fine writing ; and 
a critic of the first, the very first, rank, in prose ; 
even in poetry, a bard of nature's making can 
alone take the pas of him. He has a heart 
not of the very finest water, but far from being 
an ordinary one. In short he is truly a worthy 
and most respectable character." 

Other characters were sketched with still 
greater freedom. Here is his satiric portrait of 
a celebrated lawyer : — 

" He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 

He quoted an' he hinted, 
Till in a declamation-mist 

His argument he tint [lost] it ; 
He graped for't, he gaped for't, 

He found it was awa', man ; 
But what his common-sense came short, 

He eked it out wi' law, man." 

The above portrait of the Lord Advocate is 
admirable for breadth and character : the fol- 
lowing of Harry Erskine is not so happy. He 
was a wit, a punster, and a poet ; and one of 
the most companionable, intelligent, and elo- 
quent men of his time : — 

" Collected Harry stood a wee, 

Then open'd out his arm, man ; 
His lordship sat, wi' ruefu' e'e, 

And ey'd the gathering storm, man : 
Like wind-driv'n hail, it did assail, 

Or torrents owre a linn, man ; 
The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, 
Half-waken'd wi' the din, man." 

The literati of Edinburgh were not displeased, 
it is likely, when he went away ; nor were the 
titled part of the community without their share 
in this silent rejoicing ; his presence was a re- 
proach to them. " The illustrious of his native 



78 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1788. 



land, from whom he looked for patronage," 
had proved that they had the carcase of great- 
ness, but wanted the soul : they subscribed for 
his poems, and looked on their generosity as 
" an alms could keep a god alive." He turned 
his back on Edinburgh, and from that time for- 
ward scarcely counted that man his friend who 
spoke of titled persons in his presence. Whilst 
sailing on pleasure's sea in a gilded barge, with 
perfumed and lordly company, he was, in the 
midst of his enjoyment, thrown roughly over- 
board, and had to swim to a barren shore, or 
sink for ever. 

Burns now turned his steps westward. In 
one of his desponding moods he had lately said 
to a correspondent, " There are just two crea- 
tures that I would envy — a horse in his wild 
state traversing the forests of Asia, or an oyster 
on some of the desert shores of Europe ; the 
one has not a wish without enjoyment, the 
other has neither wish nor fear." In the same 
mingled spirit of despair and pleasure he com- 
plains — " I lie so miserably open to the inroads 
and incursions of a mischievous, light-armed, 
well-mounted banditti, under the banners of 
imagination, whim, caprice and passion ; and 
the heavy-armed veteran regulars of wisdom, 
prudence, and forethought, move so very, very 
slow, that I am almost in a state of perpetual 
warfare, and, alas ! frequent defeat." The 
thoughts of home, of a settled purpose in life, 
gave him a silent gladness of heart, such as he 
had never before known • and, to use his own 
words, he moved homeward with as much hi- 
larity in his gait and countenance " as a May- 
frog, leaping across the newly harrowed ridge, 
enjoying the fragrance of the refreshed earth 
after the long-expected shower." He reached 
Mauchline towards the close of April : he was 
not a moment too soon ; the intercourse which, 
in his visits to Ayr-shire, he had renewed with 
Jean Armour, exposed her once more to the 
reproaches of her family ; — she might say, in 
the affecting words of one whose company had 
brought both joy and woe— 

" My father put me frae his door, 

My friends they hae disown'd me a' ; 
But I hae ane will take my part — 
The bonnie lad that's far awa." 

On his arrival he took her by the hand, and 
was re-married according to the simple and ef- 
fectual form of the laws of Scotland : — " Daddie 
Auld," and his friends of the Old-light, felt 
avery wish to be moderate with one whose 
powers of derision had been already proved. 
He next introduced Mrs. Burns to his friends, 
both in person and by letter. Much of his 
correspondence of this period bears evidence of 
the peace of mind and gladness of heart which 
this two-fold act of love and generosity had 
brought to him. 

To Mrs. Dunlop, he says, " Your surmise, 
Madam, is just ; I am indeed a husband. I 



found a once much-loved, and still much-loved 
female, literally and truly cast out to the mercy 
of the naked elements ;" but I enabled her to 
purchase a shelter : — there is no sporting with 
a fellow-creature's happiness or misery. The 
most placid good-nature and sweetness of dis- 
position ; a warm heart, gratefully devoted with 
all its powers to love me ; vigorous health, and 
sprightly cheerfulness, set off to the best ad- 
vantage by a more than commonly handsome 
figure ; these, I think, in a woman, may make a 
good wife, though she should never have read 
a page but the Scriptures, nor have danced in 
a brighter assembly than a penny-pay wedding. 
To jealousy or infidelity I am an equal stranger: 
my preservative from the first is the most 
thorough consciousness of her sentiments of 
honour, and her attachment to me ; my antidote 
against the last is my long and deep - rooted 
affection for her. In housewife matters — in 
aptness to learn and activity to execute, she 
is eminently mistress ; and during my absence 
in Nithsdale, she is regularly and constantly ap- 
prentice to my mother and sisters in then- dairy, 
and other rural business. The Muses must not 
be offended when I tell them the concerns of 
my wife and family will, in my mind, always 
take the pas ; but, I assure them, their lady- 
ships will ever come next in place. You are 
right that a bachelor state would have in- 
sured me more friends ; but, from a cause you 
will easily guess, conscious peace in the enjoy- 
ment of my own mind, and unmistrusting con- 
fidence in approaching my God, would seldom 
have been of the number." 

On the same interesting topic he writes to 
Margaret Chalmers : — " Shortly after my last 
return to Ayr-shire, I married my Jean. This 
was not in consequence of the attachment of 
romance, perhaps ; but I had a long and much- 
loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery in 
my determination, and I durst not trifle with so 
important a deposit ; nor have I any cause to 
repent it. If I have not got polite tattle, modish 
manners, and fashionable dress, I am not sick- 
ened and disgusted with the multiform curse 
of boarding-school affectation ; and I have got 
the handsomest figure, the sweetest temper, the 
soundest constitution, and kindest heart in the 
country. Mrs. Burns believes, as firmly as her 
creed, that I am le plus bel esprit, et le plus 
honnete homme in the universe ; although she 
scarcely ever in her life, except the scriptures, 
and the Psalms of David, in metre, spent five 
minutes together on either prose, or verse. I 
must except also from this last a certain late 
publication of Scots poems which she has pe- 
rused very devoutly ; and all the ballads in the 
country, as she has (Oh ! the partial lover, you 
will cry,) the finest " wood-note wild" I ever 
heard. I am the more particular in this lady's 
character as I know she will henceforth have 
the honour of a share in your best wishes." 



=® 



^TAT. 29. 



HIS MARRIAGE. 



79 



These letters, and others in the same strain, 
have misled Walker into the belief that Burns 
married Jean Armour from a sentiment of duty 
rather than a feeling of love ; no belief can be 
more imaginary. The unfortunate story of his 
affection had been told to the world both in 
prose and verse ; he was looked upon as one 
deserted by the object of his regard, under cir- 
cumstances alike extraordinary and painful. 
That he forgave her for the sad requital of his 
love, and her relations for their severity, and 
sought her hand and their alliance, required 
something like apology to his friends. I see 
nothing in these matters out of harmony with 
affection and love. — " That he originally loved 
his Jean," says the Professor, " is not to be 
doubted ; but, on considering all the circum- 
stances of the case, it may be presumed that, 
when he first proposed marriage, it was partly 
from a desire to repair the injury of her repu- 
tation, and that his distress, on her refusal, 
proceeded as much from wounded pride as from 
disappointed love." The best answer to this is 
afforded by the words of the Poet. He loved 
her, he never had ceased to love her ; he con- 
sidered her sacrifice of him as made to the pious 
feelings and authority of her father : — " I can 
have no nearer idea," he says, " of the place ot 
eternal punishment than what I have felt in 
my own breast on her account. Never man 
loved, or rather adored, a woman more than I 
did her, and I do still love her to distraction 
after all." If this is not the language of ardent 
love, I know not what it means. 

But the Professor seems desirous of proving 
that this change in the Poet's affections was the 
necessary result of being exposed to the allure- 
ments of the high-bred dames of Edinburgh. 
— " The three years that succeeded," he ob- 
serves, " had opened to him a new scene : and 
the female society to which they had intro- 
duced him was of a description altogether dif- 
ferent from any which he had formerly known." 
— " Between the man of rustic life," said Burns 
to some one after his arrival in Edinburgh, 
" and the polite world, I observed little differ- 
ence. In the former, though unpolished by 
fashion, and unenlightened by science, I had 
found much observation and much intelli- 
gence. But a refined and accomplished woman 
was a being altogether new to me, and of 
which I had formed but a very inadequate idea." 
It is plain that the Poet, when he uttered these 
words, was close at the ear of one of those 
" high-exalted courteous dames," and making 
himself acceptable to her by flattery and by 
eloquence. It is also evident that the Profes- 
sor's notions of love were not at all poetic. To 
regulate our affections according as knowledge 
raises woman in the scale is paying a very- 
pretty compliment to education ; but it is most 
unjust to nature True love pays no regard to 
such distinctions We see a form — we see a 



face, which awaken emotions within us never 
before felt. The form is not perhaps the most 
perfect, nor the face the most fair, in the land : 
yet we persist in admiring — in loving them : — 
in short, we have found out, by the free-masonry 
of feeling, the help-mate which Heaven de- 
signed for us, and we woo and win our object. 

But in what were the ladies of the polished 
circles of the land superior to a well-favoured, 
well-formed, well-bred lass of low degree, who 
had a light foot for a dance, a melodious voice 
for a song, two witching eyes, with wit at 
will, and who believed the man who loved her 
to be the greatest genius in the world ? These 
are captivating qualities to all, save those who 
weigh the merits of a woman in a golden 
balance. Nay, in the very thing on which the 
Professor imagines a high and polished dame 
to be strong, she will be found weak. The 
shepherd maidens and rustic lasses of Scotland 
feel, from their unsophisticated state of mind, 
the beauty of the poetry of Bums deeply and 
devoutly ; for once that a song of his is heard 
in the lighted hall, it is heard fifty times on 
the brook-banks and in the pastoral valleys of 
the land. 

His marriage reconciled the Poet to his 
wife's kindred : there was no wedding-portion. 
Armour was a most respectable man, but not 
opulent. He gave his daughter some small 
store of plenishing ; and, exerting his skill as 
a mason, wrought his already eminent son-in- 
law a handsome punch-bowl in Inverary marble, 
which Burns lived to fill often, to the great 
pleasure both of himself and his friends. To 
make bridal presents is a practice of long stand- 
ing in Scotland ; and it is to the credit of the 
personal character of the Poet that he was 
not forgotten. Mrs. Dunlop bethought her ot 
Ellisland, and gave a beautiful heifer : — another 
friend contributed a plough. The young couple, 
from a love of country, ordered their furniture 
— plain, indeed, and homely — from Morison, a 
wright in Mauchline : the farm servants, male 
and female, were hired in Ayr-shire, a matter of 
questionable prudence ; for the mode of culti- 
vation is different from that of the west, and 
the cold humid bottom of Mossgiel bears no 
resemblance to the warm and stony loam of 
Ellisland. 



PART III.— ELLISLAND. 

In the month of May, 1788, Burns made 
his appearance as a farmer in Nithsdale ; his 
fame had flown before him, and his coming 
was expected. Ellisland is beautifully situated 
on the south side of the Nith, some six miles 
above Dumfries ; it joins the grounds of Friars- 
Carse on the north-west — the estate of Isle 
towards the south-east — the great road from 
Glasgow separates it from the hills of Dun- 
score ; while the Nith, a pure stream running 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1788. 



over the purest gravel, divides it from the 
holms and groves of Dalswinton. The farm 
amounts to upwards of a hundred acres, and is 
part holm and part cro€t-land ; the former, a 
deep rich loam, bears fine tall crops of wheat ; 
the latter, though two-thirds loam and one- 
third stones on a bottom of gravel, yields, when 
carefully cultivated, good crops, both of 
potatoes and corn ; yet to a stranger the soil 
must have looked unpromising or barren ; and 
Burns declared, after a shower had fallen on a 
field of new-sown and new-rolled barley, that 
it looked like a paved street ! 

Though he got possession of the farm in 
May, the rent did not commence till Martin- 
mas, as the ground was uninclosed and the 
houses unbuilt. By the agreement, Miller 
granted to Burns four nineteen years' leases of 
Ellisland, at an annual rent for the first three 
years of fifty pounds, and seventy pounds for 
the remaining seventy- three years of the tack ; 
the Poet undertook, for a sum not exceeding 
three hundred pounds, to build a complete 
farm onstead, consisting of dwelling-house, 
barn, byre, stable, and sheds, and to permit 
the proprietor to plant with forest trees the 
scaur or precipitous bank along the side of the 
Nith, and a belt of ground towards Friars- 
Carse, of not more than two acres, in order to 
shelter the farm from the sweep of the north- 
west wind. Burns was assisted in the choice 
of the farm, and the terms on which it was 
taken, by Tennant of Glenconner, one of his 
Ayr-shire friends : there were other farms to be 
let of a superior kind on the estate, and those 
were pointed out by my father, steward to the 
proprietor — a Lothian farmer of skill and ex- 
perience — but the fine romantic look of Ellis- 
land induced Burns to shut his eyes on the 
low-lying and fertile Foregirth ; upon which 
my father said, " Mr. Burns, you have made a 
poet's — not a farmer's — choice." 

I was very young when I first saw Burns. 
He came to see my lather ; and their conversa- 
tion turned partly on farming, partly on poetry, 
in both of which my father had taste and skill. 
Burns had just come to Nithsdale ; and I think 
he appeared a shade more swarthy than he does 
in Nasmyth's picture, and at least ten years 
older than he really was at the time. His face 
was deeply marked with thought, and the habit- 
ual expression intensely melancholy. His frame 
was very muscular and well proportioned, though 
he had a short neck, and something of a plough- 
man's stoop : he was strong, and proud of his 
strength. I saw him one evening match him- 
self with a number of masons ; and out of five- 
and-twenty practised hands, the most vigorous 
young men in the parish, there was only one 
that could lift the same weight as Burns. 

He had a very manly face, and a very melan- 



choly look ; but on the coming of those he es- 
teemed, his looks brightened up, and his whole 
face beamed with affection and genius. His 
voice was very musical. I once heard him read 
Tarn O'Shanter. — I think I hear him now. 
His fine manly voice followed all the undula- 
tions of the sense, and expressed, as well as his 
genius had done, the pathos of humour, the hor- 
rible and the awful, of that wonderful perform- 
ance. As a man feels, so will he write ; and in 
proportion as he sympathizes with his author, so 
will he read him with grace and effect. 

I said that Burns and my father conversed 
about poetry and farming. The Poet had newly 
taken possession of his farm of Ellisland, — the 
masons were busy building, — the applause of the 
world was with him, and a little of its money in 
his pocket, — in short, he had found a resting- 
place at last. He spoke with great delight about 
the excellence of his farm, and particularly about 
the beauty of its situation. " Yes," my fathei 
said, "the walks on the river banks are fine, and 
you will see from your windows some miles on 
the Nith ; but you will also see farms of fine 
rich holm,* any one of which you might have 
had. You have made a poet's choice, rather 
than a farmer's." 

If Burns had much of a farmer's skill, he 
had little of a farmer's prudence and economy. 
I once inquired of James Corrie, a sagacious old 
farmer, whose ground matched with Ellisland, 
the cause of the Poet's failure. " Faith," said 
he, " how could he miss but fail, when his ser- 
vants ate the bread as fast as it was baked ? I 
don't mean figuratively, I mean literally. Con- 
sider a little : at that time close economy was 
necessary to have enabled a man to clear twenty 
pounds a year by Ellisland . Now, Burns' own 
handy work was out of the question ; he neither 
ploughed, nor sowed, nor reaped, at least like a 
hard-working farmer ; and then he had a bevy 
of servants from Ayr-shire. The lasses did no- 
thing but bake bread, and the lads sat by the 
fire-side, and ate it warm, with ale. Waste of 
time and consumption of food would soon reach 
to twenty pounds a year." 

"The truth of the case is, that, if Robert 
Burns liked his farm, it was more for the beauty 
of its situation than for the labours which it re- 
quired. He was too wayward to attend to the 
stated duties of a husbandman, and too impa- 
tient to wait till the ground returned in gain the 
cultivation he bestowed upon it. During the 
prosperity of his farm, my father often said that 
Burns conducted himself wisely, and like one 
anxious for his name as a man, and his fame as 
a poet. He went to Dunscore kirk on Sundays, 
though he expressed oftener than once his dis- 
like to the stern Calvinism of that strict old di- 
vine, Mr. Kirkpatrick ; — he assisted in forming 
a reading club, and at weddings, and house- 



Holm is that rich meadow-land, intervening between a stream and the general elevation of the adjoining country. 



iTCTAT. 29. 



ELLISLAND. 



83 



beatings, and kirns,* and other scenes of festi- 
vity, lie was a welcome guest, universally liked 
by the young and the old. 

["The situation in which Burns now found 
himself," says Currie, "was calculated to 
awaken reflection. The different steps he had 
of late taken were in their nature highly im- 
portant, and might be said to have, in some 
measure, fixed his destiny. He had become a 
husband and a father ; he had engaged in the 
management of a considerable farm, a difficult 
and laborious undertaking 5 in his success the 
happiness of his family was involved ; it was 
time, therefore, to abandon the gaiety and dis- 
sipation of which he had been too much ena- 
moured ; to ponder seriously on the past, and to 
form virtuous resolutions respecting the future. 
That such was actually the state of his mind, 
the following extract from his common -place 
book may bear witness : — 

'Ellisland, Sunday, 14th June, 1/88. 

'This is now the third day that I have been 
in this country. ' Lord, what is man ! ' What 
a bustling little bundle of passions, appetites, 
ideas, and fancies ! And what a capricious kind 
of existence he has here ! * * * There is indeed 
an elsewhere, where, as Thomson says 'virtue 
sole survives.' 

1 Tell us, ye dead ; 
Will none of you in pity disclose the secret, 
What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be? 

A little time 

Will make us wise as you are, and as close.' 

( I am such a coward in life, so tired of the 
service, that I would almost at any time, with 
Milton's Adam, gladly lay me in my mother's 
lap, and be at peace. 

' But a wife and children bind me to strug- 
gle with the stream, till some sudden squall 
shall overset the silly vessel, or, in the listless 
return of years, its own craziness reduce it to a 
wreck. Farewell now to those giddy follies, 
those varnished vices, which, though half-sanc- 
tified by the bewitching levity of wit and hu- 
mour, are at best but thriftless idling with the 
precious current of existence ; nay, often poi- 
soning the whole, that, like the plains of Jericho, 
the vmter is naught and the ground barren, and 
nothing short of a supernaturally -gifted Elisha 
can ever after heal the evils. 

' Wedlock, the circumstance that buckles me 
hardest to care, if virtue and religion were to be 
anything with me but names, was what in a few 
seasons I must have resolved on , in my present 
situation it was absolutely necessary. Humanity, 

[* Kirns. -The harvest-home dances in Scotland. Such 
entertainments were always given by the landlords in those 
da3 r s ; but this good old fashion is fast wearing out. It 
belonged to a more prudent, as well as humane, style of man- 
ners than now finds favour. 

Ct Burns, in his happy day« at Ellisland, had scrawled on 
the windows, with his diamond, his own and his wife's 



generosity, honest pride of character, justice to 
my own happiness for after life, so far as it could 
depend (which it surely will a great deal) on 
internal peace ; all these joined their warmest 
suffrages, their most powerful solicitations, with 
a rooted attachment, to urge the step I have 
taken. Nor have I any reason on her part to 
repent it. I can fancy how, but have never 
seen where, I could have made a better choice. 
Come, then, let me act up to my favourite 
motto, that glorious passage in Young — 

On reason build resolve, 
That column of true majesty in man ! ' 

" Under the impulse of these reflections, Burns 
immediately engaged in rebuilding the dwell- 
ing-house on his farm, which, in the state he 
found it, was inadequate to the accommodation 
of his family. On this occasion, he himself re- 
sumed at times the occupation of a labourer, 
and found neither his strength nor his skill im- 
paired. Pleased with surveying the grounds lie 
was about to cultivate, and with the rearing of 
a building that should give shelter to his wife 
and children, and, as he fondly hoped, to his 
own grey hairs, sentiments of independence 
buoyed up his mind, pictures of domestic con- 
tent and peace rose on his imagination ; and a 
few days passed away, as he himself informs us, 
the most tranquil, if not the happiest, which he 
had ever experienced. j v ] 

The Poet was now a busy and a happy man. 
He had houses to build, and grounds to en- 
close : — that he might be near both, he sought 
shelter in a low smoky hovel on the skirts of 
his farm. I remember the house well : the 
floor was of clay, the rafters were japanned 
with soot : the smoke from a hearth fire 
streamed thickly out at door and window, 
while the sunshine which struggled in at tho^e 
apertures produced a sort of twilight. There 
he was to be found by all who had curiosity or 
taste, with a table, books, and drawings before 
him ; sometimes writing letters about the land, 
and the people, among whom he had dropt like 
a slung stone ; sometimes giving audience to 
workmen who were busy at dyking or digging 
foundations ; and not unfrequently brushing 
up, as Mrs. Bums was wont to say, an old song 
for Johnson's Musical Museum. — "The hovel 
which I shelter in," said the Poet to Mar- 
garet Chalmers, ' ' is pervious to every blast 
that blows, and every shower that falls ; and 
I am only preserved from being chilled to death 
by being suffocated with smoke. I do not find 
my farm that pennyworth I was taught to ex- 
initials, in many a fond and fanciful shape, where they still 
remain, interspersed with such morceaux as the following : — 

" An honest woman's the noblest work of God." 

Poor fellow! — His own noble spirit was at rest with Itself 
and all the world at this time.] 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1788. 



pect, but I believe in time it may be a saving 
bargain." 

If Burns had little comfort in his lodging- 
place, he seems to have been unfortunate in 
finding society to render it endurable. — " I am 
here/' he says, on the 9th of September, " on 
my farm busy with my harvest; but for all 
that pleasurable part of life called social com- 
munication, I am at the very elbow of ex- 
istence. The only things that are to be found 
in this country, in any degree of perfection, are 
stupidity and canting. Prose they only know 
in graces, prayers, &c. ; and the value of these 
they estimate as they do then' plaiding-webs — 
by the ell ! As for the Muses, they have as 
much an idea of a rhinoceros as of a poet. For 
my own capricious, but good-natured hussey of 
a muse — 

' By banks of Nith I sat and wept, 
When Coila I thought on ; 
In midst thereof I hung my harp 
The willow trees upon.' 

I am generally about half my time in Ayr-shire 
with my ' darling Jean ;' and then I, at lucid 
intervals, throw my horny fist across my be- 
cobwebbed lyre, much in the same manner as 
an old wife throws her hand across the spokes 
of her spinning-wheel." In the same strain 
■ — half serious and half-humourous — he thus 
addresses his friend Hugh Parker : — 

" In this strange land, this uncouth clime, 
A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 
Where words ne'er crost the Muse's heckles, 
Nor limpit in poetic shackles ; 
Aland that prose did never view it, 
Except, when drunk, he stacher't through it. 
Here, ambush 'd by the chimla cheek, 
Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 
I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 
I hear it — for in vain I leuk. — 
The red peat gleams a fiery kernel, 
Enhusked by a fog infernal : 
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 
I sit and count my sins by chapters : 
For life and spunk, like ither Christians, 
I'm dwindled down to mere existence, 
Nae converse but wi' Gallowa' bodies, 
Wi' nae ken'd face but — Jenny Geddes." 

Nor did his neighbours gain on him by a closer 
acquaintance. "I was yesterday," he writes 
to Mrs. Dunlop, " at Mr. Miller's, to dinner 
for the first time. My reception was quite to 
my mind — from the lady of the house quite flat- 
tering. She sometimes hits on a couplet or two, 
impromptu. She repeated one or two to the 
admiration of all present : my suffrage, as a 
professional man, was expected ; I for once 
went agonizing- over the belly of my conscience. 
Pardon me, ye, my adored household gods, in- 
dependence of spirit and integrity of soul ! In 
the course of the conversation, Johnson's Mu- 
sical Museum, a collection of Scottish songs, 
with the music, was talked of. We got a song 
on the harpsichord, beginning : — 



' Raving winds around her blowing,' 

The air was much admired : the lady of the 
house asked me whose were the words — ' Mine, 
madam; they are, indeed, my very best verses'' 
She took not the smallest notice of them ! The 
old Scottish proverb says well — ' King's* chaff 
is better than other folk's corn.' 1 was going 
to make a New Testament quotation about 
' casting pearls ;' but that would be too viru- 
lent, for the lady is actually a woman of sense 
and taste." 

The sooty shearing in which the Poet found 
refuge seems to have infected his whole atmos- 
phere of thought ; the Maxwells, the Kirk- 
patricks, and Dalzells were fit companions for 
any man in Scotland in point of courtesy and 
information, and they were almost his neigh- 
bours ; Riddell, of Friars-Carse, an accom- 
plished antiquarian, lived next door ; and Jean 
Lindsay, and her husband Patrick Miller, were 
no ordinary people. The former was beautiful 
and accomplished ; wrote easy and graceful 
verses, and had a natural dignity in her man- 
ners which became her station ; the latter was 
one of the most remarkable men of his time ; 
an improver and inventor, and the first who 
applied steam to the purposes of navigation. 
Burns was resolved to be discontented — at least 
on paper — for in his conversation he exhibited 
no symptoms of the kind ; but talked, laughed, 
jested, and visited, with the ease and air of a 
man happy and full of hope. 

The walls of the Poet's onstead began now 
to be visible from the North side of the Nith, 
and the rising structures were visited by all 
who were desirous of seeing how he wished to 
house himself. The plans were simple : thej 
barn seemed too small for the extent of the 
farm, and the house for the accommodation 
of a large family. It contained an ample kit- 
chen, which was to serve for dining room ; a 
room to hold two beds, a closet to hold one, 
and a garret, coom-ceiled, to contain others 
for the female servants. One of the windows 
looked down the holms, another opened on the 
river, and the house stood so nigh the lofty bank 
that its afternoon shadow fell across the stream 
upon the opposite fields. The garden was I 
little way from the house ; a pretty footpath 
led southward along the river side ; another ran 
northward, affording fine views of the Nith, 
and of the groves of Friars-Carse and Dals- 
winton ; while, half way down the steep de- 
clivity, a fine, clear, cool spring supplied 
water to the household. The situation was 
picturesque, and at the same time convenient 
for the purposes of the farm. 

During the progress of the work, Burns 
was often to be found walking among the men, 
urging them on, and eyeing with an anxious 
look the tedious process of uniting lime and 
stone. On laying the foundation he took off 
his hat, and asked a blessing on the home 



-®r 



=f 



.ETAT. 29. 



ELLISLAND. 



which was to shelter his household gods. I 
inquired of the man who told me this, if 
Burns did not put forth his hand and help 
him in the progress of the work? — " Ay, that 
he did mony a time. If he saw us like to 
be beat wi' a big stane he would cry, l bide a 
wee ! ; and come rinning. We soon found out 
when he put to his hand — he beat a' I ever 
met for a dour lift." When the Avails rose 
as high as the window-heads, he sent a note 
into Dumfries ordering wood for the interior 
lintels. Twenty carpenters flocked round the 
messenger, all eager to look at the Poet's 
hand-writing. In such touches the admira- 
tion of the country is well expressed. 

These days have been numbered by Currie 
among the golden days of Burns. Few of 
his days were golden, and most of them were 
full of trouble ; but his period of truest hap- 
piness seems to have been that which pre- 
ceded and followed the first Edinburgh edition 
of his poems. Those were, it is true, days of 
feverish enjoyment ; but the tide of his for- 
tune, or at least of his hopes, was at the full. 
The way before him was all sunshine ; and, 
as his ambition was equal to his genius, he 
indulged in splendid visions of fame and glory. 
The neglect of the Scottish nobles rebuked 
his spirit ; he came to Dumfries-shire a sad- 
dened and dissatisfied man ; he saw that his 
bread must be gained by the sweat of his 
brow; that the original curse, from which 
men without a moiety of his intellect were 
relieved, had fallen heavy upon him ; and 
that he must plod labour's dull weary round, 
like an ox in a threshing-mill. The happi- 
ness present to his fancy now, was less bright 
and ethereal than before ; he had to hope for 
heavy crops, rising markets, and fortunate 
bargains. At a harvest-home or penny-wed- 
ding he might expect to have his health drunk, 
and hear one of his songs sung ; but this was 
not enough to satisfy ambition such as his. 
Among the rising walls of his onstead, ] v 

" Cheep' d like some bewilder' d chicken, - 
Scar'd frae its imnnie and the cleckin 
By hoodie craw." 

and complained to Mrs. Dunlop of the un- 
couth cares and novel plans which hourly 
insulted his awkward ignorance. These un- 
couth cares were the labours of a farm, and 
the novel plans were the intricate and labori- 
ous elegancies of a plain onstead ! 

I have heard my father allege that Burns 
looked like a man restless and of unsettled 
purpose. — " He w r as ever on the move," said 
he, " on foot or on horseback. In the course 
of a single day he might be seen holding the 
plough, angling in the river, sauntering, with 
his hands behind his back, on the banks, look- 
ing at the running water, of which he was 
very fond, walking round his buildings, or 



over his fields ; and, if you lost sight of him 
for an hour, perhaps you might see him re- 
turning from Friars-Carse, or spurring his 
horse through the Nith to spend an evening 
in some distant place, with such friends as 
chance threw in his way." The account 
which he gave of himself is much to the same 
purpose. — " There is," said he, " a foggy 
atmosphere native to my soul in the hour of 
care, which makes the dreary objects seem 
larger than life. Extreme sensibility, irritated 
and prejudiced on the gloomy side, by a series 
of misfortunes and disappointments, at that 
period of my existence, when the soul is lay- 
ing in her cargo of ideas for the voyage of 
life, is, I believe, the principal cause of this 
unhappy frame of mind." 

ITe loved to complain: — " My increasing 
cares," he says, " in this as yet strange country 
— gloomy conjectures in the dark vista of futu- 
rity — consciousness of my own inability for the 
struggle of the world — my broadened mark to 
misfortune in a wife and children — I could in- 
dulge these reflections, till my humour should 
ferment in the most acid chagrin, that w T ould 
corrode the very thread of lite." These are 
the sentiments of one resolved not to be com- 
forted t — " The heart of the man and the fancy 
of the poet are the two grand considerations," 
he observed, " for which I live. If miry ridges 
and dirty dunghills are to engross the best part 
of the functions of my immortal soul, I had 
better been a rook or a magpie at once, and 
then I should not have been plagued with any 
ideas superior to breaking of clods, and picking 
up grubs, not to mention barn-door cocks or 
mallards — creatures with which I could almost 
exchange lives at any time." To Margaret 
Chalmers he writes in a mood a shade or so 
brighter : — 

" Ellisland, September, 14th, 1/88. 

" I am here, driven in with my harvest-folks 
by bad weather ; and, as you and your sister 
once did me the honour of interesting yourselves 
much a Vegard de moi, I sit down to beg the 
continuation of your goodness. When I think 
of you — hearts the best, mj^ds the noblest of 
human kind — unfortunate even in the shades of 
life — when I think I have met with you, and 
have lived more of real life with you in eight 
days than I can do with almost anybody I meet 
with in eight years ; when I think on the im- 
probability of meeting you in this world again 
— I could sit down and cry like a child. If 
ever you honoured me with a place in your es- 
teem, I trust I can now plead more desert. I 
am secure against that crushing grasp of iron 
poverty, which, alas! is less or more fatal to 
the native worth and purity of, I fear, the no- 
blest souls ; and a late important step in my life 
has kindly taken me out of the way of those 
ungrateful iniquities which, however overlooked 
in fashionable license, or varnished in fashion- 

G 2 



!>= 



-<§> 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1788. 



able phrase, are indeed but lighter and deeper 
shades of Villany." After this we are 
scarcely prepared for his saying", " you will be 
pleased to hear that I have laid aside idle eclat, 
and bind every day after my reapers." 

The domestic sketch of one great master has 
been completed by the hand of another : Sir 
Egerton Brydges thus relates an interview 
which he had with Burns on the banks of the 
Nith : — " I had always been a great admirer of 
his genius and of many traits in his character ; 
and I was aware that he was a person moody 
and somewhat difficult to deal with. I was 
resolved to keep in full consideration the irrita- 
bility of his position in society. About a mile 
from his residence, on a bench, under a tree, 
I passed a figure, which from the engraved 
portraits of him I did not doubt was the Poet 5 
but I did not venture to address him. On ar- 
riving at his humble cottage, Mrs. Burns 
opened the door ; she was the plain sort of 
humble woman she has been described ; she 
ushered me into a neat apartment, and said that 
she would send for Burns, who was gone for a 
walk. In about half an hour he came, and my 
conjecture proved right : he was the person I 
had seen on the bench by the road-side. At 
first I was not entirely pleased with his counte- 
nance. I thought it had a sort of capricious 
jealousy, as if he was half inclined to treat me 
as an intruder. I resolved to bear it, and try 
if I could humour him. I let him choose his 
turn of conversation, but said a lew words 
about the friend whose letter I had brought to 
him. It was now about four in the afternoon 
of an autumn day. While we were talking, 
Mrs. Burns, as if accustomed to entertain visit- 
ers in this way, brought in a bottle of Scotch 
whiskey, and set the table. I accepted tin's 
hospitality. I could not help observing the 
curious glance with which he watched me at 
the entrance of this signal of homely entertain- 
ment. He was satisfied ; he filled our glasses. 
" Here's a health to auld Caledonia ! " The fire 
sparkled in his eye, and mine sympathetically 
met his. He shook my hand with warmth, 
and we were friei*ds at once. Then he drank 
''Erin for ever \" and the tear of delight burst 
from his eye. The fountain of his mind and 
his heart now opened at once, and flowed with 
abundant force almost till midnight. He had 
amazing acuteness of intellect, as well as glow 
of sentiment. I do not deny that he said some 
absurd things, and many coarse ones, and that 
his knowledge was very irregular, and some- 
times too presumptuous, and that he did not 
endure contradiction with sufficient patience. 
His pride, and perhaps his vanity, was even 
morbid. I carefully avoided topics in which 
he could not take an active part. Of literary 
gossip he knew nothing, and therefore I kept 
aloof from it ; in the technical parts of litera- 
ture his opinions were crude and uninformed : 



but whenever he spoke of a great writer whom 
he had read, his taste was generally sound. To 
a few minor writers he gave more credit than 
they deserved. His great beauty was his manly 
strength, and his energy and elevation of thoughl 
and feeling. He had always a full mind, and 
all flowed from a genuine spring. I never con- 
versed with a man who appeared to be more 
warmly impressed with the beauties of nature ; 
and visions of female beauty and tenderness 
seemed to transport him. He did not merely 
appear to be a poet at casual intervals ; but at 
every moment a poetical enthusiasm seemed to 
beat in his veins, and he lived all his days the 
inward, if not the outward, life of a poet. I 
thought I perceived in Burns's cheek the symp- 
toms of an energy which had been pushed too 
far; and he had this feeling himself. Every 
now and then he spoke of the grave as soon 
about to close over him. His dark eye had at 
first a character of sternness ; but as he became 
warmed, though this did not entirely melt 
away it was mingled with changes of extreme 
softness." 

Between the farm of Ellisland and the vil- 
lage of Mauchline lies a dreary road, forty-six 
miles long : and along this not very romantic 
path Burns was in the habit of riding more 
frequently than was for the advantage of his 
pocket or his farm. It is true that it was Mrs. 
Burns who made him look to the west, and it 
is also true that a man should love and honour 
his wife ; but it seems not to have occurred 
to the Poet that strict economy — a vigilant 
Jook-out upon his farming operations — was the 
most substantial way of paying respect to her. 
His jaunts were frequent ; he tarried long, and 
there were pleasant lingerings by the way — 
brought about by inclination sometimes, and 
sometimes by wind and rain. All this was 
much to be regretted, and it arose mainly from 
want of a residence for Mrs. Burns and his 
children near the farm which he superintended. 
He complains to Ainslie of want of time. He 
was not one of those who could sit quietly and 
let matters take their course : he had all the 
impatience of genius, and not a little of its irri- 
tability. 

In one of his excursions to Ayr-shire, he 
found the inn at which he usually got a night's 
lodging filled with mourners conveying the 
body of a lady of some note in the west to her 
family tomb ; he was obliged to ride ten miles 
to another inn. The fruit of his vexation was 
an ode lavish of insult : — 

" Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation, mark 
Who in widowed weeds appear*. 
Laden with unhonoured years. 
Note that eye — 'tis rheum o'erflows— 
Pity's fiood there never rose : 
See those hands, ne'er stretched to save; 
Hands that took, but never gave." 



JKTAT. 29. 



FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE. 



85 



In these words, and others bitterer still, the 
Poet avenged himself on the memory of a frugal 
and respectable lady, whose body unconsciously 
deprived him of a night's sleep. 

Some will like better, some worse, the reproof 
which he gave to Kirkpatrick, the minister of 
Dunscore, for preaching down " the bloody and 
tyrannical house of Stuart." The Poet went 
to the Parish church to join in acknowledge- 
ments for the Revolution to which we are in- 
debted for civil and religious rights. The stern 
and uncompromising divine touched the yet lin- 
gering jacobitical prejudices of Burns so sharp- 
ly, that he seemed ready to start from his seat 
and leave the church. 

On going home he wrote thus to the London 
Star: — "Bred and educated in revolution 
principles — the principles of reason and com- 
mon sense — it could not be any silly prejudice 
which made my heart revolt at the abusive 
manner in which the reverend gentleman 
threatened the house of Stuart. We may re- 
joice sufficiently in our deliverance from past 
evils without cruelly raking up the ashes of 
those whose misfortune it was, perhaps, as 
much as their crime, to be the author of those 
evils. The Stuarts only contended for prero- 
gatives which they knew their predecessors 
enjoyed, and which they saw their contempo- 
raries enjoying ; but these prerogatives were 
inimical to the happiness of a nation, and the 
rights of subjects. Whether it was owing to 
the wisdom of leading individuals, or to the 
jostling of parties, I cannot pretend to deter- 
mine ; but, happily for us, the kingly power 
was shifted into another branch of the family, 
who, as they owed the throne solely to the 
call of a free people, could claim nothing in- 
consistent with the covenanted terms Avhich 
placed them there. Let every man who has 
a tear for the many miseries incident to hu- 
manity feel for a family illustrious as any in 
Europe, and unfortunate beyond historic pre- 
cedent ; and let every Briton, and particularly 
every Scotchman, who ever looked with re- 
verential pity on the dotage of a parent, cast 
a veil over the fatal mistakes of the kings of 
his forefathers." 

The eloquent humanity of this appeal was 
thrown away, perhaps, upon an intrepid Cal- 
vinist, to whom the good things of this world 
were as dust in the balance compared with 
what he deemed his duty to God and his 
conscience. — "You must have heard," says 
Burns in a letter to Nicol, "how Lawson of 
Kirkmahoe, seconded by Kirkpatrick of Dun- 
score, and the rest of that faction, have ac- 
cused, in formal process, the unfortunate Heron 
of Kirkgunzeon, that, in ordaining Neilson to 
the cure of souls in Kirkbean, he feloniously 
and treasonably bound him to the Confession 
of Faith, as far as it was agreeable to reason 
and the word of God." The Poet was un- 



fortunate in his respect for those Galloway 
apostles : for worth and true nobleness of mind, 
Lawson and Kirkpatrick were as high above 
them as Criffel is above Solway. He was 
wayward, and scarcely to be trusted in his 
arguments on religious topics : — a Cameronian 
boasted to me how effectually Burns interposed 
between him and two members of the esta- 
blished kirk, who were crushing him with a 
charge of heresy. — " The Poet," said he, 
"proved the established kirk to be schismatic, 
and the poor broken remnant to be the true 
light. Never believe me if he wasna a gude 
man !" 

A secluded walk, or a solitary ride, were to 
Burns what the lonely room and evening lamp 
are said to be to others who woo the muse. 
Though sharp and sarcastic in his correspon- 
dence, he was kindly and obliging in other 
matters. He had formed a friendship with 
the family of Friars-Carse, and was indulged 
with a key which admitted him when he 
pleased to the beautiful grounds — to the rare 
collections of antique crosses, troughs, altars, 
and other inscribed stones of Scotland's elder 
day — and to, what the Poet did not love less, 
a beautiful hermitage, in the centre of the 
grove next to Ellisland. He rewarded this 
indulgence by writing an inscription. At 
first the poem was all contained on one pane 
of glass ; but his fancy overflowed such limits : — 

" Thou whom chance may hither lead ; 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deck'd in silken stole, 
Grave these maxims on thy soul : — 
Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine every hour ; 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ! 
Quod the Beadsman of Nithside." 

These sentiments show the colour of the 
Poet's mind rather than its original vigour. 
He was happier in a poem addressed to Gra- 
ham of Fintry ; it is rich in observation, and 
abounds with vivid pictures, some of them 
darkening into the stern and the sarcastic : — 

" Thee, Nature ! partial Nature ! I arraign ; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell ; 
Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, 
The priest and hedge-hog in their robes are snug. 
But, oh ! thou bitter step-mother, and hard 
To thy poor fenceless naked child — the Bard ! 
A thing unteachable in worldly skill, 
And half an idiot, too— more helpless still - t 
No nerves olfactory, Mammon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich Dullness' comfortable fur, 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
He bears the unbroken blast on every side ; 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1789. 



Critics ! — appall'd I venture on the name ; 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame, 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Munroes ! 
He hacks to teach — they mangle to expose." 

The fine satire and graceful application of 
these lines make us regret that they were ad- 
dressed to one who had nothing better in his 
gift than situations in the Excise. 

In lyrical verse the muse of Burns was at 
this time somewhat sparing of her inspiration ; 
she who loved to sing of rustic happiness in her 
own country tongue was put out in her musings 
by the sound of mason's hammers and carpen- 
ters' saws. The first of his attempts is the ex- 
quisite song called " The Chevalier's Lament ;" it 
was partly composed on horseback, on the 30th 
of March previous. — "Yesterday," he says to 
Robert Cleghorn, " as I was riding through a 
track of melancholy, joyless moors, between 
Galloway and Ayr -shire, it being Sunday, I 
turned my thoughts to psalms and hymns and 
spiritual songs ; and your favourite air, ' Cap- 
tain O'Keane/ coming at length into my head, 
I tried these words to it : — 

" The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 
The murmuring streamlet winds clear through the vale, 
The hawthorn-tree blows in the dew of the morning, 
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale ; 
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 
While the lingering moments are numbered by care ? 
No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, 
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair." 

He contributed some dozen songs or so this 
season to Johnson : — " I can easily see that you 
will very probably," he says, " have four vo- 
lumes. Perhaps you may not find your account 
lucratively in this business ; but you are a 
patriot for the music of your country, and I am 
certain posterity will look upon themselves as 
highly indebted to your public spirit. I see 
every day new musical publications advertised, 
but what are they ? — gaudy butterflies of a day : 
but your work will outlive the momentary neg- 
lects of idle fashion, and defy the teeth of time." 
Of the new songs which he wrote, " Beware of 
bonnie Ann" was the first ; Ann, the daughter 
of Allan Masterton, was the heroine. — "The 
■ Gardener wi' his Paidle" is another ; the first 
verse is natural and flowing : — 

" When rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck the gay green spreading bowers, 
Then busy, busy are his bours, 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 
The chrystal waters gently fa', 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round him blaw, 

The gardener wi' his paidle." 

" On a Bank of Flowers" was written by de- 
sire of Johnson, to replace a song of greater 
merit, but less delicacy, published by Ramsay. 
" The day returns, my bosom burn," was com- 
posed in compliment to the bridal-day of the 



laird of Friars-Carse and his lady ; it is very 
beautiful : — 

" The day returns, my bosom burns, 
The blissful day we twa did meet ; 
Though winter wild in tempest toil'd, 
Ne'er simmer sun was half sae sweet.-** 

" At their fire-side," says the Poet, " I have 
enjoyed more pleasant evenings than at all the 
houses of fashionable people in this country put 
together." " Go fetch to me a pint o' wine " 
Burns introduced to his brother Gilbert as an 
old song which he had found among the glens 
of Nithsdale, and asked if he did not think it 
beautiful. — "Beautiful!" said Gilbert; "it is 
not only that, but the most heroic of lyrics. 
Ah, Robert ! if you would write oftener that 
way, your fame would be surer." He also co- 
pied it out as a work of the olden muse, to Mrs. 
Dunlop ; the second verse is magnificent : — 

" The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody : 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me longer wish to tarry, 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar — 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary." 

He was fond of passing off his own composi- 
tions as the labours of forgotten bards. "Auld 
lang syne" he spoke of to Mrs. Dunlop as a 
song that had often thrilled through his soul : 
nor did he hesitate to recommend it to Thomson 
as a lyric of other days which had never been 
in print, nor even in manuscript, till he took it 
down from an old woman's singing. Many a 
Scottish heart will respond in far lands to the 
following lines : — 

" We twa hae run about the braes, 

An' pou'd the gowans fine, 
But we've wandered mony a weary foot 

Since auld lang syne. 
We twa hae paidlet i' the burn 

Frae morning sun till dine, 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd 

Since auld lang syne." 

The desponding spirit of the Poet is visible 
in the song of "The lazy Mist." — "I'll never 
wish to hear it sung again," said a farmer to 
me once; "it is enough to make one quit 
plough-hilts and harrow, and turn hermit." 
" Of a' the airts the wind can blaw" is as 
cheerful as the other is sorrowful. — "I com- 
posed it," said the Poet, out of compliment 
to Mrs. Burns : — it was," he archly adds, 
"during the honey-moon." This was the 
fruit of one of his horseback meditations, when 
riding to Mossgiel from Ellisland, with his 
rising onstead, his new r -sown crop, and the 
charms of Jean Armour's company in his 
mind. He made it by the way, and sung it 
to his wife when he arrived. There are four 
verses altogether ; two of them are not com- 
monly printed, though both are beautiful :— 



JET AT. 30. 



ELLISLAND. 



87 



" O blaw ye westlin' winds, blaw suit 

Amang the leafy trees, 
Wi' balrny gale frae hill an' dale, 

Bring hame the laden bees ; 
And bring the lassie back to me 

That's aye sac neat an' clean ; 
Ae smile o' her wou'd banish care, 

Sae charming is my Jean." 

These verses with which Burns eked out 
and amended the old lyrics are worthy of no- 
tice. There is some happy patching in " Tib- 
bie Dunbar :" — 

" I care na thy daddie, his lands and his money ; 
I care na thy kindred sae high and sae lordly ; 
But say thou wilt hae me, for better for waur, 
And come in thy c^atie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar." 

In "The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 
an' a'," and in "Ay waukin, O," are two 
or three of the Burns' touches. In " My 
Love she's but a lassie yet" his hand is 
more visible : — 

" My love she's but a lassie yet, 
My love she's but a lassie yet ; 
We'll let her stand a year or twa. 
She'll no be half sae saucy yet; 
I rue the day I sought her, O, 
I rue the day I sought her, O ; 
Wha gets her need na say he's wooed, 
But he may say he's bought her, O." 

Having cut and secured his crop, seen his 
stable for holding four horses, and his byre for 
containing ten cows, erected, and his dwelling 
house rendered nearly habitable, he went into 
Ayr-shire in the middle of November ; and, in 
the first week of the succeeding month, re- 
turned with Mrs. Burns, and some cart-loads 
of plenishing to Ellisland. He was visited on 
this occasion by many of his neighbours : the 
gladsome looks and the kindly manners of his 
young wife made a favourable impression on 
all; and at his house-heating, "Luck to the 
roof-tree of the house of Burns !" was drunk 
by the men, and some of his songs sung by 
the lasses of Nithsdale. He was looked upon 
now as having struck root as a poet and a 
farmer, and, as both, was welcome to the people 
of the vale around. Yet his coming brought 
something like alarm to a few : the ruder 
part of the peasantry dreaded being pickled 
and preserved in sarcastic verse. An old 
farmer told me that, at a penny-pay wedding, 
when one or two wild young fellows began to 
quarrel and threatened to fight, Burns rose up 
and said, "Sit down and be damned to you! 
else I'll hing ye up like potatoe-bogles, in 
sang to-morrow." — "They ceased and sat 
down," said my informant, "as if their noses 
had been bleeding." 

In the letters and verses of the Poet at 
this period, we can see a picture of his 
mind and feelings. — In a letter to Mrs. 
Dunlop, dated January 1, 1789, he writes : — 
" This, dear Madam, is a morning of wishes, 



and would to God that I came under the 
apostle James's description — the prayer of a 
righteous man availeth much. In that case, 
Madam, you should welcome in a year full of 
blessings ; every thing that obstructs or disturbs 
tranquillity and self-enjoyment should be re- 
moved, and every pleasure that frail humanity 
can taste should be yours. I own myself so 
little of a presbyterian that I approve of set 
times and seasons of more than ordinary acts of 
devotion, for breaking in on that habituated 
routine of life and thought which is so apt to 
reduce our existence to a kind of instinct, or 
even sometimes, and with some minds, to a state 
very little superior to mere machinery. This 
day — New Year's day — the first Sunday in 
May ; a breezy, blue-skyed noon, sometime 
about the beginning, and a hoary morning and 
calm sunny day about the end, of autumn ; 
these, time out of mind, have been to me a kind 
of holiday. I believe I owe this to that glo- 
rious paper in the Spectator, 'The Vision of 
Mirza ; ' a piece that struck my young fancy, 
before I was capable of fixing an idea to a 
word of three syllables : 'On the fifth day of 
the moon, which, according to the custom of 
my forefathers, I always keep holy, after hav- 
ing washed myself and offered up my morning 
devotions, I ascended the high hill of Bagdat, 
in order to pass the rest of the day in me- 
ditation and prayer.' We know nothing, or 
next to nothing, of the substance or structure of 
our souls ; so cannot account for those seeming 
caprices in them that one should be particularly 
pleased with this thing, or struck with that, which, 
on minds of a different cast make no extraordi- 
nary impression. I have some favourite flowers 
in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, 
the harebell, the fox-glove, the wild-brier rose, 
the budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, 
that I view and hang over with particular de- 
light. I never heard the loud solitary whistle 
of the curlew in a summer noon, or the wild 
mixing cadence of a troop of grey plovers in an 
autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation 
of soul like the enthusiasm of devotion or poe- 
try. Tell me, my dear friend, to what can 
this be owing ? Are we a piece of machinery, 
which like the iEolian harp, passive, takes the 
impression of the passing accident, or do these 
workings argue something within us above the 
trodden clod? I own myself partial to such 
proofs of those awful and important realities — 
a God that made all things — man's immaterial 
and immortal nature, and a world of weal or 
woe beyond death and the grave." Thus elo- 
quently could Burns discourse upon his own 
emotions ; he was willing to accept, as proofs 
of an immortal spirit within him, the poetic 
stirrings of his own sensibility. 

[" Few, it is to be hoped," says the eloquent 
Lockhart, " can read such things as these with- 
out delight ; none, surely, that taste the ele- 



88 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1789. 



vated pleasure they are calculated to inspire 
can turn from them to the well-known issue of 
Burns's history without being afflicted. It is 
difficult to imagine anything more beautiful, 
more noble, than what such a person as 
Mrs. Dunlop might at this period be sup- 
posed to contemplate as the probable tenour 
of his future life. What fame can bring of 
happiness he had already tasted ; he had over- 
leaped, by the force of his genius, all the pain- 
ful barriers of society ; and "there was probably 
not a man in Scotland who would not have 
thought himself honoured by seeing Burns 
under his roof. He had it in his power to place 
his poetical reputation on a level with the very 
highest names, by proceeding in the same course 
of study and exertion which had originally 
raised him into public notice. Surrounded by 
an affectionate family ; occupied, but not en- 
grossed, by the agricultural labours in which his 
youth and early manhood had delighted ; com- 
muning with nature in one of the'loveliest dis- 
tricts of his native land ; and, from time to time, 
producing to the world some immortal addition 
to his verse, — thus advancing in years and in 
fame, with what respect would not Burns have 
been thought of! How venerable in the eyes 
of his contemporaries ! How hallowed in those 
of after generations, would have been the roof 
of Ellisland, the field on which lie 'bound 
eveiy day after his reapers,' the solemn river 
by which he delighted to wander ! The plain 
or Bannockburn would hardly have been holier 
ground."] 

That Burns imagined he had united the poet, 
farmer, and exciseman, all happily in his own 
person, was a dream in which he indulged only 
• luring the first season that he occupied Ellis- 
land. When he thought of his bargain with 
Miller, his natural engagement with the Muse, 
wnd of his increasing family, he was not un- 
conscious that he had taxed mind and body to 
the uppermost: poetry was not then, more than 
now, a productive commodity, and lie could not 
expect a harvest such as he had reaped in Edin- 
burgh every year. A farm such as his re- 
quired the closest, nay, most niggardly, econo- 
my to make it pay ; and he was not. therefore, 
unwise in leaning to the Excise to help out 
with a little ready and certain money the defi- 
ciencies of his other speculations. As yet, how- 
ever, his hopes were high, and his spirit un- 
touched — when he said 

" Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van, 
Thou stalk o' carle-hemp in man :" 

he was bracing himself up for the contest. 
Such fits of thought generally with him ushered 
in verse. When visions of fame and honest 
hard-earned independence passed before his 
sight, Burns slipt out to the " Scaur's red side," 
and pacing to and fro, indicated, to the hum- 
ming of some favourite tune, that he was busy 



with song. Nay, it was not unusual with him 
to go out, " attired as minstrels wont to be," 
with his head uncovered — his ancestor's broad 
sword buckled to his side ; and, traversing the 
river-bank in the glimpses of the moon, chant 
in a voice, deep, low, and melodious, the verses 
which rose on his fancy. 

[" On the Dalswinton side," says Lockhart, 
" the river washes lawns and groves ; but over 
against these the bank rises into a red scaur, of 
considerable height, along the verge of which, 
where the bare shingle of the precipice all but 
but overhangs the stream, Bums had his fa- 
vourite walk, and might now be seen striding 
alone, early and late, especially when the winds 
were loud, and the waters below him swollen 
and turbulent. For he was one of those that 
enjoy nature most in the more severe of her 
aspects; and throughout his poetry, for one 
allusion to the liveliness of spring, or the splen- 
dour of summer, it would be easy to point out 
twenty in which he records the solemn delight 
with which he contemplated the melancholy 
grandeur of autumn, or the savage gloom of 
winter. Indeed, I cannot but think that the 
result of an exact inquiry into the composition 
of Burns's poems, would be, that ' his vein/ 
like that of Milton, flowed most happily 
'from the autumnal equinox to the vernal :' — 
Of Lord Byron, we know that his vein flowed 
best at midnight ; and Burns has himself told 
us that it was his custom 'to take a gloamin' 
shot at the Muses.' "] 

Nith side was a favourite place for study : 
southward lies a pretty walk among natural 
clover : northward the bank is rough with 
briar and birch, while, far below the stream, 
roughened by the large stones of Fluechar- 
Ford, may be heard — 

" Chafing against the Scaur's red side." 

Here, after a fall of rain, the poet loved to walk 
" listening to the dashing roar," or looking at 
the river, chafed and agitated, bursting impe- 
tuously from the groves of Friar's-Carse against 
the bridling embankment which fences the low 
holms of Dalswinton. Thither he walked in 
his sterner moods, when the world and its ways 
touched his spirit ; and the elder peasants of 
the vale still shew the point at which he used 
to pause and look on the red and agitated 
stream. In one of these moods he produced, 
"I hae a wife of my ain," a rather indecorous 
ditty, but full of the character of the man, and 
breathing of resolution and independence : — ■ 

" I hae a wife o' my ain— I'll partake wi' naebody; 

I'll tak' cuckold frae nane, I'll gie cuckold to naeDody. 

I hae a penny to spend— there, thanks to naebody ; 

I hae naething to lend— 111 borrow frae naebody. 
" I am naebody's lord, — I'll be slave to naebody ; 

I hae a gude braid sword— I 11 tak' dunts frae naebody. 

I'll be merry and free— I'll be sad for naebody; 

If naebody care for me, I'll care for naebody." 



ZETAT. 30. 



HE ESTABLISHES LIBRARIES. 



80 



Burns indulged in the wish to compose a work 
less desultory, and more the offspring of medi- 
tation, than those short and casual pieces which 
were rather the sport of his vacant hours than 
the result of settled study and deliberate thought. 
Something like the Georgics of Virgil, a kind 
of composition for which he was well fitted, 
both by genius and knowledge, seems to have 
hovered before his fancy. — " It is a species of 
writing," he observed, " entirely new to me, 
and has filled my head with a thousand fancies 
of emulation ; but, alas ! when I read the 
Georgics, and then survey my own powers, 
'tis like the idea of a Shetland pony drawn up 
by the side of a thorough-bred hunter to start 
for the plate." These words were addressed 
to Mrs. Dunlop ; he afterwards &ays to Dr. 
Moore : — " The character and employment of 
a poet were formerly my pleasure, but are now 
my pride. I have no doubt but the knack, the 
aptitude, to learn the Muses' trade, is a gift 
bestowed by Him who forms the secret bias of 
the soul ; but I as firmly believe that excellence 
in the profession is the fruit of industry, atten- 
tion, labour, and pains ; at least, I am resolved 
to try my doctrine by the test of experience. 
Another appearance from the press 1 put off to 
a very distant day — a day that may never ar- 
rive ; but poesy I am determined to prosecute 
with all my vigour." The critics of those days 
seem not to have felt that he had already taken 
a flight above any bard of his time ; they re- 
garded the "Address to the Deil," "The 
Daisy," "The Mouse," and "The Cotter's 
Saturday Night," as " Orient pearls at random 
strung ;" and held that their worth had yet to 
be decided by future works of more sustained 
excellence. This seems to have perplexed 
Burns ; such opinions pointed to a school of 
verse in which he had never studied. 

The Poet did not flourish ; yet he seems to 
have done enough to ensure success as a farmer. 
He held the plough frequently with his own 
hands ; and he loved to lay aside his coat, and 
with a sowing-sheet slung across his shoul- 
der, stride over the new-turned furrows, and 
commit his seed-corn to the ground. — While 
his wife managed the cheese and butter depart- 
ment with something short of West country 
skill, he attended fairs where grain was sold, 
and sales where cattle were disposed of; and, 
though not averse to a merry-making or a 
dance, he seems neither to have courted nor 
shunned them. — " Do you come and see me," 
he says to Richard Brown. "We must have a 
social day, and perhaps lengthen it out with 
half the night before you go again to sea. You 
are the earliest friend I now have on earth, my 
brothers excepted ; and is not that an endearing 
circumstance ? When you and I first met, we 
were at a green period of human life. The 
twig could easily take a bent, but would as 

[* Letter to Sir John Sinclair, Bart., in the Statistical 



easily return to its former state. You and I 
not only took a mutual bent, but, by the me- 
lancholy, though strong, influence of being both 
of the family of the unfortunates, we were in- 
tertwined with one another in our growth to- 
wards advanced age ; and blasted be the sacri- 
legious hand that shall attempt to undo the 
union !" He loved old friendships to continue, 
and rejoiced in the happiness of his early com- 
panions. 

The diffusion of knowledge was a favourite 
object with Burns ; for this he had established 
his reading and debating-clubs in the west, and 
in the same spirit he now desired to excite a love 
of literature among the portioners and peasants 
of Dunscore. He undertook the management 
of a small parochial library, and w r rote out the 
rules. His friend, Gordon, a writer, happened 
to drop in while he was busy with the regula- 
tions, and began to criticise the language — a 
matter on which the bard was sensitive. — 
" Come, come, sir," said he, "let me have my 
rules again. Had I employed a Dumfries law- 
yer to draw them out, he would have given me 
bad Latin, worse Greek, and English spoken 
in the fourteenth century." Mr. Riddell, of 
Friar's-Carse, and other gentlemen, contributed 
money and books. The library commenced 
briskly, but soon languished. The Poet could 
not always be present at the meetings ; the 
subscribers lived far separate ; disputes and dis- 
union crept in, and it died away like a flower 
which fades for want of watering. Burns al- 
ludes ironically to the scheme in one of his 
letters. Wisdom, he averred, might be gained 
by the mere handling of books. One night, he 
said, while he presided in the library, a tailor, 
who lived some mile or so distant, turned over 
and over the leaves of a folio Hebrew concord- 
ance, the gift of a clergyman. — "I advised 
him," said Burns, " to bind the book on his 
back — he did so ; and Stitch, in a dozen walks 
between the library and his own house, ac- 
quired as much rational theology as the priest 
had done by forty years' perusal of the pages." 
Such ironical sallies were not likely to allure 
subscribers or give knowledge to the ignorant. 

[Nevertheless, his letters to the booksellers 
on the subject of this subscription library do 
him much honour : his choice of authors, which 
business was actually left to his discretion, 
being in the highest degree judicious. Such 
institutions are now common, indeed almost 
universal, in the rural districts of Southern 
Scotland ; but it should never be forgotten that 
Burns was among the first, if not the very first, 
to set the example. " He was so good,' ; says 
Mr. Riddell, " as to take the whole manage- 
ment of this concern : he was treasurer, librarian, 
and censor, to our little society, who will long 
have a grateful sense of his public spirit and ex- 
ertions for their improvement and information.]* 

Account of Scotland— Parish of Dunscoie.] 



90 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1789. 



Some have hinted that his appointment in the 
Excise was unfortunate; as it led to the tempt- 
ations of pleasant company and social excess. 
There is no situation under the sun free from 
this ; even a farmer is as much exposed to such 
allurements as any one. The Poet, a good 
judge in all such matters, looked with a different 
eye upon it ; nor is there anything too roman- 
tic in the wish that journeying along the green 
vales, and among the fine hills of Nithsdale and 
Galloway, might inspire his muse, and aid him 
in poetic composition. " I do not know," he 
said to Ainslie, " if I nave informed you that I 
am now appointed to an Excise division, in the 
middle of which my house and farm lie. I 
know not how the word exciseman, or still more 
opprobrious, gauger, will sound in your ears. 
I, too, have seen the day when my auditory 
nerves would have felt very delicately on this 
subject ; but a wife and children have a won- 
derful power in blunting these kind of sensa- 
tions. Fifty pounds a -year for life, and a 
provision for widows and orphans, you will 
allow, is no bad settlement for a poet. For the 
ignominy of the profession, I have the encou- 
ragement which I once heard a recruiting 
serjeant give to a numerous, if not a respect- 
able, audience in the streets of Kilmarnock : — 
i Gentlemen, for your farther and better encou- 
ragement, I can assure you that our regiment 
is the most blackguard corps under the crown ; 
and, consequently, with us, an honest man has 
the surest chance for preferment.' " 

In the same strain he writes to his friend 
Blacklock: — ■ 

" But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 
I'm turned a gauger. — Peace be here ! 
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear, 

Ye'll now disdain me! 
And then my fifty pounds a-year 

Will little gain me. 

" Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wha, by Castalia's wimplin' streamies 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

" I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 

They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies ; 
Ye ken yoursel my heart right proud is — 

I need na vaunt; 
But I'll sned besoms — thraw saugh woodies 

Before they want." 

In these verses we read of the man as well as 
the poet ; he put more of himself into all he 
wrote than any other poet, ancient or modern. 

[* A writer in the Edinburgh Literary Journal for 1829 
gives the following lively anecdote : — " It may be readily 
guessed with what interest I heard, one Thornhill fair-day, 
that Burns was to visit the market. Boy as I then was, an 
interest was awakened in me respecting this extraordinary 
man, which was sufficient, in addition to the ordinary attrac- 
tion of a village fair, to command my presence in the mar- 
ket. Burns actually entered the fair about twelve ; and man, 
■wife, and lass, were all on the outlook for a peep of the Ayr- 
shire ploughman. I carefully dogged him from stand to 



" On one occasion, however," says Lockhart, 
" he takes a higher tone. ' There is a certain 
stigma,' writes the Poet to Bishop Geddes, 'in 
the name of exciseman ; but I do not intend to 
borrow honour from my profession ;' which may, 
perhaps, remind the reader of Gibbon's lofty 
language, on finally quitting the learned and 
polished circles of London and Paris for his 
Swiss retirement : — ' I am too modest, or too 
proud, to rate my value by that of my associ- 
ates." — 

" His farm," says Currie, "no longer occu- 
pied the principal part of his care or his 
thoughts. It was not at Ellisland that he was 
now in general to be found. Mounted on 
horseback, this high-minded Poet was pursuing 
the defaulters of the revenue among the hills 
and vales of Nithsdale, his roving eye wander- 
ing over the charms of nature, and muttering 
his wayward fancies as he moved along." Currie 
means something like censure in this passage. 
The Poet had a duty, and an arduous one, to 
perform ; his district reached far and wide ; he 
was ever punctual in his attendance ; and, 
though he might plough and sow, reap and 
graze Ellisland by deputy, it required his own 
eyes and hands to superintend the revenue in 
ten parishes. That he acquitted himself dili- 
gently, but gently, in his vocation, there is 
abundance of proof ; against the regular smug- 
glers his looks were stern and his hand was 
heavy, while to the poor country dealer he was 
mild and lenient. The Poet and a brother 
exciseman one day suddenly entered a poor 
widow's shop in Dunscore, and made a seizure 
of smuggled tobacco. — " Jenny," said the Poet, 
"I expected this would be the upshot; here, 
Lewars, take note of the number of rolls as I 
count them. Now Jock, did ye ever hear an 
auld wife numbering her threads before check- 
reels were invented? Thou's ane, and thou's 
no ane, and thou's ane a' out — listen." As he 
handed out the rolls, he went on with his hu- 
morous enumeration, but dropping every other 
roll into Janet's lap. Lewars took the desired 
note with much gravity, and saw as if he saw 
not the merciful conduct of his companion. 
On another occasion, information had been 
lodged against a widow who kept a small pub- 
lic-house in Thornhill ; it was a fair-day — her 
house was crowded — Burns came suddenly to 
the back door and said, "Kate, are ye mad? 
— the supervisor will be in on ye in half an 
hour ! " This merciful hint saved the poor 
woman from ruin.* 



stand, and from door to door. An information had been 
lodged against a poor widow of the name of Kate Watson, 
who had ventured to serve a few of her old country friends 
with a draught of unlicensed ale, and a lacing of whisky on 
this village jubilee. I saw him enter her door, and antici- 
pated nothing short of an immediate seizure of a certain 
grey-beard and barrel, which, to my personal knowledge, con- 
tained the contraband commodity our bard was in quest of. 
A nod, accompanied by a significant movement of the fore- 
finger, brought Kate to the door- way entrance, and I was 



<®= 



PUS " WOUNDED HAKE." 



91 



The muse, as lie expected, accompanied Burns 
in his gauging excursions. He had occasion to 
be at Lochmaben ; Maxwell, then provost of 
that -my small but very ancient borough, was 
his correspondent : — he was also acquainted 
with that "worthy veteran in religion and 
good fellowship, the Reverend Mr. Jeffrey." 
At the manse of the latter he met " the blue- 
eyed lass" in his daughter Jean, then a rosy 
girl of seventeen, with winning manners and 
laughing blue eyes. The Poet drank tea and 
spent the evening in the manse ; and next 
morning, greatly to the increase of her blushes, 
sent her the song which has made her im- 
mortal : — 

" I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frac twa sweet een, 

Twa laughing een o' bonny blue : 
She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wil'd, 

She charm'd my soul, I wistna how; 
But ay the stound, the deadly wound, 

Came frae her een sae bonny blue." 

In April, he wrote the poem of " The wounded 
hare : " he has himself described the circum- 
stances under which he composed it, in a letter 
to his friend Mr. Alexander Cunningham of 
Edinburgh : — " One morning lately, as I was 
out pretty early in the fields, sowing some grass 
seeds, I heard the burst of a shot from a neigh- 
bouring plantation, and presently a poor little 
wounded hare came crippling by me. You will 
guess my indignation at the inhuman fellow 
who could shoot a hare at this season, when all 
of them have young ones. Indeed there is 
something in that business of destroying for our 
sport individuals in the animal creation that do 
not injure us materially, which I could never 
reconcile to my ideas of virtue." His account 
was confirmed to me by James Thomson, the 
son of a neighbouring farmer. — " I remember 
Burns," said he, " weel ; I have some cause 
to mind him — he used to walk in the twilight 
along the side of the Nith, near the march, be- 
tween his land and ours. Once I shot at a hare 
that was busy on our braird ; she ran bleeding- 
past Burns : he cursed me and ordered me out 
of his sight, else he would throw me into the 
water. I'm told he has written a poem about 
it." — u Aye, that he has," I replied ; " but do 
you think he could have thrown you into the 
Nith?" — "Thrown! aye, I'll warrant could 
he, though I was baith youn^ and strong." 
He submitted the poem — certainly not one of 
his best — to Dr. Gregory ; the result scared 
him from consulting in future professional critics. 
— Burns said, " I believe Dr. Gregory, in his 
iron justice, is a good man, but he crucifies me : 
like the devils, I believe and tremble. Such 



near enough to hear the following words distinctly uttered : — 
" Kate, are ye mad? D'ye ken that the supervisor and me 
will be upon you in the course of forty minutes ? Guid-by 
V ye at present." — Burns was in the street, and in the midst 



criticisms but tend to crush the spirit out of 
man." 

The applause which his next attempt ob- 
tained afforded some consolation for such mer- 
ciless strictures ; this was the song, " O ! were 
I on Parnassus' hill ; " the heroine was Mrs. 
Burns ; the transition, from the " forked hill " 
and " fabled fount" of the heathen to a nearer 
stream and Scottish mount of inspiration, has 
been much admired. 

" O ! were I on Parnassus hill ! 
Or had o' Helicon my fill, 
That I might catch poetic skill, 
To sing how dear I love thee. 

But Nith maun be my muse's well, 

My muse maun be thy bonnie seF, 

On Corsincon I'll glow'r and spell, 

And write how dear I love thee." 

He presented the song to Miss Staig, an ac- 
complished young lady of Dumfries, saying, 
"should the respectful timidity of any one of 
her lovers deny him power of speech, it would 
be charitable to teach him, l O ! were I on 
Parnissus' hill/ so that he might not lie under 
the double imputation of beirig neither able ' to 
sing nor say.'" 

The thoughts of Burns had travelled far 
from Corsincon, and the waters of the Nith, 
when he wrote "My heart's in the Highlands." 
The words suit a Gaelic air, and have much of 
the northern spirit in them : — 

" My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer, 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe ; 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go ! " 

Nor were his thoughts at his own fire-side when 
he penned his humorous and sarcastic ditty, 
"Whistle o'er the lave o't." Wedded infelicity 
is the theme of many of our old minstrels : — 

" Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonny Meg was Nature's child — 
Wiser men than me's beguil'd; 
Whistle o'er the lave o't." 

" The Kirk's Alarm," a poem personal and 
satiric, with gleams of wit and poetry worthy 
of a subject less local, was the offspring of 
this season. It was composed at the request 
of some of his Ayrshire friends, to aid the Rev. 
Dr. Macgill, against whom the Kirk was di- 
recting its thunder for having written a heretical 
book. The reverend delinquent yielded, and 
was forgiven — not so the poet : so much more 
venial is it in devout men's eyes to be guilty of 
heresy than of satire ! 

His fancy was now and then fond of " step- 
ping westward ; " this is sufficiently indicated 
in his " Braes o' Ballochmyle," and with deeper 



of the crowd, in an instant, and I had access to know that 
his friendly hint was not neglected. It saved a poor lonely 
widow from a fine of several pounds."] 



92 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1789. 



feelings still in his "To Mary in Heaven," 
written near the close of September, 1789. 
The circumstances under which the latter lyric 
was composed pressed painfully on the mind of 
his wife. — "Robert," she said, "though ill of 
a cold, had busied himself all day with the 
shearers in the field, and, as he had got much 
of the crop in, was in capital spirits. But 
when the gloaming came, he grew sad about 
something — he could not rest. He wandered 
first up the water-side, and then went to the 
barn-yard ; and I followed him, begging him 
to come in, as he was ill, and the air was cold 
and sharp. He always promised, but still re- 
mained where he was, striding up and down, 
and looking at the clear sky, and particularly 
at a star that shone like another moon. He 
then threw himself down on some loose sheaves, 
still continuing to gaze at the star.-' When he 
came in he seemed deeply dejected, and sat 
down and wrote the first verse : — 

" Thou ling'ring star, with lcss'ning ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? " 

On this touching topic he writes to Mrs. 
Dunlop : — " Can it be possible that, when 1 
resign this frail, feverish being, I shall still find 
myself in conscious existence ? When the last 
gasp of agony has announced that I am no 
more to those who knew me, and the few who 
loved me ; when the cold, stiffened, unconscious, 
ghastly corse is resigned into the earth, to be 
the prey unsightly of reptiles, and to become in 
time a trodden clod, shall I be yet warm in life, 
seeing and seen — enjoying and enjoyed? If 
there is another life, it must be only for the 
just, the benevolent, the amiable, and the 
humane. What a flattering idea, then, is a 
world to come ! Would to God I as firmly be- 
lieved it, as I ardently wish it ! There I should 
meet an aged parent, now at rest from the many 
buffetings of an evil world, against which he 
so bravely struggled. There should I, with 
speechless agony of rapture, again recognize my 
lost — my ever dear Mary ! whose bosom was 
fraught with truth, honour, constancy, and 
love." Few wives would interpret these me- 
lancholy allusions into happiness for themselves. 
Mrs. Burns seems to have conducted herself 
with much gentleness. 

These melancholy moods seldom lasted long 
— and they were generally relieved by verse. 
Poetry, therefore, had some share in them. 
Nor was it unnatural, when the world pressed 
and the cloud descended, for Burns to cheer the 
present by bright images of the past. Had 
fortune been more kind, he would have looked 
less at the Highland- Mary star, and indulged, 



probably, in strains of a more enlivening nature . 
In those days the Poet describes himself as the 
prey of nervous affections. — "I cannot reason," 
he says to the same respected lady, " I cannot 
think ; and but to you I would not venture 
to write any thing above an order to a cobbler. 
You have felt too much of the ills of life not to 
sympathize with a diseased wretch, who has 
paired more than half of any faculties he 



Yet in the same season he wrote his joyous 
strain, " Willie brewed a peck o' maut." The 
history of the song involves that of the Poet. 
Nicol, by the advice of Burns, bought the 
farm of Laggan in his neighbourhood, and in 
the autumn vacation came to look after his 
purchase. Allan Masterton accompanied him, 
and, summoning the bard, they resolved to have 
a " house-heating." Nicol furnished the table, 
Burns produced the song, and Masterton set it 
to music. All these lyrics, and others of scarcely 
inferior merit, were printed in the third volume 
of the Musical Museum. The song called 
" The banks of the Nith " partakes of the 
sobriety of verses written to please a friend. In 
vain the Poet thinks of the Thames flowing 
proudly to the sea, and of the Nith — 

" Where Comyns ance had high command." 

His muse will not be satisfied till he gives her 
license upon another strain — the song of " Tam 
Glen." Thought flows free, and words " come 
skelpin' rank and file," in this happy lyric. 
The heroine has set her heart on honest Tam, 
and, in spite of the persuasions and bribes of 
her relations, perseveres in her attachment. 
Besides his personal qualities, there are other 
reasons of weight : — 

" The last Halloween I was waukin', 
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken y 
His likeness came up the house staukin' — 
The very grey breeks o' Tam Glen." 

Burns went to a school in which the master 
caused his scholars to sing this song. The Poet 
was hard to please in matters of sentiment, and 
said, " Children can't do such things, sir ; they 
sing, but it is without feeling." 

He had now made the acquaintance and 
acquired the friendship of some of the chief 
families of the vale of Nith ; the doors of 
Friars-Carse, Terraughty, Blackwood, Close- 
burn, Barjarg, Dalswinton, Glenae, Kirkconnel, 
and Arbigland were opened to receive and to 
welcome him ; nor were those of Drumlanrig 
shut. The Duke of. Queensbury was represented 
by John M'Murdo, who had taste to appreciate 
the merits of such a man as Burns. In one of 
his letters to that gentleman, he says, in his 
usual characteristic way, — " A poet and a 
beggar are in so many points of view alike, 
that one might take them for the same individual 
character under different designations ; werf 1 it. 



^JTAT. 30. 



HIS PERAMBULATIONS. 



93 



not that though, with a trifling poetic license, 
most poets may be styled beggars, yet the con- 
verse of the proposition does not hold, that every 
beggar is a poet. In one particular, however, 
they remarkably agree : if you help either the 
one or the other to the picking of a bone or a 
mug of ale, they will very willingly repay you 
with a song. I feel myself indebted to you, in 
the style of our ballad printers, for ' five excel- 
lent new songs.' The enclosed is nearly my 
newest song, ' The Country Lass,' and one that 
has cost me some pains, though that is but an 
equivocal mark of its excellence. You see, sir, 
what it is to patronize a poet ; 'tis like being a 
magistrate in a petty borough ; you do them 
the favour to preside at their council for one 
year, and your name bears the prefatory stigma 
of bailie for life. With, not the compliments, 
but the best wishes, the sincerest prayers, of 
the season for you, that you may see many and 
happy years with Mrs. M'Murdo and your 
family — two blessings, by the bye, to which your 
rank does not by any means entitle you ; a lov- 
ing wife and a fine family being almost the only 
good things of this life to which the farm-house 
and cottage have an exclusive right." 

In the midst of visits given and received — 
kindness done by gentlemen, and words of ap- 
plause, more welcome still, from ladies, Burns 
was thoughtful and unhappy. From the pur- 
suit of " pension, post, or place," he had with- 
drawn with embittered feelings to a farm, and 
now he found that the plough and the sickle 
faiJed to give even the rustic abundance he had 
contemplated. On Ellisland he had expended 
all his money in the first year of occupation : — 
in the second year he writes to Provost Max- 
well, of Lochmaben, - ■- " My poor distracted 
mind is so jaded, so torn, so racked, and be- 
deviled with the task of the superlatively damned 
— making one guinea do the business of three, 
that I detest, abhor, and swoon at the very word 
business, though no less than four letters of my 
very short sirname are in it." He felt, too, that 
he had laid out his money in vain. He sus- 
pected his mistake early. It will be recollected 
that he had previously said,-" I do not find my 
farm the pennyworth I was taught to expect ; 
but I believe in time it may be a saving bar- 
gain." To Dr. Moore, he afterwards says : — " I 
have married my Jean, and taken a farm : with 
the first step, I have every day more and more 
reason to be satisfied ; with the last, it is rather 
the reverse." Still he did not despair ; nay, he 
sometimes saw in imagination the poet-farmer 
high in the scale of opulence as well as fame. — 
" I am here in my old way," he writes to Mr. 
Macauley, " holding the plough, marking the 
growth of my corn, or the health of my dairy, and 
at times sauntering by the delightful windings 

[* These particulars are from a letter of David Maeulloch. 
Esq., who beinar at this period a very young gentleman, a 
passionate admirer of Burns, and a capital .singer of many 



of the INith, on the margin of which I have 
built my numble domicile, praying for season- 
able weather, or holding an intrigue with the 
muses, the only gipsies with whom I have now 
any intercourse." 

[Burns, in his perpetual perambulations over 
the moors of Dumfries-shire had every tempta- 
tion to encounter which bodily fatigue, the 
blandishments of hosts and hostesses, and the 
habitual manners of those who acted along with 
him in the duties of the Excise, could present. 
He was, moreover, wherever he went, exposed 
to perils of his own, by the reputation which he 
had earned, and by his extraordinary powers of 
entertainment in conversation ; and he pleased 
himself with thinking, in the words of one of 
his unpublished letters to the Lady Harriot 
Don (dated Ellisland, December 23rd, 1789), 
that "one advantage he had in this new business 
was the knowledge it gave him of the various 
shades of character in man — consequently as- 
sisting him in his trade as a poet." — From the 
castle to the cottage, every door flew open at his 
approach ; and the old system of hospitality, 
then flourishing, rendered it difficult for the 
most soberly inclined guest to rise from any 
man's board in the same trim that he sat down 
to it. The farmer, if Burns was seen passing, 
left his reapers, and trotted by the side of Jen- 
ny Geddes, until he could persuade the bard 
that the day was hot enough to demand an ex- 
tra libation. If he entered an inn at midnight, 
after all the inmates were in bed, the news of 
his arrival circulated from the cellar to the gar- 
ret ; and ere ten minutes had elapsed, the land- 
lord and all his guests were assembled round 
the ingle ; the largest punch-bowl was pro- 
duced ; and 

' Be our's this night — who knows what comes to-morrow?' 

was the language in every eye in the circle that 
welcomed him.* The highest gentry of the 
county, whenever they had especial merriment 
in view, called in the wit and eloquence of 
Burns to enliven their carousals.] 

The new -year's -day of 1790 wrought a 
change in his mind, or rather confirmed his 
worst suspicions : he had now brought two 
years' crop to the flail, and was thus enabled to 
weigh the certain past against future hope. We 
may gather the result from his words to Gil- 
bert : — "I have not, in my present frame of 
mind, much appetite for exertion in writing : 
my nerves are in a cursed state. I feel that 
horrid hypochondria pervading every atom of 
both body and soul. This farm has undone my 
enjoyment of myself; it is a runious affair on 
ali hands. But let it go— I'll fight it out and 
be off with it." Though Ellisland promised 



of his s 
company the Po 



, used often, in his enth 
i his professional excursions. 



94 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1790. 



before the fourth of the lease was done to be a 
saving bargain, there is no doubt that at first it 
was a losing one. The heart had been wrought 
out of the ground by preceding tenants, and the 
crops of grass or corn which it yielded to the 
Poet afforded but a bare return for labour 
and outlay. 

The condition of a farmer in Nithsdale was in 
those days sufficiently humble ; his one-story 
house had a clay floor ; his furniture was made 
by the hands ot" a ploughwright ; he presided 
at meals among his children and domestics ; 
performed family worship, " duty even and 
morn ;" and only put on the look of a man of 
substance when he gave a dinner to a douce 
neighbour. Out of doors all was rude and slo- 
venly : his plough was the clumsy old Scotch 
one : his harrows had oftener teeth of wood 
than of iron ; his carts were heavy and low- 
wheeled — the axles were of wood ; he win- 
nowed his corn bjr means of the wind, between 
two barn-doors ; and he refused to commit his 
seed to the earth till, seating himself on the 
ground at mid-day, it gave warmth instead of 
receiving it. He was too poor to make ex- 
periments, and too prejudiced to speculate. He 
rooted up no bushes, dug up no stones ; neither 
did he drain or enclose ; the dung which he be- 
stowed on the soil was to raise a crop of pota- 
toes : now and then it received a powdering of 
lime. His crops corresponded with his skill and 
his implements ; they were weak, and only 
enabled him to pay his rent and lay past a few 
pounds Scots, annually. 

Much of the ground in Nithsdale was leased 
at seven, ten, and some fields of more than or- 
dinary richness, at fifteen, shillings an acre. 
The farmer differed little in wealth and condi- 
tion from the peasants around him. The war, 
which soon commenced, raised him in the scale 
of existence ; the army and navy consumed 
much of his produce ; for a hundred thousand 
soldiers, in time of war, require as much provi- 
sion as two hundred thousand in times of peace. 
With the demand, the price of corn augmented ; 
the farmer rose on the wings of sudden wealth 
above his original condition ; his house obtained 
a slated roof and sash windows ; carpets were 
laid on the floors, instruments of music were 
placed in the parlours ; he wore no longer a 
coat of home-made cloth ; he sat no longer at 
meals among his servants ; family devotion was 
relinquished as a thing unfashionable, and he 
became a sort of rustic gentleman, who rode a 
blood-horse, and galloped home on market- 
nights at the peril of his own neck and to the 
terror of all humble pedestrians. His sons were 
educated at college, and went to the bar or got 
commissions in the army : his daughters changed 
their linsey-woolsey gowns for others of silk ; 
carried their heads high, and blushed for their 
relations who were numbered among the wrights, 
masons, and shoemakers of the land. "W hen a 



change like this took place among the farmers 
of the vale, the dews of wealth would have 
fallen at the same time on the tenant of Ellis- 
land ; but Burns was too poor and too impa- 
tient to wait long for better times, he resolved 
to try another year or two, and then abandon 
farming for ever, if it refused to bring the 
wealth to him which it did to others. 

Having made this covenant to himself, he 
resumed his intercourse with the muse, and pro- 
duced one of the best as well as the longest of all 
his poems — "Tam O'Shanter." For this noble 
tale we are indebted to something like accident. 
Grose, the antiquarian, was on a visit to Rid- 
dell of Friars-Carse, who, like himself, had a 
collection 

" Of auld nick-nackets, 
Rusty aim caps and jinglin' jackets 
Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets 
A. towmont gude." 

The Poet was invited to add wings to the even- 
ing hoars, and something like friendship was 
established between him and the social English- 
man, which both imagined would be lasting. 
In conversing about the antiquities of Scotland, 
Burns begged that Grose would introduce Al- 
loway kirk into his projected work ; and, to fix 
the subject on his mind, related some of the wild 
stories of devilry and witchcraft with which 
Scotland abounds. The antiquarian listened to 
them all, and then said, " Write a poem on it, 
and I'll put in the verses with an engraving of 
the ruin." Burns set his muse to work ; he 
could hardly sleep for the spell that was upon 
him, and with his " barmy noddle working 
prime," walked out to his favourite path along 
the river-bank. 

" Tarn O'Shanter" was the work of a single 
day ; the name was taken from the farm of 
Shanter in Carrick, the story from tradition. 
Mrs. Burns relates that, observing Robert walk- 
ing with long swinging sort of strides and ap- 
parently muttering as he went, she let him alone 
for some time ; at length she took the children 
with her and went forth to meet him ; he seem- 
ed not to observe her, but continued his walk ; 
" on this," said she, " I stept aside with the 
bairns among the broom — and past us he 
came, his brow flushed and his eyes shining j. 
he was reciting these lines : — 

' Now Tam ! O Tam ! had thae been queans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens, 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen! 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies ! 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies !' 

I wish ye had but seen him ! he was in such 
ecstacy that the tears were happing down his 
cheeks." The Poet had taken writing mate- 
rials with him, and, leaning on a turf fence 



JET AT. 31 . 



TAM O' SHANTER. 



95 



which commanded a view of the river, he com- 
mitted the poem to paper, walked home, and 
read it in great triumph at the fire-side. It 
came complete and perfect from his fancy at the 
first heat ; — no other work in the language con- 
tains such wondrous variety of genius in the 
same number of lines. His own account of his 
rapture in composition confirms the description 
of Mrs. Burns: — " I seized," said he to a cor- 
respondent, "my gilt - headed Wangee rod in 
my left hand — an instrument indispensably ne- 
cessary — in the moment of inspiration and rap- 
ture ; and stride, stride — quick and quicker, — 
out skipt I among the broomy banks of the 
Nith to muse." 

Burns found his tale in several prose tradi- 
tions. One stormy night, amid squalls of wind 
and blasts of hail — in short, on such a night as 
the devil would choose to take the air in, a far- 
mer was plashing homewards from the forge 
with plough-irons on his shoulder. As he ap- 
proached Alloway kirk, he was startled by a 
light glimmering in the haunted edifice ; he 
walked up to the door, and saw a cauldron sus- 
pended over a fire, in which the heads and limbs 
of unchristened children were beginning to sim- 
mer. As there was neither fiend nor witch to 
protect it, he unhooked the cauldron, poured 
out the contents, and carried his trophy home, 
where it long remained an evidence of the truth 
of his story. We may observe in the poem the 
use made by Burns of this Kyle legend. Ano- 
ther story supplied him with two of his chief 
characters. A farmer having been detained by 
business in Ayr, found himself crossing the old 
bridge of Doon about the middle of the night. 
When he reached the gate of Alloway kirk- 
yard, a light came streaming from a Gothic 
window in the gabel, and he saw with surprise 
a batch of witches dancing merrily round their 
master the devil, who was keeping them in mo- 
tion by the sound of his bag-pipe. The farmer 
stopt his horse and gazed at their gambols ; he 
saw several old dames of his acquaintance 
among them ; they were footing it in their 
smocks. Unfortunately for him, one of them 
wore a smock too short by a span or so, which 
so tickled the farmer that he burst out with 
" Weel luppen, Maggie wi' the short sark \" 
He recollected himself, turned his horse's head 
and spurred and switched with all his might 
towards the brig of Doon, well knowing that— 

" A running stream they darena cross." 

When he reached the middle of the arch, one 
of the hags sprang to seize him, but nothing 
was on her side of the stream saving the horse's 
tail, which gave way to her grasp as if touched 
by lightning. 

In a Galloway version of the tradition, it is 
recorded that the witch, seizing the horse by the 
tail, stopt it in full career in the centre of the 
bridge } upon which the farmer struck a back- 



handed blow with his sword that set him free, 
and enabled him to pass the stream without fur- 
ther molestation. On reaching his own house 
lie found, to his horror, a woman's hand hanging 
in his horse's tail ; and next morning was in- 
formed that the handsome wife of one of his 
neighbours was dangerously ill, and not ex- 
pected to live. He went to see her — she turned 
away her face from him, and obstinately refused 
to say what ailed her ; upon which he forcibly 
bared her wounded arm, and, displaying the 
bloody hand, accused her of witchcraft and 
dealings with the devil ; thereupon she made a 
confession, and was condemned and burnt. The 
Galloway legend was too tragic for the aim of 
the Poet ; it would have jarred with the wild 
humour of the scene in the kirk, and prevented 
him from displaying his wondrous powers of 
uniting the laughable with the serious, and the 
witty with the awful. Cromek, a curious in- 
quirer, was informed on the spot that the places 
where the packman was smothered in the snow 
— where drunken Charlie broke his neck- 
where the murdered child was found by hunters 
— and where the mother of poor Mungo hanged 
herself, were no imaginary matters. The poe- 
try of Burns is full of truth. 

" Tarn O'Shanter" was received with all the 
applause to which it is richly entitled. " I 
have seldom in my life," says Lord Woodhous- 
lee, " tasted of higher enjoyment from any work 
of genius than I have received from this com- 
position ; and I am much mistaken if this poem 
alone, had you never written another syllable, 
would not have been sufficient to have trans- 
mitted your name down to posterity with high 
reputation." Of this " happiest of all mixtures 
of spirituality and practical life," as Sir Egerton 
Brydges calls the tale, the poet was justly proud. 
He carried it in his pocket, and read it willingly 
to those in w 7 hose taste he had any trust. He 
read it to my father. His voice was deep, man- 
ly, and melodious, and his eye sparkled as he 
saw r the effect of his poem on all around— young 
and old. A wTiter who happened to be present 
on business, stung, perhaps, with that sarcastic 
touch on the brethren — 

" Three lawjers' tongues turn'd inside out. 
With lies seam'd, like a beggar's clout," 

remarked that he thought the language de- 
scribing the watches' orgies obscure. " Obscure, 
sir," said Burns, " ye know not the language of 
that great master of your own art — the devil. 
If you get a witch for a client, you will not be 
able to manage her defence." 

" The Whistle" is another poem of this hap- 
py season. The meeting, it seems, for deciding 
the ownership of the musical relique should 
have taken place sooner. — " Big with the idea," 
said Burns to Riddell, " of this important day 
(October 16, 1789,) at Friars - Carse, I have 
watched the elements and skies, in the full per- 



@ 



96 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1790. 



suasion that they would announce it to the as- 
tonished world by some phenomena of terrific 
portent. The elements, however, seem to take 
the matter very quietly ; they did not even 
usher in this morning with triple suns and a 
shower of blood, symbolical of the three potent 
heroes and the mighty claret-shed of the day. 
For me, as Thomson, in his Winter, says of the 
storm, I shall 

' Hear astonisli'd and astonish'd sing.' " 

The story of the " Whistle" is curious : — A 
Dane came to Scotland with the Princess of 
Denmark, in the reign of our sixth James, and 
challenged all the topers of the north to a con- 
test of the bottle. A Whistle of ebony was to 
be the prize of the day ; this he had blown in 
triumph at the courts of Copenhagen, Stock- 
holm, Moscow, and Warsaw, and was only pre- 
vented from doing the same at the Scottish 
court by Sir Robert Laurie of Maxwellton, 
who, after a contest of three days and three 
nights, left the Dane under the table, 

"And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill." 

On Friday, 16th October, 1790, the Whistle 
was again contended tor in the same element by 
the descendants of the great Sir Robert: — 

" Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw ; 
Craigdarroch . so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skilled in old coins, 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep read in old wines." 

And, that their deeds might not be inglorious, 
they chose an inspired chronicler to attend 
them : — 

" A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day : 
A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been." 

This is one of the most dramatic of lyrics ; 
all is in character, and in the strictest propriety 
of sentiment and language. The contest took 
place at Friars-Carse, a place of great natural 
beauty ; but the combatants closed the shutters 
against the loveliness of the landscape, either 
up the Nith or down, and, lighting the dining- 
room, ordered the corks of the claret to be 
drawn. They had already swallowed six bot- 
tles a-piece, and day was breaking, when Fer- 
guson, decanting a quart of wine, dismissed it 
at a draught. Upon this Glenriddel, recollect- 
ing that he was an elder, and a ruling one in 
the kirk, and feeling he was waging an ungodly 
strife, meekly withdrew from the contest, and 

" Left the foul business to folks less divine." 

Though Sir Robert could not well contend both 
with fate and quart bumpers, he fought to the 
last, and fell not till the sun arose. Not so 
7 erguson, and not so Burns ; the former 
ounded a note of triumph on his Whistle : 



" Next up rose our bard, like a prophet in drink ; — 
' Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink ! 
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime !" 

In truth, it is said that the Poet drank bottle 
for bottle in this arduous contest, and, when 
daylight came, seemed much disposed to take 
up the conqueror. 

Though Burns had ten large parishes to look 
after as exciseman, and though the inclination 
of husbandmen for smuggling in those days 
kept him busy, his fields seemed as well culti- 
vated, and his crops little less luxuriant, than 
those of his neighbours. But he felt that his 
plough was held without profit, and his dairy 
managed without gain, and remained for weeks 
at a time at home, intent on other matters than 

" Learning his tuneful trade from every bough." 

How he demeaned himself as ganger, farmer, 
and poet, has been related by an able and ob- 
servant judge: — "I had an adventure with 
him," said Ramsay of Ochtertyre, *' when pass- 
ing through Dumfries-shire in 1790, with Dr. 
Stewart of Luss. Seeing him pass quickly near 
Oloseburn, I said to my companion, ' that is 
Burns.' On coming to the inn (Brownhill), 
tlie ostler told us he would be back in a few 
hours to grant permits ; that where he met with 
anything seizable he was no better than any 
other gauger : in everything else he was a per- 
fect gentleman. After leaving a note to be de- 
livered to him on his return,' I proceeded to his 
house, being curious to see his Jean, &c. I was 
much pleased with his uxor Sabina qualis, and 
the Poet's modest mansion, so unlike the habi- 
tation of ordinary peasants. In the evening, he 
suddenly bounced in upon us, and said as he en- 
tered, ' I come, to use the words of Shakspeare, 
stewed in haste.' In fact he had ridden incredibly 
fast. We fell into conversation directly, and soon 
got into the mare magnum of poetry. He told me 
he had now gotten a story for a drama, which 
he was to call " Rob Macquechan's Elshin," 
from a popular story of King Robert the Bruce 
being defeated on the water of Cairn, when the 
heel of his boot having loosened in the flight, 
he applied to Rob to fix it on, who, to make 
sure, ran his awl nine inches up the king's heel. 
We were now going on at a great rate, when 

Mr. S popped in his head, which put a stop 

to our discourse, which had become very inter- 
esting. Yet in a little while it was resumed ; 
and such was the force and versatility of the 
bard's genius, that he made the tears run down 
Mr. S.'s cheeks, albeit unused to the poetic 
strain. Poor Burns ! from that time I met him 
no more." The Poet had imagined a drama com- 
mencing with the early vicissitudes of the for- 
tunes of Bruce — recording his strange, his heroic 
and sometimes laughable, adventures, till all 
ended in the glorious consummation at Ban- 
nockburn. He allowed, as was his wont, the 



RAMSAY OF OCHTERTYRE. 



97 



subject to float about in his mind, and drew out 
no plan nor list of characters on paper. " Those 
who recollect," says Sir Walter Scott, " the 
masculine and lofty tone of martial spirit which 
glows in the poem of Bannockburn will sigh 
to think what the character of the gallant Bruce 
might have proved under the hand of Burns ! " 

We find Burns at this period informing Gra- 
ham of Fintry that the Excise business went on 
much smoother with him than he had expected, 
owing to the generous friendship of Mitchell 
the collector, and Findlater the supervisor.—" I 
dare to be honest," said he, " and I fear no la- 
bour. Nor do I find my hurried life greatly 
inimical to my correspondence with the muses : 
I meet them now and I hen as T jog among the 
hills of Nithsdale, just as I used to do on the 
banks of Ayr." Of the lyrical fruit of this 
intercourse, I must render some account. 

In the composition of a song, Burns went to 
work like a painter : what a fine living model 
is to an artist forming a Venus or a Diana, a 
lovely woman was to the Poet. He was fasci- 
nated through the eye ; he thought of the looks 
of the last fair one he had met, and mused on 
her charms till the proper inspiration came ; and 
then he laid out colours worthy of a goddess, on 

" Fair or foul, it maks na whether." 

Jean Lorimer, "The lass of Craigie-burn- 
wood," had levity at least equal to her beauty. 
When the first song in her praise was written 
she lived at Kemmis-hall in Nithsdale : she was 
extremely handsome, with uncommon sweetness 
in her smile, and joyousness in the glance of 
her eye. The Poet measured his verse over her 
charms to gratify a gentleman of the name of 
Gillespie, who was contending in vain with a 
military adventurer of the name of Whelpdale 
for the honour of her love. In " My tocher's 
the jewel," he expresses the scorn which a young 
lady feels at the selfish sentiments of her lover : 

" It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree ; 
It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee : 
My laddie's sae mickle in love wi' tbe siller, 
He canua hae luve to spare for me." 

From love he went to wine ; nothing came 
wrong to him. In this his poetic power resem- 
bled his conversational ability. " Gudewife, 
count the lawin"' is the very essence of sociality 
and glee : — 

" Gane is the day, and mirk's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for fau't o' light ; 
For ale and brandy s stars and moon, 
And blude-red wine's the rising sun." 

A little jacobitism was in his heart when he 
wrote " There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 
hame ;" a little humour when he penned " What 
can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? " and in 
" Yon wild mossy mountains" his mind wan- 
dered bark to a part of his early history, which 



he says "is of no consequence to the world to 
know." 

In a happier mood of mind Burns composed 
" Wha is that at my bower door?" — "It was 
suggested," said Gilbert, " to my brother, by 
the Auld man's Address to the Widow, printed 
in Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany." A vein 
of Dawkie simplicity runs through it. 

" Wha is that at my bovver- door ? 
O wha is it but Findlay ? 
Then gae yere gate, ye'se no be here — 
Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 

" What mak ye sae like a thief ? 
O come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
Before the morn ye'll work mischief — 
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

" Here this night, if ye remain — 
I'll remain, quo' Findlay; 
I dread ye'll ken the gate again — 
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay." 

"'The bonnie wee thing' was composed," 
says the Poet, " on my little idol, the charming 
lovely Davies." In a letter to the lady her- 
self, he lets us a little into the mystery of his 
ballad-making. — "I have heard of a gentle- 
man of some genius who was dexterous with 
his pencil ; wherever this person met with a 
character in a more than ordinary degree con- 
genial to his heart, he used to steal a sketch of 
the face, merely, he said, as a nota-bene to 
point out the agreeable recollection to his 
memory. What this gentleman's pencil was to 
him, is my muse to me ; and the verses which I 
do myself the honour to send you are a memento 
exactly of the same kind that he indulged in. 
When I meet with a person after my own heart, 
I positively feel what an orthodox Protestant 
would call a species of idolatry, which acts on 
my fancy like inspiration ; and I can no more 
resist rhyming on the impulse than an iEolian 
harp can refuse its tones to the streaming air." 
No poet has offered prettier reasons for writing 
love-songs. 

These complimental moods gave way to n 
feeling more serious, when the Poet wrote "Ae 
fond kiss, and then we sever." The song, 1 
have heard, alludes to Clarinda, and is supposed 
to embody the sentiments of the Bard when he 
bade farewell to that Edinburgh beauty. li 
says all in a few words that can be said on 
the subject :— 

" Who shall say that fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me— nae cheerful twinkle lights me : 
Dark despair around benights me-. 
Had we never loved sae kindly,. 
Had we never loved sae blindly — 
Never met, or never parted, 
We had ne"er been broken-hcart< d, ■ ' 

The heroine of the " Bank? -«nd bnies o* hen- 
nie Doon," was Miss Kennedy of Dalgarrc< k, 
in Ayr-shire, a young creature beautiful, ;io 



98 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1791. 



complished, and confiding ; the song was alter- 
ed, from its original simple measure, to suit 
music, accidentally composed by a writer in Edin- 
burgh, whom a musician told to keep to the 
black keys of the harpsichord and preserve some- 
thing like rhythm, and he would produce a 
Scots air. He did so, and this fine air, with a 
few touches from Clarke, was the result. The 
despair of " Ae fond kiss, and then we sever," 
gave way to the gentler sorrows of the " Banks 
and braes o' bonnie Boon ;" and, in its turn, 
" Love will venture in," asserted the dignity of 
successful love. This is a very beautiful lyric : 
the Poet thinks on his mistress, and, looking at 
all manner of fine flowers, sees her, emblemati- 
cally, in each : the lily, for purity ; the daisy, 
for simplicity ; and the violet, for modesty ; are 
woven into this fragrant and characteristic 
chaplet. 

Having obeyed the impulses of sorrow and 
serious love, mirth touched the strings of his 
harp, his heart brightened up, and he poured 
out, " O ! for ane-and-twenty, Tam." The 
name of the heroine is lost ; but her story is 
true to nature, and cannot be soon forgotten : 
there is a dance of words in the song suitable to 
the liveliness of the sentiment. lt Sic a Avife as 
"Willie had," resembles the ironical and sarcastic 
chaunts of the old rustic ballad-makers : the 
picture of Willie's Spouse is not painted in 
ldndly colours : — 

" She has an ee — she has but ane, 

The cat has twa the very colour, 
Five rusty Iceth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller ; 
A whiskin' beard about her mou', 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither : 
Sic a wife as Willie had 

I wad nae gic a button for her." 

This unsonsie dame dwelt in Dunscore, at no 
great distance from Ellisland ; her descendants 
have none of her unlovesome qualities. 

If Burns looked to living loveliness for the 
sake of making new songs, he looked also with 
affectionate eyes on the old mutilated lyrics of 
Scotland, and repaired them with unequalled 
skill. To the ballad of " Hughie Graham," he 
added some characteristic touches, as also to 
" Cock up your beaver." Into the latter he 
has infused a Jacobite feeling : — 

"Cock up your beaver and cock it fu' sprush, 
We'll over the Border and gie them a brush ; 
There's somebody there we'll teach better behaviour ; 
Hey ! my brave Johnnie lad, cock up your beaver." 

He softened a little the rudeness of " Eppie 
Macnab," added bitterness to "The weary 
pound o' tow ; some of his fine feeling found 
its way into " The Collier laddie," and much 
acid irony was infused into " The carle of Kel- 
lyburn- braes." — Cromek informed me that, 
when he consulted Mrs. Bums respecting the 
changes which the genius of her husband had 



effected in the old songs, she ran her fingers 
along the pages of the Museum, saying, " Bo- 
bert gave that one a brushing — this one got a 
brushing, too : — aye, I mind this one weel, it 
got a gay good brushing ! " But when she came 
to " The carle of Kellyburn-braes," she said, 
" He gave this one a terrible brushing." Of 
these dread additions one specimen will suffice : 

" The devil he swore by the edge of his knife, 
He pitied the man that was tied to a wife ; 
The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell, 
He was not in wedlock, thank heav'n, but in hell." 

The winter-time, which brings much leisure 
to the farmer, brought little or none to Burns. 
When he saw his corn secured against rain or 
snow; his 

" Potatoe bings weel snuggit up frae skaith ;" 

his plough frozen in the half-drawn furrow, and 
heard the curler's roaring play intimating that 
winter reigned over the vale, he had to mount 
his horse and do duty as a ganger, leaving El- 
lisland to the skill of his wife and the activity 
of his servants. As early as the harvest of 
1790, it was visible to those acquainted with 
such matters that, as a farmer, the Poet was 
not thriving ; the crop promised, in the eyes of 
the calculating, to make but a small return, 
compared with the demand of the rent : and, 
when he ploughed his ground in the following 
winter and spring, it was whispered that he 
would do so no more. He regretted this the 
less as he now looked upon the Excise as sure 
bread, and an improving appointment. Some 
time during the year 1791, his salary was raised 
to seventy pounds, and he was promised a more 
compact and less laborious district. This eased 
his mind amid the loss which he knew he should 
sustain, in turning the utensils and stock of El- 
lisland into money. He did not communicate 
his intentions to any one, though he hesitated 
not to say that he was losing by his bargain. 

This year he was doomed to lose old friends 
without acquiring new ones. The death of the 
Earl of Glencairn he regarded as a sore misfor- ' 
tune. That nobleman was not rich, nor was 
his influence great ; but he had a sympathy with 
poetic feelings not common to men of rank. 
When he died, the hopes of the Poet seemed to 
have died also; his "Lament," on the occa- 
sion, was a sincere one 5 the words require only 
to be uttered by a young bard instead of an old 
one, to apply, in all respects, to himself. The 
verse is lyrical, and the sentiments those of 
nature :- — 

" The bridegroom may forget the bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That, smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for me I" 



_© 



.ETAT. 32. 



EARL OF BUCHAN. 



09 



This is the language of a man who thought 
himself obliged. He wrote nothing half so 
tender or so touching on the death of the beau- 
tiful Miss Burnet, which happened about this 
time : he tried, but the words came with re- 
luctance : — 

" Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ; 
Nor envious death so triumph 'd in a blow 
As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low." 

Some will like better the compliment which 
he paid her in prose. On returning from a first 
visit to Lord Monboddo, his friend Geddes, of 
Leith, said, "Well, and did you admire the 
young lady?" — "I admired God Almighty 
more than ever," said the Poet; " Miss Burnet 
is the most heavenly of all His works !" He 
did not hesitate to use expressions bordering on 
profanity when speaking of female charms. 

"As to my private concerns," he says to Dr. 
Moore, " I am going on a mighty tax-gatherer 
before the Lord, and have lately had the inter- 
est to get myself ranked on the lists of the 
Excise as a supervisor. I had an immense loss 
in the death of the Earl of Glencairn, the pa- 
tron from whom all my fame and good fortune 
took its rise ; independent of my grateful attach- 
ment to him, which was indeed so strong that 
it pervaded my very soul, and was entwined 
with the thread of my existence. So soon as 
the prince's friends had got in, my getting for- 
ward in the Excise would have been an easier 
business than otherwise it will be." In these 
modest hopes the Poet indulged. He had 
already numbered himself with the "prince's 
friends ;" but the prince was far from power ; 
and had Bums lived till " the dog had," as he 
said "got his day," he might have found rea- 
son to say with Scripture, " put not your trust 
in princes." 

In addition to the sorrow which he felt for 
the loss of valuable friends, his horse fell with 
him and broke his arm ; and his farm having 
swept away all his ready money, visions of 
poverty began to hover in his sight. ■' l Poverty !" 
he exclaimed, " thou half-sister of Death — thou 
cousin - german of hell ! oppressed by thee, the 
son of genius, whose ill starred ambition plants 
him at the tables of the fashionable and polite, 
must see, in suffering silence, his remarks neglect- 
ed and his person despised : while shallow great- 
ness, in his idiot attempts at wit, shall meet with 
countenance and applause." In such sarcastic 
sentiments as these Burns began more and more 
to indulge : — " How wretched is the man," he 
says, " that hangs upon the favours of the great ! 
— to shrink from every dignity of man at the 
approach of a lordly piece of self-consequence, 
who, amid all his tinsel and glitter, and stately 
hauteur, is but a creature formed as thou art — 
and, perhaps, not so well formed." 

He could scarcely resist, however, the request 
of one of the vainest of those "lordly pieces of 



self-consequence," the Earl of Buchan — to come 
to the coronation of the bust of Thomson on 
Ednam-hill, at Dryburgh, on the 22nd of Sep- 
tember, 1791. — " Suppose Mr. Burns," so runs 
the mandate, " should, leaving the Nith, go 
across the country, and meet the Tweed at the 
nearest point from his farm — and, wandering 
along the pastoral banks of Thomson's pure 
parent-stream, catch inspiration in the devious 
walk, till he finds Lord Buchan sitting on the 
ruins of Dryburgh ; there the Commendator 
will give him a hearty welcome, and try to light 
his lamp at the pure flame of native genius, 
upon the altar of Caledonian virtue." The 
Poet had the sickle in his hand when the invi- 
tation came ; he laid it down, took a walk 
along the banks of the Nith, composed the 
verses " to the Shade of Thomson," and sent 
them to apologize for his absence. 

If his poetic feelings were awakened by the 
invitation of Lord Buchan, his jacobitical par- 
tialities were gratified by the present of a valu- 
able snuff-box from Lady Winifred Maxwell, 
the last in direct descent of the noble family of 
Nithsdale. This was an acknowledgment for 
his " Lament of Mary Queen of Scots." There 
was a picture of that ill-starred princess on the 
lid. — " In the moment of poetic composition," 
said Burns, " the box shall be my inspiring 
genius." — The ballad is a pathetic one. He 
imagines the queen in an English prison ; she 
hears the birds sing — feels the odours of flowers, 
and her heart swells with the season : 

" Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their swerf.s amang ; 
But I, the queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang!" 

He had been reading Percy's ballads, and his 
verses caught the olden hue and tone of those 
affecting compositions. 

The great Glasgow road ran through the 
Poet's ground, and the coach often set down 
west-country passengers, who, trusting to the 
airt they came from, and the accessibility of the 
bard, made their sometimes unwelcome appear- 
ance at the door of Ellisland. Such visitations 
— from which no man of genius is free— con- 
sumed his time and wasted his substance — for 
hungry friends could not be entertained on air. 
A neighbour told me that he once found a couple 
of Ayr -shire travellers, plaided, capped, and 
over- ailed, seated at the door of Burns — then- 
sense of etiquette not allowing them to enter 
the house in such trim. They were drinking 
punch, toasting Ayr— auld town and new — 
vowing that Mauchline was the loveliest of all 
spots, and Kyle the heart of Scotland. They 
found their way into Dumfries some time during 

the night. 

° H 2 



LofC. 



100 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1791. 



In the course of this summer two English gen- 
tlemen, who had met Burns in Edinburgh, paid 
him a visit at Ellisland. On calling at the 
house, the}' were told he had walked out on the 
banks of the Nith. They proceeded in search 
of him, and found him — 

*' In sooth it was in strange array." 

On a rock that projected into the stream they 
saw a man angling ; he had a cap of fox-skin 
on his head, a loose great-coat fixed round him 
by a belt from which hung an enormous High- 
land broadsword ; — it was Burns. He received 
them with great cordiality, and asked them to 
share his humble dinner. On the table they 
found boiled beef, with vegetables and barley- 
broth, of which they partook heartily. After 
dinner, the bard told them he had no wine to 
offer, nothing better than Highland whiskey, 
of which Mrs. Burns set a bottle on the table, 
and placed his punch-bowl of Scottish marble 
before him. He mixed the spirit with water 
and sugar, filled their glasses, and invited them 
to drink. They were in haste — whiskey, to 
their southern stomachs, was scarcely tolerable ; 
but the ardent hospitality of the Poet prevailed 
— the punch began to disappear, and his con- 
versation was unto them as a charm. He 
ranged over a great variety of topics, illumina- 
ting whatever he touched.' He related the tales 
of his infancy and of his youth ; he recited 
some of the gayest and some of the tenderest of 
his poems ; in the wildest of his strains of mirth 
he threw in some touches of melancholy, and 
spread around him the electric emotions of his 
powerful mind. The Highland whiskey im- 
proved in its flavour; the marble bowl was 
iigain and again emptied and replenished ; the 
Poet's guests forgot the flight of time and the 
prudence becoming visiters, at the hour of 
midnight, lost their way returning to Dumfries, 
and could scarcely count its three steeples assisted 
by the morning dawn 

Burns still maintained his intercourse with 
the literati of Scotland. He visited Edinburgh 
-mce more, and finally arranged his affairs with 
the difficult Creech ; called on some of his former 
intimates, and left his card at the door of several 
lords ; but his reception seems, save from one 
or two, to have been uncordial. What the 
Learned thought of the grasp of the Poet's 
mind may be gathered from the surprise which 
one of them expresses at his comprehending the 
meaning of Alison's work on the principles of 
taste: — "I own, sir," said the Poet to the 
philosopher, u that at first glance several of your 
propositions startled me as paradoxical. That 
the martial clangour of a trumpet had some- 
thing in it vastly more grand, heroic, and sub- 
lime than the twingle-twangle of a Jew's harp ; 
that the delicate flexure of a rose-twig, when 
the half-blown flower is heavy with the tears of 
die dawn, was infinitely more beautiful and 



elegant than the upright stub of a burdock; and 
that from something innate and independent of 
all association of ideas ; — these I had set down 
as irrefragable, orthodox truths, until perusing 
your book shook my faith." "This," says 
Dugald Stewart, I remember to have read with 
some degree of surprise at the distinct concep- 
tion he appeared from it to have formed of the 
general principles of the law of association." 
It would seem, however, that the Poet, if con- 
vinced, was convinced against his will : he was 
slow in believing that at any time a burdock 
was esteemed equal in loveliness to a rose, or the 
chirp of a" hedge-sparrow reckoned as noble as 
the cry of an eagle. 

[" It may naturally excite some surprise," 
says Lockhart, " that of the convivial conver- 
sation of so distinguished a convivialist, so few 
specimens have been preserved in the Memoirs 
of his Life. The truth seems to be that those 
of his companions who chose to have the best 
memory for such things happened also to have 
the keenest relish for his wit and his huinour r 
when exhibited in their coarser phases. Among 
a heap of IMS. memoranda with which I have 
been favoured, I find but little that one could 
venture to present in print; and the following 
specimens of that little must, for the present, 
suffice. 

" A gentleman who had recently returned 
from the East Indies, where he had made a large 
fortune, which he showed no great alacrity 
about spending, was of opinion, it seems, one 
day, that his company had had enough of wine, 
rather sooner than they came to that conclusion : 
he offered another bottle in feeble and hesitating 
terms, and remained dallying with the cork- 
screw, as if in hopes that some one would inter- 
fere, and prevent further effusion of Bordeaux. 
' Sir,' said Burns, losing temper, and betraying 
in his mood something of the old rusticity — 
' Sir, you have been in Asia, and for aught I 
know, on the Mount of Moriah, and you seem 
to hang over your tappit-hen as remorsefully 
as Abraham did over his son Isaac. — Come, 
Sir, to the sacrifice ! ' — 

" At another party, the society had suffered 
considerably from the prosing of a certain well- 
known provincial Bore of the first magnitude ; 
and Burns as much as any of them ; although 
overawed, as it would seem, by the rank of the 
nuisance, he had not only submitted, but con- 
descended to applaud. The grandee being 
suddenly summoned to another company in the 
same tavern, Burns immediately addressed him- 
self to the chair, and demanded a bumper. 
The president thought he was about to dedicate 
his toast to the distinguished absentee : ' I give,' 
said the Bard, ' I give you the health, gentle- 
men all, — of the waiter that called my Lord 
out of the room ! " j 

If his poems of this year are not numerous, 
the " Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson " 



rfSTAT. 32. 



HEROIC SONG OF DEATH. 



101 



is one of the sweetest and most beautiful of his 
latter compositions. He calls on nature, ani- 
mate and inanimate, to lament the loss of one 
who held his honours immediately from God : — 

" Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather-bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover : 
An' mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood — 

He's gane forever!" 

He copied out the poem, and sending it to his 
friend, M'Murdo, said, "You knew Hender- 
son ; I have not flattered his memory." The 
hero of this noble poem was a soldier of fortune : 
one who rose by deeds, and not by birth : he 
was universally esteemed in the northern circles 
for the generosity of his nature, his courtesy 
and gentlemanly bearing : he died young. 

Burns wrote several new songs, and amended 
some old ones, during this season, for his friend 
Johnson's work. " Afton water" was an 
offering of other days to the accomplished lady 
of Stair and Afton. "Bonnie Bell" is in 
honour of the charms of a Nithsdale dame, and 
" The deuk's dang o'er my daddie" had its origin 
in an old chant, some of the words of which 
the song still retains. " She's fair and fause" 
records the unfortunate termination of a friend's 
courtship ; there is all or more than the bitter- 
ness of disappointed love in the concluding 



" Whoe'er ye be that woman love, 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 'tis, tho' fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind. 
O woman ! lovely woman fair ! 

An angel form's fa'n to thy share, 
'Twad been o'er meikle to gi'en thee mair— 

I mean an angel mind." 

" The Deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman" is at 
once witty and ludicrous. It harmonized with 
the feelings of the north, where a gauger was 
long looked on as a national grievance, or 
rather insult. "The Song of Death" is the 
last lyric which the rural walks of Ellisland 
inspired. On the 17th of December, 1791, he 
copied it for Mrs, Dunlop, and said, — "I 
have just finished the following song, which, to 
a lady, the descendant of Wallace, and herself 
the mother of several soldiers, needs neither 
preface nor apology." He imagines a field of 
battle, and puts his truly heroic song into the 
mouths of men wounded and dying ; the senti- 
ments uttered were those of his heart : — ■ 

" In the field of proud honour, our swords in our hands, 
Our king and our country to save, — 
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 
Oh ! who would not die with the brave !" 

"This hymn," says Currie, "is worthy of 
the Grecian muse, when Greece was most con- 
spicuous for genius and valour." Bums thought 



of printing it separately with the air, which it 
a fine old Highland one ; some one whom he 
consulted advised him against this, and so pre- 
vented him from making his country acquainted 
with his unaltered feeling, at a time when his 
character was beginning to be maligned by the 
secret whisperer and the pensioned spy. 

Burns briefly, in his letters to his brother and 
others, intimates the loss he endured by continu- 
ing in Ellisland ; but he has no where assigned 
reasons, nor entered into explanations. This has 
been misinterpreted to his injury. He alludes 
to his own trials, when he says to Mrs. Dun- 
lop : — " I wish the farmer great joy of his 
new acquisition to his family : I cannot say that 
I give him joy of his life as a farmer. 'Tis, as 
a farmer paying a dear, unconscionable rent, 
' a cursed life V As to a laird farming his own 
property, sowing his own corn in hope, and 
reaping it in spite of brittle weather, in glad- 
ness, knowing that none can say unto him, 
' What dost thou V — fattening his herds, shearing 
his flocks, rejoicing at Christmas, and begetting 
sons and daughters, until he be the venerated, 
grey - haired leader of a little tribe — 'tis a 
heavenly life ! but devil take the life of reap- 
ing the fruits that another must eat !" 

When it was made known in December, 
1791, that Burns was about to relinquish the 
lease of Ellisland, his merits as a farmer were 
eagerly canvassed by the husbandmen around. 
One imputed his failure to the duties of the 
Excise ; to his being compelled to gallop two 
hundred miles per week, to inspect yeasty 
barrels, when his farm required his presence ; 
another said that Mrs. Burns was intimate with 
a town life, but ignorant of the labours of barn 
and byre ; while a third observed that Ellisland 
was out of heart, and, in short, was the dearest 
farm on Nithsdale. The failure of his farming 
projects, and the limited income with which he 
was compelled to support an increasing family 
and an expensive station in life, preyed upon 
his spirits ; and, during these fits of despair, he 
was willing too often to become the companion 
of the thoughtless and the gross. I am grieved 
to say that, besides leaving the book too much 
for the bowl, and grave and wise friends for 
lewd and reckless companions, he was also in 
the occasional practise of composing songs, in 
which he surpassed the licentiousness, as well 
as the wit and humour, of the old Scottish 
muse. These have unfortunately found their 
way to the press, and I am afraid they cannot 
be recalled. " The reader," says Lockhart, 
" must be sufficiently prepared to hear that, 
from the time when he entered on his excise 
duties, the Poet more and more neglected the 
concerns of his farm : occasionally he might be 
seen holding the plough, an exercise in which 
he excelled, and was proud of excelling, or 
stalking down his furrows, with the white sheet 
of grain wrapt about him, a 'teaty seedsman;' 



102 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1792. 



but he was more commonly occupied in far 
different pursuits." 

Had Mr. Miller of Dalswinton been on the 
same friendly terms with the Poet as when, in 
a fit of generous feeling, he offered him the 
choice of his farms at a rent of his own fixing, 
Burns might have lived long, and, perhaps, 
prosperously, in Ellisland. But they were too 
haughty in their natures to continue friends ; 
Miller required respect and submission, which 
the Poet was not disposed to pay ; and I have 
heard it averred by one who was in a situation 
to know, that the former was not loth to get 
rid of a tenant by whose industry he had no 
chance of being enriched, from whom he could 
not well exact rent, and whose wit paid little 
respect to persons. The Poet dispersed his 
stock and implements by auction, among many 
eager purchasers ; restored the land and onstead 
to the proprietor ; and, paying him one pound 
fourteen shillings for dilapidations in thatch, 
glass, and slating, moved off with his house- 
hold to Dumfries, leaving nothing at Ellisland 
but a putting-stone, with which he loved to 
exercise his strength — a memory of his musings 
which can never die, and three hundred pounds 
of his money sunk beyond redemption, in a 
speculation from which all augured happiness. 



PART IV.— DUMFRIES. 

Burns removed his wife and children, with his 
humble furniture, to a house near the lower end 
of the Bank-Vennel in Dumfries. The neigh- 
bourhood was to his mind ; and, as this was 
near the stamp-office, it is probable that John 
Syme, the " Stamp-office Johnnie," of the 
Poet's election ballad, influenced his choice. 
He had other neighbours whom he could not 
but esteem: Captain Hamilton lived on the 
opposite side of the way • Provost Staig, with 
whose family Burns was already intimate, was 
but a few doors off, while Dr. Maxwell, a 
skilful physician, an accomplished gentleman, 
and a confirmed republican, dwelt in the next 
street. The Sands, where cattle are bought 
and sold, was beside him, the Nith was 
within a good stone's cast — the town too is 
compact and beautiful. 

The Poet had no expensive acquaintance to 
entertain ; and his wife, with a single servant, 
was frugal, and anxious to make the little 
they had go far. But he had no longer the 
rough abundance of a farm to resort to ; his 
meal, his malt, his butter, and his milk, were 
all to buy, and his small salary required the 
guidance of a considerate head and hand. To 
calculate was easy, had it been possible to lay 
down an exact system of expenditure ; as a 
man of genius, he was liable to the outlay of 
correspondence, distant and often unexpected; 
he was exposed to the inroads of friends and 
admirers, who consumed his time and his sub- 



stance also ; he longed for knowledge, which, 
to obtain, he had to buy ; he desired to see by 
books what the republic of literature, of which 
he was a member, was about, and this required 
money ; and he was, moreover, of a nature 
kindly and hospitable, and could not live in 
that state of frugal circumspection which a 
gentleman who kept a house, and sometimes a 
horse, on seventy pounds per annum, required 

Even the wandering poor were to the Poet a 
heavy tax ; he allowed no one to go past his 
door without a halfpenny or a handful of meal. 
He was kind to such helpless creatures as are 
weak in mind, and saunter harmlessly about : a 
poor half-mad creature — the Madge Wildfire, 
it is said, of Scott— always found a mouthful 
ready for her at the bard's fire-side ; nor was he 
unkind to a crazy and tippling prodigal named 
Quin. " Jamie," said the Poet one day, as he 
gave him a penny, "you should pray to be 
turned from the evil of your ways ; you are 
ready to run now to melt that into whiskey." 
" Turn," said Jamie, who was a wit in his way, 
" I wish some one would turn me into the worm 
o' Will Hyslop's whiskey-still, that the drink 
might dribble continually through me." " Well 
said, Jamie !" answered the Poet, " you shall 
have a glass of whiskey once a week for that, 
if you'll come sober for it." A friend rallied 
Burns for indulging such creatures : — " You 
don't understand the matter," said he, " they 
are poets : they have the madness of the muse, 
and all they want is the inspiration — a mere 
trifle !" 

The labours of the excise now and then led 
him along a barren line of sea-coast, extending 
from Caerlaverock- Castle, where the Maxwells 
dwelt of old, to Annan water. This district 
fronts the coast of England ; and, from its vici- 
nity to the Isle of Man, was in those days 
infested with daring smugglers, who poured in 
brandy, Holland-gin, tea, tobacco, and salt, in 
vast quantities. Small farmers, and persons 
engaged in inland traffic, diffused these com- 
modities through the villages ; they were gene- 
rally vigorous and daring fellows, in whose 
hearts a gauger or two bred no dismay. They 
were well mounted, acquainted with the use of 
a cutlass, an oak-sapling, or a whip loaded with . 
lead ; and, when mounted between a couple of 
brandy-kegs, and their horses' heads turned to 
the hills, not one exciseman in ten dared to stop 
them. To prevent the disembarkation of run- 
goods, when a smuggling craft made its appear- 
ance, was a duty to which the Poet was liable 
to be called, and many a darksome hour he 
was compelled to keep watch, that the pea- 
santry might not have the pleasure of drinking 
tea or brandy duty free. There was something 
which suited his fancy in all this. He had, 
galloping from point to point, much excitement 
of mind, and hopes of golden booty, but not 
without blows. 



.© 



2ETAT. 33. 



GEORGE THOMSON. 



103 



In whatever adventure he was engaged, 
" still his speech was song." Mounted on the 
successor of Jenny Gecldes, whose mortal 
career closed at Ellisland, he " muttered his 
wayward fancies as he roved," and sang the 
beauty of the maidens of the land, and the pas- 
toral charms of the country. It was in one of 
his expeditions against the smugglers that he 
wrote the brief but exquisite lyric, " Louis, 
what reck I by thee ?" To say much in a few 
words is one of the characteristics of his 



"Louis, what reck I by thee, 
Or Geordie on his ocean? 
Dyvor, beggar loons to me, — 
I reign in Jeannie's bosom !" 

" Out over the Forth " is another of his short 
and lucky compositions. " The carding o't" 
belongs to the same class ; nothing in all the 
compass of lyric verse is more truly natural : — 

" I coft a stane o' haslock woo' 

To make a coat to Johnnie o't ; 
For Johnnie is my only jo, 

I lo'e him best of ony yet. 
For though his locks be lyart grey, 

And though his brow be beld aboon, 
Yet I hae seen him on a day 

The pride of a' the parishen." 

One day, during the month of August, he was 
surprised by a visit from Miss Lesley Baillie, after- 
wards Mrs. Cuming of Logie, a beauty of the 
west of Scotland. — " On which," says Burns 
to Mrs. Dunlop, " I took my horse, though 
God knows I could ill spare the time, accom- 
panied her father and her fourteen or fifteen 
miles, and dined and spent the day with them. 
'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them, 
and, riding home, I composed the following 
ballad." Some of the verses of this song are 
in his best manner : — 

" To see her is to love her, 

And love but her for ever : 
For nature made her what she is, 

And never made anither ! 
The deil he couldna skaith thee, 

Nor aught that wad belang thee, 
He'd look into thy bonny face, 

And say, ' I canna wrang thee.' " 

Most of the songs which I have hitherto 
noticed were written for the Museum of John- 
son. A candidate of higher pretence now made 
his appearance : this was George Thomson. 
" I have," said he, in a letter to Burns, " em- 
ployed many leisure hours in selecting and 
collecting the best of our national melodies for 
publication. I have engaged Pleyel, the most 
agreeable composer living, to put accompani- 
ments to these, and also to compose an instru- 
mental prelude and conclusion to each air. To 
render this work perfect, I am desirous of hav- 
ing the poetry improved, wherever it seems 
unworthy of the music ; and that it is so, in 
many instances, is allowed by every one con- 



versant with our musical collections. To 
remove this reproach would be an easy task to 
the author of ' the Cotter's Saturday Night ; ' 
and, for the honour of Caledonia, I would fain 
hope he may be induced to take up the pen." 

An application such as this appealed to too 
many associations for Burns to resist ; he replied 
with something like the enthusiasm of a lover 
when his mistress asks a favour, " As the request 
you make," said the Poet, September 16, 1792, 
"will positively add to my enjoyments in com- 
plying with it, I shall enter into your under- 
taking with all the small portion of abilities I 
have, strained to their utmost exertion by the 
impulse of enthusiasm. If you are for English 
verses, there is, on my part, an end of the matter. 
Whether in the simplicity of the ballad, or the 
pathos of the song, I can only hope to please 
myself in being allowed, at least, a sprinkling 
of our native tongue. As to any remuneration, 
you may think my songs either above or below 
price ; for they shall absolutely be the one or the 
other. In the honest enthusiasm in which I 
embark in your undertaking, to talk of money 
would be downright prostitution of soul !" 

To stipulations such as these Thomson could 
have no objections to offer : he was glad to get 
the Bard on his own romantic terms. The first 
fruits of the bargain was "The Lea Big." 
Though a beautiful song, it seems not to have 
been to the satisfaction of the Poet. " I tried 
my hand on the air," he says, " and could make 
nothing more of it than the verses which I 
enclose. Heaven knows they are poor enough ! 
All my earlier love songs were the breathings of 
ardent passion ; and though it might have been 
easy, in after times, to have given them the 
polish, yet that polish would have defaced the 
legend of my heart which was so faithfully in- 
scribed on them." 

" Highland Maiy " followed this. The 
lyrical flow of the verse, and the truth and 
pathos of the sentiments, make it a favourite 
with all who have voices or feelings. " I think," 
says the Poet, u the song is in my happiest 
manner : it refers to one of the most interesting 
passages in my youthful days ; and I own I 
should be much flattered to see the verses set to 
an air which would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, 
after all, 'tis the still glowing prejudice of my 
heart that throws a borrowed lustre over the 
merits of the composition." He makes inani- 
mate nature a sharer in his rapture : 

" How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk I 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom 1 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp 'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mary I" 

This exquisite lyric proves how much the 
passionate affections of his youth still moved 



104 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1792. 



him. He was ready, when Mary's image rose 
on his fancy, to pour out his feelings in song : 
he was more than usually inspired whenever he 
thought of her. The thorn, under whose shade 
the lowers sat, is still pointed out and held 
sacred by the peasantry. 

The season of winter was propitious to the 
muse of Burns : there was something of old 
habit in this : the long evenings bring leisure to 
the farmer, and the farmer was still strong in 
him. "Auld Rob Morris" was written in 
November ; the idea is taken from an earlier 
song, but the Burns-spirit soon gained the ascend- 
ant : he has painted the portrait of his heroine 
in similes : — ■ 

" She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay ; 
As blythe and as artless as lambs on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e." 

" Duncan Gray " came to the world in Decem- 
ber , had he come in summer, he could not have 
been more " a lad of grace ; " he went a wooing 
in a pleasant time, on gude Yule night, when 
all were joyous — but 

" Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Looked asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh." 

He was not however to be daunted with this : 
he knew woman better : — 

" Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd, 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig ; 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in ; 
Grathis een baith bleer'dand blin' ; 
Spak o' lowpino'eralinn!" 

She relented. — " Duncan Gray," said the Poet, 
" is a light horse-gallop of an air which precludes 
sentiment — the ludicrous is its ruling feature." 
"O ! poortith, cauld and restless love" is a 
song full of other feelings : the heroine is said to 
have been Jean Lorimer, the lass of Craigie- 
burn wood • and this is countenanced by the 
sentiment of one impassioned verse : — 

" Her een sae bonny blue betray 

How she repays my passion ; 
But prudence is her o'erword ay 

She talks of rank and fashion. 
O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him? 
O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sae in love as I am ? ' ' 

A being of a more celestial nature inspired that 
magnificent lyric, " The Vision." The ruined 
college of Lincluden, which stands among 
antique trees on a beautiful plot of rising 
ground, where the Cluden unites with the Nith, 
a little above Dumfries, was a favourite haunt of 
the Poet, as it is of all lovers of landscape beauty. 
On a moonlight evening he imagined himself 
musing alone among the splendid ruins : the 
dust of a Scottish princess, and the bones of one 



of the intrepid Douglasses brought recollections 
of ancient independence to his mind, while the 
quiet and beautiful scenery around awakened 
inspiration. For liquid ease of language and 
heroic grandeur of conception " The Vision " is 
unequalled : the commencing verse prepares us 
for the coming of something more than human : — 

" As I stood by yon roofless tower, 

Where the wa' flower scents the dewy air, 
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 

And tells the midnight moon her care — 
The winds were laid, the air was still, 

The stars they shot along the sky, 
The fox was howling on the hill, 

And the distant- echoing glens reply." 

While enjoying the scene, and looking on 
the northern streamers, the Vision of Liberty 
descended or arose before him : not the blood- 
stained nymph of that name beloved by the 
Jacobin Club, but a Liberty of Scottish extrac- 
tion, stern and stalwart, of the rougher sex, 
attired like an ancient minstrel, carrying a harp, 
and wearing the symbol of freedom. The ma- 
jestic apparition touched his harp, and chanted 
a strain which spoke of former joys and present 
sorrows, in language which the Poet durst only 
describe. This fine lyric was intended, witn 
some modifications, to be wrought into the 
drama of " The Bruce," a subject never wholly 
out of the Bard's fancy. 

From musing on woman's love and man's 
freedom, Burns was rudely awakened. An 
inquiry regarding the sentiments which he enter- 
tained, and the language in which he had in- 
dulged concerning " Thrones and Dominions," 
was directed to be made by the Commissioners 
of Excise, pursuant to instructions, it is said, 
received from high quarters. It will probably 
never be known who the pestilent informer 
against the Poet was : some contemptible wretch 
who had suffered from his wit, or who envied his 
fame, gave the information on which the Board 
of Excise acted, and he was subjected to a sort 
of inquisition. The times indeed in which he 
lived were perilous, and government found it no 
easy thing to rule or tranquillize the agitated 
passions of the people. A new light had arisen 
on the nations : freedom burst out like a sum- 
mer's sun in France ; monarchy was trampled 
under foot ; democracy arose in its place ; 
equality in all, save intellect, was preached up, 
and the true order of nature was to be restored 
to the delighted world. 

This doctrine was welcomed widely in Scot- 
land : it resembled, in no small degree, the 
constitution of the Calvinistic kirk, which is 
expressly democratic ; and it accorded with the 
sentiments which education and knowledge 
awaken — for who is so blind as not to see that 
idols, dull and gross, occupy most of the high 
places which belong to genius as a birthright? 
It corresponded wondrously too with tbe notions 
of Burns : it harmonised with the plan which 



^TAT. 33. 



BOAKD OF EXCISE. 



105 



he perceived in nature, and was in strict keep- 
ing with his sentiments of free-will and inde- 
pendence. " He was disposed/' says Professor 
Walker, " from constitutional temper, from 
education, and from accidents of life, to a jea- 
lousy of power, and a keen hostility against 
every system which enabled birth and opulence 
to intercept those rewards which he conceived 
to belong to genius and virtue." That he 
desired to see true genius honoured, and wealthy 
presumption checked — that he wished to take 
his place on the table-land among peers and 
princes, and obtain station and importance — to 
adorn which his high powers, he believed, were 
given — were desires natural to a gifted mind ; 
and it could not be but galling for him to see 
men who had not a tithe of his talent rolling 
in luxury, while he was doomed to poverty and 
dependence. That these sentiments were in the 
heart of Burns I know ; that he ever sought to 
give them full utterance, or entertained them 
farther than as theories grateful to his mind, it 
would be difficult to find proof. 

From these charges Burns strove to defend 
himself: he addressed his steady friend Gra- 
ham, of Fintry, on the subject ; the letter is 
dated December, 1792. — " I have been sur- 
prised, confounded, and distracted by Mr. Mit- 
chell, the collector, telling me that he has re- 
ceived an order from your Board to inquire into 
my political conduct, and blaming me as a 
person disaffected to government. Sir, you are 
a husband — and a father. * You know what you 
would feel to see the much-loved wife of your 
bosom, and your helpless, prattling little ones, 
turned adrift into the world, degraded and dis- 
graced from a situation in which they had been 
respectable and respected. I would not tell a 
deliberate falsehood, no, not though even worse 
horrors — if worse can be than those 1 have 
mentioned — hung over my head : and 1 say 
that the allegation, whatever villain has made 
it, is a lie ! To the British Constitution, on 
revolution principles, next, after my God, I am 
most devoutly attached. Fortune, sir, has 
nade you powerful and me impotent — has given 
you patronage and me dependence. I would 
not, for my single self, call on your humanity ; 
I could brave misfortune — I could face ruin — 
for, at the worst, ' Death's thousand doors stand 
open ; ' but the tender concerns which I have 
mentioned — the claims and ties which I see at 
this moment, and feel around me — how they 
unnerve courage and wither resolution ! To 
your patronage, as a man of some genius, you 
have allowed me a claim ; and your esteem, as 
an honest man, I know is my due. To these, 
sir, permit me to appeal ; by these may I adjure 
you to save me from that misery which threatens 
to overwhelm me ; and which, with my latest 
breath I will say it, T have not deserved." 

These are the words of his private letter: it 
enclosed another, intended for the eve of the 



commissioners, and which was laid before the 
Board. In the second epistle, Burns disclaimed 
all idea of setting up a republic, and declared 
that he stood by the constitutional principles of 
the revolution of 1688 : at the same time he 
felt that corruptions had crept in, which every 
patriotic Briton desired to see amended. — "This 
last remark," says the Poet, in his celebrated 
letter to John Francis Erskine, afterwards Earl 
of Mar, " gave great offence ; and one of our 
supervisors-general, a Mr. Corbet, was instruct- 
ed to inquire on the spot, and to document me 
— ' That my business was to act, not to think ; 
and that whatever might be men or measures, 
it was for me to be silent and obedient.' Mr. 
Corbet was my steady friend ; so, between Mr. 
Graham and him, I have been partly forgiven ; 
only I understand that all hopes of my getting 
officially forward are blasted." 

The above words were written by the Poet, 
April 13, 1793; yet Mr. Findlater, then his 
superior officer, says, " I may venture to assert 
that when Burns was accused of a leaning to 
democracy, and an inquiry into his conduct 
took place, he was subjected, in consequence 
thereof, to no more than perhaps a private or 
verbal caution, to be more circumspect in future. 
Neither do I believe his promotion was thereby 
affected, as has been stated." Burns, I appre- 
hend, knew best how this was ; an order to act, 
and not to think ; and, whatever might be men 
and measures, to be silent and obedient, seems 
a sharp sort of private caution. That the re- 
cords of the Excise-office, as some one assured 
Lockhart, exhibit no traces of this too memor- 
able matter, is not to be wondered at : expul- 
sions alone are entered — or, if the records say 
more, memoranda, so little to the honour of the 
commissioners, will neither be eagerly sought 
for, nor willingly found. That Burns never 
got forward is certain ; that he ceased to speak 
of his hopes of advancement, is also true. 
What was the cause of this ? That it did not 
arise from his want of skill or his inattention to 
his duties, Findlater furnishes undeniable testi- 
mony, and other evidence can readily be found ; 
nor was it because death slipt too early in and 
frustrated the desire of the Board to advance 
him, for he survived their insulting and crush- 
ing inquiry more than three years and a half. 
He survived, indeed, but he was no longer the 
bright and enthusiastic being who looked for- 
ward with eager hope ; who ascended in fancy 
the difficult steeps of fame, and who set coteries 
in a roar of laughter, or moved them to tears. 

Reasons for this harshness on the part of Go- 
vernment — for the Board of Excise was but the 
acting servant — have been anxiously sought, 
in the words and deeds of Burns. — " He stood," 
says Walker, " on a lofty eminence, surrounded 
by enemies as well as by friends, and no indis- 
cretion which he committed was suffered to 
escape." His looks were watched ; his words 



© = 



108 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1793. 



weighed ; and, wheresoever he went, the eyes of 
the malignant and the envious were on him. I 
have been told, by one incapable of misleading 
me, that Burns sometimes made his appearance 
in a club of obscure individuals in Dumfries, 
where toasts were given, and songs sung which 
required closed doors. I have also been in- 
formed that when invited to a private dinner, 
where the entertainer proposed ' ' the health of 
William Pitt," the Poet said sharply, "Let us 
drink the health of a greater and better man — 
George Washington ; " and it is also true that 
when Dumourier, the republican general, de- 
serted the cause of his country, and joined her 
enemies, Burns rashly chanted that short soiig, 
beginning 

" You are welcome to despots, Dumourier." 

Nay more, I have the proof before me that he 
wrote a scoffing ballad on the foreign sovereigns 
who united to crush French liberty ; but then 
all these matters happened after, not before, he 
was "documented" by the Board of Excise. 
That he forgot now and then what was due to 
the dignity of his genius, is no new admission. 
The club which sung songs with closed doors, 
did so to hinder the landlady, not the landlord, 
from hearing ; the dinner where he toasted Wash- 
ington, and was sullen because it was not drunk, 
took place in 1793. In Midsummer the same 
year, Dumourier forsook the standard of his 
■country, and was welcomed by despots; and 
with regard to the ballad on the sovereigns, I 
am sure the gravest of them all would have 
laughed heartily at the vivid but indecorous wit 
of the composition. 

That Burns was nevertheless very indiscreet, 
it would be vain to deny. " I was at the play 
in Dumfries, October, 1792," thus writes, in 
1835, a gentleman of birth and talent, " the 
Caledonian Hunt being then in town — the play 
was ' As you like it ; ' Miss Fontenelle, Rosa- 
lind — when ' God save the King ; was called 
for and sung ; we all stood up, uncovered — but 
Burns sat still in the middle of the pit, with 
his hat on his head. There was a great tumult, 
with shouts of ' Turn him out ! ' and ' Shame, 
Burns ! ' which continued a good while, at last 
he was either expelled or forced to take off his 
hat — I forget which." 

A more serious indiscretion has been imputed 
to him. Lockhart relates that, on the 27th of 
February, 1792, a smuggling brig entered the 
Solway, and Burns was one of the party of 
officers appointed to watch her motions. It 
was soon discovered that her crew were nume- 
rous, well armed, and likely to resist; upon 
which Lewars, a brother exciseman, galloped 
ofF to Dumfries, and Crawford, the superintend- 
ent, went to Ecclefechan for military assistance. 
Burns manifested much impatience at being left 
on a cold exposed beach, with a force unequa 
to cope with those to whom he was opposed 



and exclaimed against the dilatory movements 
of Lewars, wishing the devil might take him. 
Some one advised him to write a song about it ; 
on which the Poet, taking a few strides among 
the shells and pebbles, chanted "The deiFs 
awa' wi' the exciseman." The song was hardly 
composed, when up came Lewars with his 
soldiers, on which Burns, putting himself at 
their head, his pistols in his pockets, and his 
sword in his hand, waded mid- waist deep into 
the sea, and carried the smuggler. She was 
armed. The Poet, whose conduct was much 
commended, purchased four of her brass guns, 
and sent them as a present to the French Di- 
rectory. These, with the letter which accom- 
panied them, were intercepted on their way to 
France. The suspicions of government were 
awakened by this breach of decorum, and men 
in power turned their eyes on the bard, and 
opened their ears to all his unguarded sayings. 
That the smuggler was captured chiefly by the 
bravery of Burns I have been often told ; but 
I never heard it added that he purchased her 
guns and sent them to the Directory. The 
biographer seems to have had his information 
from persons connected with the Excise ; but I 
suspect the story is not more accurate than that, 
when accused of a leaning to democracy, * ; he 
was subjected to no more than perhaps a verbal 
or private caution to be more circumspect in 
future." 

Burns felt humbled and hurt : he was de- 
graded in his own eyes ; he was pushed rudely 
down from his own little independent elevation, 
and treated like an imbecile, whose words and 
actions were to be regulated by the ungentle 
members of the Board of Excise. — " Have I 
not," he says to Erskine, "a more precious 
stake in my country's welfare than the richest 
dukedom in it ? I have a large family of chil- 
dren, and the prospect of many more. I have 
three sons, who, I see already, have brought 
into the world souls ill qualified to inhabit the 
bodies of slaves." 

It is pleasing to escape with the Poet from 
the racks of the Board of Excise, and accom- 
pany him on his excursions along the banks of 
the Nith, where he soothed his spirit by com- 
posing songs for the publications of Thomson 
or Johnson. In January, 1793, he wrote 
" Lord Gregory ; " in March, " Wandering 
Willie" and "Jessie," and in April, "The 
Poor and Honest Sodger." The first is bor- 
rowed in some measure from the exquisite old 
ballad of "The Lass of Lochroyan," the second 
is more original ; — 

" Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting ; 
It was na the blast brought the tear to my ee ; 
Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie ; 
The simmer to nature — my Willie to me." 

The third was written in honour of the young 
and the lovely Jessie Staig of Dumfries ; and 



®r 



34. 



DUMFRIES— SONGS 



107 



the fourth was awakened by the prospect of 
coming war, which ended not till it laid many 
kingdoms desolate, and put the half of Britain 
into mourning. In the remarks of Thomson 
on his songs he was not always acquiescent. — 
" Give me leave," he says, " to criticise your 
taste in the only thing in which it is reprehen- 
sible. You know I ought to know something 
of my own trade ; of pathos, sentiment, and 
point you are a complete judge : but there is a 
quality more necessary than either in a song, 
and which is the very essence of a ballad, I 
mean simplicity. Now, if I mistake not, this 
last feature you are apt to sacrifice to the fore- 
going." He was as anxious about the purity 
of Scottish music as about the simplicity of the 
verse. " One hint," he says to Thomson, "let 
me give you : whatever Pleyel does, let him 
not alter one iota of the original Scottish airs ; 
let our national music preserve its native fea- 
tures. They are, I own, frequently wild and 
irreducible to the more modern rules, but on 
that very eccentricity, perhaps, depends a great 
part of their effect." 

The beauties whom Burns met on Nithside 
inspired many of the sweetest of his songs : 
the daughters of his friend, John M'Murdo, 
were then very young 5 but they were also very 
lovely, and had all the elegance and simplicity 
which poets love. To Jean M'Murdo we owe 
the ballad of " Bonnie Jean." " I have some 
thoughts," he says to Thomson, " of inserting 
in your index, or in my notes, the names of the 
fair ones, the themes of my songs. I do not 
mean the name at fall, but dashes or asterisms, 
so as ingenuity may find them out. The heroine 

of the foregoing is Miss M , daughter of 

Mr. M of D: , one of your subscribers. 

I have not painted her in the rank which she 
holds in life, but in the dress and character 
of a cottager." He thought very well of this 
composition ; he asks if the image in the fol- 
lowing sweet verse is not original : — ■ 

"As in the bosom 0' the stream 

The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en : 
So trembling, pure, was faithful love 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean," 

Her sister Phillis, a young lady equally beau- 
tiful and engaging, inspired the Poet also ; 
though he imputes the verses in which he sings 
of her charms to the entreaty of Clarke, the 
musician. The first of these lyrics begins : — 

"While larks, with little wing, 
Fann'd the pure air, 
Tasting the breathing spring, 
Forth I did fare." 

The other contains that fine verse : — 

" Her voice is the song of the morning, 

That wakes through the green-spreading grove, 
When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, 
On music, and pleasure, and love." 



Ideal loveliness sometimes appeared to him 
in his solitary wanderings. Autumn he 
reckoned a propitious season for verse : he 
wrote thus to Thomson in the month of 
August : — " I roved out yestreen for a gloamin- 
shot at the muses ; when the muse that presides 
over the shores of Nith, or, rather, my old 
inspiring dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me 
the following : I have two reasons for thinking 
that it was my early, sweet, simple inspirer that 
was by my elbow, ' smooth gliding without 
step/ and pouring the song on my glowing- 
fancy. In the first place, since I left Coila's 
native haunts, not a fragment of a poet has 
arisen to cheer her solitary musings, by catching 
inspiration from her ; so I more than suspect 
she has followed me hither, or, at least, makes 
me occasional visits." The song which this 
celestial lady of the west awakened commences 
thus : — 

" Come, let me take thee to my breast, 
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder, 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The world's wealth and grandeur." 

From lower sources other lyrics of this pe- 
riod are said to have sprung. To the winning 
looks of a young girl who "brewed gude ale 
for gentlemen," and was indulgent even to 
rakish customers, we owe the song of " The 
golden locks of Anna," of which there are 
several versions, and none quite decorous, 
though a clerical biographer of the Bard has 
said otherwise. A purer song, " The mirk 
night of December" had its origin in a similar 
quarter : — 

" O May ! thy morn was ne'er so sweet, 

As the mirk night of December, 

For sparkling was the rosy wine, 

And private was the chamber : 

And dear was she I dare na name, 

But I will ay remember." 

Burns was as ready with his verse to solace 
the woes of others, as to give utterance to his 
own. " You, my dear sir," he says to Thom- 
son, "will remember an unfortunate part of 
our worthy friend Cunningham's story, which 
happened about three years ago. That struck 
my fancy, and I endeavoured to do the idea 
justice as follows." — The song expressing the 
sentiments of his friend is that sublime one — 

"Had I a cave on some wild distant shore." 

The concluding verse, a lady told me, always 
made her shudder : — 

"Falsest of womankind! canst thou declare, 
All thy fond plighted vows— fleeting as air? 
To thy new lover hie, 
Laugh o'er thy perjury : 
Then in thy bosom try 
What peace is there!" 

To the influence of thunder, lightning, and 
rain we owe, we are told, the heroic address of 



108 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1793. 



Bruce at Bannockburn. I abridge the legend 
of John Syme, who accompanied the Poet on a 
tour in Galloway : — " I got Burns a grey 
Highland sheltie to ride on. We dined the 
first day, July 27, 1793, at Glendinning's of 
Parton — a beautiful situation on the banks of 
the Dee. In the evening we walked out and 
viewed the Alpine scenery around ; immediately 
opposite, we saw Airds, where dwelt Lowe, the 
author of Mary's Dream. This was classic 
ground for Burns ; he viewed ' the highest hill 
which rises o'er the source of Dee/ and would 
have staid till the ' passing spirit' appeared, had 
we not resolved to reach Kenmore that night. 
We arrived as ' the Gordons' were sitting down 
to supper. Here is a genuine baron's seat ; the 
castle, an old building, stands on a large natural 
moat, and in front the Ken winds for several 
miles through a fertile and beautiful holm. We 
spent three days with i The Gordons,' whose 
hospitality is of a polished and endearing kind. 
We left Kenmore and went to Gatehouse. I 
took him the moor road, where savage and de- 
solate regions extended wide around. The sky 
was sympathetic with the wretchedness of the 
soil ; it became lowering and dark — the winds 
sio-hed hollow — the lightnings gleamed — the 
thunders rolled. The Poet enjoyed the awful 
scene ; he spoke not a word, but seemed rapt 
in meditation. In a little while the rain began 
to fall ; it poured in floods upon us. For three 
hours did the wild elements rumble their belly- 
ful upon our defenceless heads. We got utterly 
wet ; and, to reverge ourselves, the Poet in- 
sisted, at Gatehouse, on our getting utterly 
drunk. I said that in the midst of the storm, 
on the wilds of the Kenmore, Burns was rapt 
in meditation. What do you think he was 
about? He was charging the English army 
along with Bruce at Bannockburn. He was 
engaged in the same manner in our ride home 
from St. Mary's Isle, and I did not disturb him 
Next day he pr )duced me the Address of Bruce 
to his troops, and gave me a copy for Dalzell." 
Two or three plain words, and a stubborn 
date or two, will go far, I fear, to raise this 
pleasing legend into the regions of romance. 
The Galloway adventure, according to Syme, 
happened in July ; but in the succeding Sep- 
tember, the Poet communicated the song to 
Thomson in these words : — "There is a tra- 
dition which I have met with in many places 
in Scotland, that the old air of ' Hey, tuttie 
taitie/ was Robert Bruce's march at the battle 
of Bannockburn. This thought, in my yester- 
night's evening walk, warmed me to a pitch 
of enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and inde- 
pendence, which I threw into a kind of Scot- 
tish ode, fitted to the air, that one might sup- 
pose to be the gallant Royal Scot's address to 
his heroic followers on that eventful morn- 
ing. I shewed the air to Urbani, who 
was highly pleased with it, and begged me to 



make soft verses for it : but I had no idea of 
giving myself any trouble on the subject, till 
the accidental recollection of that glorious 
struggle for freedom, associated with the glow- 
ing ideas of some other struggles of the same 
nature, not quite so ancient, roused up my 
rhyming mania." Currie, to make the letter 
agree with the legend, altered " Yesternight's 
evening walk" into "solitary wanderings." 
Burns was, indeed, a remarkable man, and 
yielded, no doubt, to strange impulses : but to 
comDose a song 

" In thunder, lightning, and in rain," 

intimates such self-possession as few possess. 
He thus addressed the Earl of Buchan, to whom 
he sent a copy of the song : — " Independent of 
my enthusiasm as a Scotsman, I have rarely 
met with anything in history which interests 
my feelings as a man, equal to the story of Ban- 
nockburn. On the one hand, a cruel, but able, 
usurper, leading on the finest army in Europe to 
extinguish the last spark of freedom among a- 
greatly-daring and greatly-injured people ; on 
the other hand, the desperate relics of a gallant 
nation, devoting themselves to rescue their bleed- 
ing country, or perish with her. Liberty ! thou 
art a prize truly ; never canst thou be too 
dearly bought !" The simplicity and vigour ot 
this most heroic of modern lyrics were injured 
by lengthening the fourth line of each verse 
to suit the air of Lewie Gordon. 

The " Vision of Liberty," and " Scots, wha 
hae wi' Wallace bled," were to form part of 
the long-meditated drama of a The Bruce." 
This the Poet intimated to his friends in con- 
versation, and also in pencil memoranda on one 
of the blank leaves of Collins's poems. Several 
lines of verse are scattered among the prose — all 
shewing on what topic he was musing :— 

" Where Bannockburn's ensanguined flood, 
Swell'd with mingling hostile blood, 
Saw Edward's myriads struck with deep dismay, 
And Scotia's troop of brothers win their way. 
O glorious deed, to brave a tyrant's band ' 
O heavenly joy, to free our native land !" 

[As the letter of Mr. Syme, written soon 
after the excursion took place, gives an ani- 
mated picture of the Poet, by a correct and 
masterly hand, the remainder is now presented 
to the reader : — 

" From Gatehouse, we went next day to 
Kirkcudbright, through a fine country. But 
here I must tell you that Burns had got a pair 
of jemmy boots for the journey, which had been 
thoroughly wet, and which had been dried in 
such a manner that it was not possible to get 
them on again. The brawny Poet tried force, 
and tore them to shreds. A whiffling vexation 
of this sort is more trying to the temper than 
a serious calamity. We were going to Saint 
Mary's Isle, the seat of the Earl of Selkirk, 
and the forlorn Burns was discomfited at the 
thought of his ruined boots. A sick stomach 



THE FIVE CAKLINS. 



109 



and a head - ach lent their aid, and the man of 
verse was. quite accable. I attempted to reason 
with him. Mercy on us, how he did fume and 
rage ! Nothing could reinstate him in temper. 
I tried various expedients, and at last hit on one 
that succeeded. I showed him the house of 

* * * *, across the bay of Wigton. Against 

* * * * ? with whom he was offended, he ex- 
pectorated his spleen, and regained a most 
agreeable xemper. He was in a most epigram- 
matic humour indeed ! He afterwards ftll on 
humbler game. There is one ****** 
whom he does not love. He had a passing 
blow at him : — 

' When *****, deceased, to the devil went down, 
'T was nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown : 
Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown shall wear never' 
I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.' 

" Well, I am to bring you to Kirkcudbright 
along with our poet, without boots. I carried 
the torn ruins across my saddle in spite of his 
fulminations, and in contempt of appearances ; 
and what is more, Lord Selkirk* carried them 
in his coach to Dumfries. He insisted they 
were worth mending. 

" We reached Kirkcudbright about one 
o'clock. I had promised that we should dine 
with one of the first men in our country, 
J. Dalzell. But Burns was in a wild and obstre- 
perous humour, and swore he would not dine 
where he should be under the smallest restraint. 
We prevailed, therefore, on Mr. Dalzell to dine 
with us in the inn, and had a very agreeable 
party. In the evening we set out for St. 
Mary's Isle. Robert had not absolutely re- 
gained the miikiness of good temper, and it 
occurred once or twice to him, as he rode along, 
that St. Mary's Isle was the seat of a Lord ; 
yet that Lord was not an aristocrat, at least in 
his sense of the word. We arrived about eight 
o'clock, as the family were at tea and coffee. 
St. Mary's Isle is one of the most delightful 
places that can, in my opinion, be formed by 
the assemblage of every soft, but not tame, ob- 
ject which constitutes natural and cultivated 
beauty. But, not to dwell on its external 
graces, let me tell you that we found all the 
i, dies of the family (all beautiful) at home, and 
some strangers ; and, among others, who but 
Urbani ! The Italian sung us many Scottish 
songs, accompanied with instrumental music. 
The two young ladies of Selkirk sung also. 
We had the song of Lord Gregory, which I 
asked for, to have an opportunity of calling on 
Burns to recite his ballad to that tune. He did 
recite it, and such was the effect that a dead 
silence ensued. It was such a silence as a mind 
of feeling naturally preserves when it is touched 
with that enthusiasm which banishes every other 
thought but the contemplation and indulgence 
of the sympathy produced. 

•This was the same Lord Selkirk, of whom Sir Walter Scott 



" We enjoyed a most happy evening at Lord 
Selkirk's. We had, in every sense of the word, 
a feast, in which our minds and our senses were 
equally gratified. The Poet was delighted with 
his company, and acquitted himself to admira- 
tion. The lion that had raged so violently in 
the morning was now as mild and gentle as a 
lamb. Next day we returned to Dumfries, and 
so ends our peregrination."] 

The Poet now and then inclined to dramatic 
composition, and hovered between the serious 
and the comic. — "I have turned my thoughts," 
he says to Lady Glencairn, " on the drama. I 
do not mean the stately buskin of the tragic 
muse. Does not your Ladyship think that an 
Edinburgh theatre would be more amused 
with the affectation, folly, and whim of true 
Scottish growth, than by manners which by far 
the greatest part of the audience can only know 
at second-hand?" There is no question that 
dialogues, characters, and songs, such as Burns 
could conceive and write, would have been 
welcome to a northern, and perhaps a southern, 
audience. His inimitable poem, "The Jolly 
Beggars" shews dramatic powers of a high 
order. 

Burns, in his earlier days, lent his muse as an 
auxiliary to the western clergy ; nor can it be 
forgotten that she fought the battle with a bold- 
ness which was only endured because the cause 
was thought to be a pious one. In Nithsdale 
she became a volunteer in a more worldly strife, 
and lent her breath to augment or allay the 
flame of a contested election. When Sir James 
Johnston of Westerhall, in the year 1790, 
offered himself as a candidate for the Dumfries 
district of burghs, he was opposed by Patrick 
Miller, the younger, of Dalswinton. The for- 
mer was a good man of an old family, and a 
determined Tory ; the latter was a captain in 
the army, had the promise of youth upon him, 
and was a resolute Whig. Burns, through the 
impulse of his genius, was somewhat of a re- 
publican. Old jacobitical prejudices, and the 
kindness of Graham of Fintray, inclined his 
feelings towards the Tories ; while his con- 
nexion with Miller, his regard for M'Murdo, 
his respect for Staig, and his affection for Syme, 
all combined to draw him towards the Whigs. 
His election-ballads of this period shew how 
prudently he balanced the various interests. 
The first of these compositions is not inap- 
propriately called "The Five Carlins." The 
burghs of Dumfries, Lochmaben, Annan, Kirk- 
cudbright, and Sanquhar are cleverly personi- 
fied in the second verse : — 

" There was Maggie by the banks o' Nith, 
A dame wi' pride eneugh ; 
And Marjorie o' the mony Lochs, 

A carlin auld and teugh ; 
And blinkin' Bess o' Annandele, 
That dwelt by Solway side ; 

relates an amusing anecdote in his Malagrowther Letters. 



"And whiskey Jean, that took her gill 

In Galloway sae wide ; 
And black Joan, frae Crichton-Peel, 

O' gipsey kith and kin : 
Five weighter carlins were na found 

The south coun trie within." 

The Border dames hesitate whether to send 
" The belted knight" or " The sodger youth to 
T.nnnun town, to bring them tidings :" — 

"Then out spak' mim-mou'd Meg of Nith, 
And she spak' up wi' pride ; 
And she wad send the sodger youth, 
Whatever might betide." 

Not so honest Kirkcudbright : — 

"Then whiskey Jean spak' owre her drink— 

' Ye weel ken, kimmers a', 
The auld gudeman o' Lunnun court, 

His back's been at the wa' ; 
And mony a friend that kissed his caup 

Is now a fremit wight, 
But it's ne'er be said o' whiskey Jean — 

I'll send the Border Knight.' " 

I have heard Sir Walter Scott recite the 
verse which personifies Lochmaben, and call it 
" uncommonly happy :" — 

" Then slow rose Marjorie o' the Lochs, 
And wrinkled was her brow ; 
Her ancient weed was russet grey, 
Her auld Scots blood was true." 

" The five Carlins," says one of Burns's 
biographers, "is by far the best-humoured of 
these productions." He had not seen the Poet's 
Epistle on the same election, addressed to 
Graham of Fintray. The original is before me : 
the measure was new to Burns : the poem is, I 
believe, new to the reader. The contest was 
now decided. — "The Sirens of Flattery," as 
the Poet said to M'Murdo, "the Harpies of 
Corruption, and the Furies of Ambition — those 
infernal deities that preside over the villanous 
business of politics" — had retired from the 
field :— 

" Fintray, my stay in worldly strife, 
Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life, 

Are ye as idle's I am ? 
Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg, 
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg, 

And ye shall see me try him. 

" I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears, 
Who left the all-important cares 

Of princes and their darlin's, 
And bent on winning borough-touns, 
Came shaking hands wi' wabster loons, 
And kissin' barefit carlins. 

" Combustion through our boroughs rode, 
Whistling his roaring pack abroad 

Of mad, unmuzzled lions ; 
As Queensberry's ' buff and blue' unfurl'd, 
Bold Westerha' and Hopetoun hurl'd 

To every Whig defiance." 

The Poet then proceeds to relate how his 
Grace of Queensberry forsook the contending 
ranks — 



" The unmanner'd dust might soil his star, 
Besides, he hated bleeding :" 

but left his friends, soft and persuasive, behind, 
to maintain his cause and Miller's : — 

" M'Murdo and his lovely spouse 
(The enamour' d laurels kiss her brows !) 

Led on the Loves and Graces ; 
She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
While he, all-conquering, play'd his part 

Amang their wives and lasses. 

" Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps, 
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour 

Like Hecla streaming thunder ; 
Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins, 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs, 
And bar'd the treason under." 

Assistance, of a kind equally effective in all 
such contests, it seems, was resorted to : — 

" Miller brought up the artillery ranks, 
The many-pounders of the banks." 

The commotion which ensued, when the con- 
tending parties met in the streets of old Dum- 
fries is well described : — ■ 

" As Highland crags by thunder cleft, 
When light' nings fire the stormy lift, 

Hurl down with crashing rattle ; 
As flames among a hundred woods ; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods — 

Such is the rage of battle ! 

" The stubborn Tories dare to die, — 
As soon the rooted oaks would fly 

Before the approaching fellers ; 
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan-Bullers." 

Forms were present, it seems, visible only to tne 
eyes of the inspired : on the Whig side appear- 
ed an ominous personage — ■ 

" The muffled murderer of Charles." 

Purer spirits, those of the Grahams, were seen 
on the side of the Tories. But neither the wit 
of woman, the might of man, nor even the pre- 
sence of the celestials could hinder the defeat of 
Johnston and the triumph of Miller : the Poet 
makes his lament : — 

" O that my een were flowing burns! 
My voice a lioness, that mourns 

Her darling cubs' undoing ! 
That I might weep, that I might cry, 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly, 
And furious Whigs pursuing ! 

" Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow, 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe, 

And Melville melt in wailing ! 
Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
And Burke shall sing ' O Prince, arise ! 

Thy power is all prevailing !' " 

"With regard to your poor Bard," says 
Burns, " he is only a spectator of what he 
relates. Amid the hurly-burlv of politics he 



JETAT. o4. 



THE HERON BALLADS. 



Ill 



resembles the redbreast in the storm, which 
shelters itself in the hedge and chirps away 
securely." 

In the four years which intervened between 
this borough contest and the county election, in 
which Heron of Kerroughtree was opposed by 
Gordon of Balmaghie, the temper of Burns 
seems to have suffered a serious change. In his 
lyrics he stills sings with gentleness, and with 
all the delicacy which becomes true love ; but 
in his election lampoons he is fierce and stern, 
and even venomous. Heron had erected an 
altar to Independence, and, through the agency, 
it is said, of Syme, prevailed on the Poet to 
bring verse to the aid of his cause. The first of 
these" effusions is a parody on " Fye ! let us a' 
to the bridal." The Poet numbers the friends 
of the candidates, and as he names them gives 
us a sketch, personal and mental. The portrait 
of Heron is happy : — ■ 

"And there Will be trusty Kerroughtree, 
Whose honour was ever his law ; 
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, 
His worth might be sample for a'." 

The best stanzas are the personal ones ; the 
following verse is very characteristic : — ■ 

" And there will be maiden Kilkerran, 
And also Barskimmins' guid knight ; 
And there will be roaring Birtwhistle, 
Wha, luckily roars in the right." 

He continues his catalogue ; he brings " the 
Maxwells in droves" from the Nithsdale bor- 
der ; the lairds of Terraughty and Carruchan — 

" And also the wild Scot of Galloway, 
Sodgerin' gunpowder Blair." 

In spite of the Poet's song and the exertions of 
friends, Heron lost his election : he was not, 
however, daunted : he contested soon after with 
more success the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright 
against the Hon. Montgomery Stewart. Burns 
had still the same belief in the influence of his 
wit, and was ready with unpremeditated verse. 
He accordingly imagined himself a pedlar or 
troggar, and, declaring that his whole stock 
consisted of 

"The broken trade of Broughton," 

proceeded to sell, to all who ventured to buy, 
the characters of those who supported Stewart. 
Some of the descriptions of the facetious pedlar 
are comical enough ; he disliked John Stewart, 
Earl of Galloway, and assailed him, with all 
the inveteracy of satiric verse : — 

" There's a noble earl's 

Fame and high renown, 
For an auld sang — 
It's thought the gudes were stown." 

Against the Bushbys he bent the bitterest shafts 
in his quiver; he allowed them talent: in a 
former satire he says of one, — 



" He has gotten the heart of a Bushby, 
But, Lord! what's become of the head?" 

He is equally unkind in the present lampoon. 
Of John Bushby, of Tinwald-downs, the most 
accomplished of the name, and Maxwell of 
Cardoness, he says, — 

" Here's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn, 
Frae the Downs of Tinwald — 

Sae was never worn : 
Here's the stuff and lining, 

O' Cardoness's head; 
Fine for a sodger 

A' the wale o' lead." 

Muirhead, minister of Urr, had an apple for his 
crest : — 

" Here's armorial bearings 
Frae the manse of Urr, 
The crest — an auld crab apple, 
Hotten at the core." 

The minister of Buittle was a Maxwell : — 

" Here's that little wadset, 
Buittle's scrap o' truth, 
Pawn'd in a gin-shop, 
Quenching holy drouth." 

To conclude these sharp and personal things, 
the Poet offers for sale the worth and wisdom 
of Copland of Collieston, and, more curious 
still,— 

" Murray's fragments 

O' the ten commands. " 

But customers seem scarce, upon which he ex- 
claims, — 

" Hornie's turning chapman, 
He'll buy a' the pack." 

And so ends his last and bitterest lampoon. — " I 
have privately," he says to Mr. Heron, "print- 
ed a good many copies of both ballads, and have 
sent them among friends all about the country. 
You have already, as your auxiliary, the sober 
detestation of mankind on the heads of your 
opponents ; and I swear, by the lyre of Thalia,, 
to muster on your side all the votaries of honest 
laughter, and fair, candid ridicule !" Heron, on 
whose side the Poet promised to muster the 
votaries of mirth, was victorious in the contest; 
but his return was petitioned against : a Com- 
mittee of the Commons declared him unduly 
elected ; and, worn in body, and harrassed in 
mind, he fell ill at York, and died before ha 
reached Scotland. 

The wit of Burns, like his native thistle, 
though rough and sharp, suited the multitude 
better than more smooth and polished things : 
he had not the art of cutting blocks with a 
razor, but dragged his victims rudely along the 
ground at the tail of his Pegasus. Pointed 
and elegant satire, while it affected the edu- 
cated gentlemen against whom it was directed, 



112 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1793. 



would have made no impression on the shep- 
herds and husbandmen whose scorn it was the 
Poet's wish to excite. The laughter and ridi- 
cule which his muse awakened had a local in- 
fluence only ; the satire which drove Dr. Horn- 
book from the parish, and made Holy Willie 
think of suicide, had a wider range : the linea- 
ments by which he desired we should know his 
Stewarts, Maxwells, Murrays, Muirheads, and 
Bushbys, belonged to private life — were acci- 
dents of character or matters of imagination, 
and pertained not to general nature. 

I turn gladly to his lyrics. All his songs 
bear the impress of nature ; he himself tells us in 
what way he made them. — " Until I am com- 
plete master of a tune, in my own singing, such 
as it is, I can never compose for it. My way 
is this : I consider the poetic sentiment corres- 
pondent to my idea of the musical expression ; 
then choose my theme ; begin one stanza ; when 
that is composed, which is generally the most 
difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit 
down now and then, look out for objects in na- 
ture around me that are in unison and harmony 
with the cogitations of my fancy, and workings 
of my bosom ; humming, every now and then, 
the air with the verses I have framed. When 
I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the 
solitary fire-side of my study, and there com- 
mit my effusions to paper ; swinging, at inter- 
vals, on the hind-legs of my elbow chair, by 
way of calling forth my own critical strictures 
as my pen goes on. Seriously, this at home is 
almost invariably my way." He who desires 
to compose lyric verse according to the character 
and measure of an air will find the plan of 
Burns an useful one. The poet must either 
chant the tune over to himself, or be under its 
influence while writing, else he will fail to get 
the emphatic words to harmonize with the em- 
phatic notes. 

In the art of uniting gracefully the music 
and words, Burns was a great master ; the song 
which he wrote in October, 1793, to the tune of 
"The Quaker's Wife/' echoes the music so 
truly that the words and air seem to have sprung 
from his fancy together : — 

" Thine am I, my faithful fair, 
Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 
Every pulse along my veins, 
Every roving fancy." 

The inspiration which produced " Lovely 
Nancy" came from Edinburgh ; that which 
gave " Wilt thou be my dearie" to the air of 
the " Sutor's daughter " belonged to Dumfries. 
The former is written with warmth — the latter 
with respect. He delighted little in distant 
modes of salutation, and was prone to imagine 
the subject of his song beside him, and sharing 
in his rapture : now and then, however, he ex- 
hibited all the polite respect which the school 
of chivalrous courtship could desire : — 



" Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 

Or if thou wilt na be my ain, 
Say na thou 'It refuse me ; 

If it winna, canna be, 
Thou for thine may choose me, 

Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me.'* 

The Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron, inspired 
the " Banks of Cree," — less by the charms of 
her person, than by the music, which is her own 
composition. Cree is a stream beautiful and 
romantic : — Cluden is another stream, which 
runs not smoother down the vale of Dalgonar 
than it runs in the song of " My bonnie 
dearie." — 

" Hark ! the mavis' evening sang, 
Sounding Cluden woods amang, 
Then a faulding let us gang, , 

My bonnie dearie ; 
We'll gae down by Cluden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 

To the moon sae clearly." 

When Burns had done searching old -wives' 
barrels, or galloping under the light of the 
moon along the sands of Solway in search of 
smugglers, he retired to the solitude of his own 
humble dwelling, or to some lonely place, and, 
imagining beauty to be present, sung of its 
influence with equal truth and elegance. The 
Lass of Craigie-burn-wood seems to have been 
a favourite model for his heroines ; he advises 
Thomson to adopt his song in her praise, and 
observes—" The lady on whom it was made is 
one of the finest women in Scotland ; and, in 
fact, is to m3 what Sterne's Eliza was to him — 
a mistress, or friend, or what you will, in the 
guileless simplicity of Platonic love. I assure 
you, that to my lovely friend you are indebted 
for many of my best songs. Do you think 
that the sober, gin-horse routine of existence, 
could inspire a man with life, and love, and 
joy — could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt 
him with pathos equal to the genius of your 
book ? No ! no ! Whenever I want to be more 
than ordinary in song — to be in some degree 
equal to your diviner airs— do you imagine I 
fast and pray for the celestial emanation ? Tout 
au contraire ! I have a glorious recipe — the 
very one that, for his own use, was invented by 
the god of healing and poetry, when erst he 
piped to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself 
in a regimen of admiring a fine woman, and in 
proportion to the adorability of her charms, in 
proportion you are delighted with my verses. 
The lightning of her eye is the godhead of 
Parnassus, and the witchery of her smile the 
divinity of Helicon ! " 

The offspring of one of these interviews, real 
or imaginary, was that fine lyric — "She says 
she lo'es me best of a'." The lady's portrait is 
limned with th» most exquisite skill ; and the 
last verse contains a landscape such as the 






-2ETAT. 34. 



SONGS. — THOMSON. 



=@ 
113 l! 



goddess of love might desire to walk in. The 
lonely valley, the fragrant evening, and the 
rising moon were frequent witnesses of his poetic 
rapture : — 

'" Let others love the city, 

And gaudy show at sunny noon, 
Gi'e me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon ; 
Fair beaming, and streaming 

Her silver light the boughs amang, 
While falling, recalling, 

The amorous thrush eoncludes his sang ; 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows of truth and love, 

And say thou lo'es me best of a'." 

The influence of this lady's charms was not of 
short duration. — " On my visit the other day/' 
Burns says, " to my fair Chloris, she suggested 
an idea which I, in my return from the visit, 
wrought into the following song : — 

' My Chloris, maijfc how green the groves, 

The primrose banks how fair ; 

The balmy gales awake the flowers, 

And wave thy flaxen hair.' " 

Having composed another pastoral song in 
praise of the same lady to the tune of " Rothe- 
murche's Rant," he says — " This piece has at 
least the merit of being a regular pastoral ; the 
vernal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal 
evening, and the winter night, are regularly 
rounded. If I can catch myself in more than 
an ordinary propitious moment, I shall write a 
new ' Craigie-burn-wood ' altogether : my heart 
is much in the theme. The lady is not a little 
proud that she is to make so distinguished a 
figure in your collection ; and I am not a little 
proud that I have it in my power to please her 
so much." The air of " Lumps of Pudding" 
suggested enjoyments of a less ethereal kind 
than those arising from beauty. On the 19th 
of November the frost was dry and keen. The 
Poet took a morning walk before breakfast, 
and produced one of his most delightful songs : 

" Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,. 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp as they're creeping alang 
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. 

" I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought, 
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught ; 
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, 
And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch." 

When his spirit was in the right mood for song, 
Burns generally remembered his country : in- 
deed, the glory of Scotland was as dear to his 
heart as his own fame. This sentiment he gave 
full utterance to in his song of " Their groves 
o' sweet myrtle." He muses on the bright sum- 
mers and perfumed vales of Italy, and then turns 
to the glen of green breckan, where the burn 
glimmers under the yellow broom, on whose 
banks he had held tryste with his Jean. The 



conclusion which he makes is at once national 
and affectionate : — 

" Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, 

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave, 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, 

What are they ? the haunt of the tyrant and slave. 
The slave's spicy forests and gold-bubbling fountains 

The brave Caledonian views with disdain ; 
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, 

Save love's willing fetters: — the chains of his Jean." 

That the Poet loved his country he has shewn 
in many a lasting verse ; but when he thought 
of the splendid possessions of the mean and the 
sordid, and of the gold descending in showers 
on the heads of the dull and the undeserving, 
it required all his poetic philosophy to hinder 
him from repining. He had sung in other days 
of the honest joys and fire -side happiness oi 
husbandmen : he now endeavoured to pour the 
healing balm of verse upon the wounded spirits 
of the poor, the humble, and the unhappy. 
The song of " For a' that, and a' that," must 
have been welcome to many. It flew like wild- 
fire over the land : the sentiments accorded .with 
the natural desire of man to be free and equal ; 
and, though not permitted to be sung in the 
streets of some of our northern borough-towns, 
it was chanted among the hills and dales by 
every tongue. Burns introduced it in these 
words to Thomson : — " A great critic on song, 
Aikin, says that love and wine are the exclusive 
themes for song- writing. The following is on 
neither subject, and consequently is no song ; 
but will be allowed, I think, to be two or three 
pretty good prose thoughts inverted into 
rhyme." There are five verses in all, and 
every one strikes the balance against rank in 
favour of poverty : — 

" A king can mak' a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest man's aboon his might* 

Guid faith he maunna fa' that .' 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toil's obscure and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea- stamp, 

The man's the gowd for a' that !" 

Those who judge of the peace of mind and 
happiness of the Poet by the sentiments of af- 
fection and rapture which he expresses so easily 
and so elegantly in his songs, would imagine 
that he lived in a sort of paradise, beset by 
temptation certainly, yet triumphing alike over 
political hatred and social allurements. His 
bright outbursts of verse flashed like sunshine 
amid a winter storm ; they were fever-fits of 
gladness and joy — came too seldom, and their 
coming could not be calculated upon. The in- 
quisitorial proceedings of the Commissioners of 
Excise had a deep share in the ruin of Burns. 
He was permitted to continue on his seventy 
pounds a-year, with the chance of rising to the 
station of Supervisor by seniority; %l% the 






114 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1793. 






hope of becoming Collector could no more be 
indulged — it was a matter of political patronage. 
From that time forward, something seemed to 
prey on the Poet's mind : he believed himself 
watched and marked ; he hurried from company 
into solitude, and from solitude into company ; 
when alone, he was melancholy and desponding 
— when at table, his mirth was often wild and 
obstreperous ; he had passionate bursts of pathos 
and unbridled sallies of humour, more than 
were natural to him. 

He had for some time looked on men of rank 
with jealousy ; he now spoke of them in a way 
that amounted to dislike. — " Let me remind 
you," he thus writes to David Maculloch, Esq. 
of A rd well, June 21, "of your kind pro- 
mise to accompany me to Kerroughtree ; I will 
need all the friends I can muster; for I am in- 
deed ill at ease whenever I approach your 
honourables and right honourables." In a let- 
ter to his friend Cunningham, he speaks of the 
conceited dignity which even Scottish lordlings, 
of seven centuries' standing, display, when they 
mix accidentally with the many-aproned sons 
of mechanical life. — " I remember," he says, 
" in my plough-boy days, I could not conceive 
it possible that a noble lord could be a fool, or 
a godly man could be a knave : how ignorant 
are plough-boys ! " He sa)?"s to another corres- 
pondent, "In times like these, sir, when our 
commoners are barely able, by the glimmer of 
their own twilight understandings, to scrawl a 
frank, and when our lords are what gentlemen 
would be ashamed to be, to whom shall a sink- 
ing country call for help ? To the independent 
country gentleman ! to him who has too deep a 
stake in his country not to be earnest for her 
welfare : and who, in the honest pride of man, 
can view, with equal contempt, the insolence of 
office, and the allurements of corruption." 

Something of the same stern spirit may be 
found in many places of his correspondence. 
He seemed to imagine that he could not be in 
the company of men of rank without having to 
acknowledge his own inferior condition in life ; 
he did not feel so much as he ought that his 
genius raised him to an equality with peers, and 
even princes ; or, if he felt it fully, he certainly 
failed to act up to it. He appeared, toOj to 
apprehend that courtesy on his part might be 
taken for servility, and he desired to shew, by 
silent and surly haughtiness, that he might be 
broken, but would not bend. Even his most 
intimate friends he now and then put at arms- 
length ; and, if he made a present of a song or 
a new edition of his poems to any one, he gene- 
rally recorded it as a gift of affection, and not 
as an act of homage. — "Will Mr. M'Murdo," 
he thus writes on the introductory leaf of a 
new edition of his poems published at this time, 
" do me the favour to accept of these volumes ? 
a trifling, but sincere, mark of the very high 
respect I bear for his worth as a man, his 



manners as a gentleman, and his kindness as a 
friend. However inferior now or afterwards I 
may rank as a poet, one honest virtue, to which 
few poets can pretend, I trust I shall ever claim, 
as mine — to no man, whatever his station in life 
or his power to serve me, have I ever paid a 
compliment at the expense of truth." 

[" There was a great deal of stately toryism," 
says Lockhart, " at this time in Dumfries, 
which was the favourite winter retreat of many 
of the best gentlemen's families of the south of 
Scotland. Feelings that worked more violently 
in Edinburgh than in London acquired addi- 
tional energy still in this provincial capital. All 
men's eyes were upon Burns. He was the 
standing marvel of the place ; his toasts, his 
jokes, his epigrams, his songs, were the daily 
food of conversation and scandal; and he, open 
and careless, and thinking he did no great harm 
in saying and singing what many of his supe- 
riors had not the least objection to hear and to 
applaud, soon began to be considered, among 
the local admirers and disciples of the good 
King and his great Minister, as the most dan- 
gerous of all the apostles of sedition, and to be 
shunned accordingly."] 

The witty boldness of his remarks, and the 
sarcastic freedom of his opinions in matters 
both of church and state, it must be confessed, 
were such as to startle the timid and alarm the 
devout. He was numbered among those who 
were possessed with a republican spirit, and all 
who had any hopes of rising, through political 
influence, were more willing to find Burns by 
chance, than seek his company of their own free 
will. This will account for the coldness with 
which many of the stately aristocracy of the 
district regarded him. Mr. David Maculloch, 
a son of the Laird of Ardwell, has been heard 
to relate that, on visiting Dumfries one fine 
evening, to attend a ball given during the 
week of the races, he saw Burns walking on 
the south side of the " plain-stanes," while the 
central part was crowded with ladies and gen- 
tlemen, drawn together for the festivities of the 
night. Not one of them took any notice of 
the Poet ; on which Mr. Maculloch went up 
to him, took his arm, and wished him to join 
the gentry. — " Nay, nay, my young friend," 
he said, " that's all over with me now •" and 
quoted, after a pause, some verses of Lady 
Grizzel Baillie's pathetic ballad : — 

" His bonnet stood ance fu' fair on his brow, 

His auld ane look'd better than mony ane's new; 

But now he lets't wear ony way it will hing. 

And casts himself dowie upcn the corn-bing 
" O ! were we young now as we ance hae been, 

We should hae been galloping doun on yon green, 

And linking it owre the lily-white lea, — 

And were na my heart light I wad die." 

["It was little in Burns's character," says 
Lockhart, " to let his feelings on certain subjects 
escape in this fashion. He, immediately after 



.ETAT. 34. 



DUMFRIES. 



115 



citing these verses, assumed the sprightliness of 
his most pleasing manner."] 

He took his friend home ; and while Mrs. 
Burns, with her sweet and melodious voice, 
sung one of her husband's latest lyrics, the 
Poet prepared a bowl of social punch, which 
they discussed with no little mirth and glee till 
the hour of the ball arrived. A gentleman, 
the other day, told me that when he visited 
Dumfries in the year 1793, he was warned by 
one or more of the leading men of the county 
to avoid the society of Burns, who neither be- 
lieved in religion as the kirk believed, nor took 
the fashion of his politics from the government. 

Burns imputed his disgrace in the Excise to 
the officers of a regiment then lying in Dum- 
fries, some of whom, he believed, informed the 
government of his rash language. That he 
seldom spoke of them but with bitterness and 
scorn, his correspondence will in some places 
witness. — " I meant," he thus writes to Mrs. 
Riddel, " to have called on you yesternight ; 
but, as I edged up to your box-door, the first 
object which greeted my view was one of those 
lobster - coated puppies, sitting like another 
dragon guarding the Hesperian fruit. On the 
conditions and capitulations you so obligingly 
offer, I shall certainly make my rustic phiz a 
part of your box furniture on Tuesday." 

His dislike of soldiers found its way into his 
conversation. — "When I was at Arbigland in 
1793," said my accomplished friend Mrs. Basil 
Montagu, " I was introduced to Burns. His con- 
versation pleased me much, and I saw him often. 
I was at a ball given by the Caledonian Hunt 
in Dumfries, and had stood up as the partner 
of a young officer in the dance, when the 
whisper of ' There's Burns ! ' ran through the 
assembly. I looked round, and there he was 
— his bright dark eyes full upon me. I shall 
never forget that look — it was one that gave 
me no pleasure. He soon left the meeting. I 
saw him next day. He would have passed me, 
but I spoke. I took his arm, and said, Come, 
you must see me home. ' Gladly, madam,' 
said he ; 'but I'll not go down the plain-stanes, 
lest I have to share your company with some 
of those epauletted puppies with whom the 
street is full. Come this way.' We went to 
Captain Hamilton's. Burns, I remember, took 
up a newspaper in which some of the letters of 
a man of genius lately dead were printed. 
' This is sad,' he said : ' did I imagine that one- 
half of the letters which I have written would 
be published when I die, I would this moment 
recal them, and burn them without redemp- 
tion."' Colonel Jenkinson, who commanded 
the Cinque-Ports Cavalry, inherited, it would 
seem, the dislike of his brother soldiers to the 
Poet ; he refused to be introduced to Burns, 
and never even spoke to him. This was not 
in keeping with the character of the mild and 
gentle Earl of Liverpool. 



Of his situation as an Exciseman, Burns 
seldom spoke with much cordiality. He gene- 
rally introduced it with an apology, and coupled 
it with something which carried the mind into 
a new train of thought. "Amid all my 
hurry of business," he writes to Cunningham, 
" grinding the faces of the publican and the 
sinner on the merciless wheels of the Excise — 
making ballads, and then drinking and singing 
them, I might have stolen five minutes to dedi- 
cate to one of the first of friends and fellow- 
creatures." Two years afterwards he writes 
with some bitterness : — " I am a. miserable hur- 
ried devil, and for private reasons, am forced, 
like Milton's Satan, 

• To do what yet, though damn'd, I would abhor.' " 

Of his prospects as a revenue officer we have 
his own account given to Patrick Heron, 
whom he had aided at the hustings with elec- 
tion squibs. — " I am on the supervisor's list ; 
and, as we come on there by precedency, in two 
or three years I shall be at the head of the list, 
and be appointed, of course. Then a Friend 
might be of service to me in getting me into 
a part of the kingdom which I would like. A 
supervisor's income varies from about one hun- 
dred and twenty to two hundred a-year ; but 
the business is an incessant drudgery, and would 
be nearly a complete bar to every species of 
literary pursuit. The moment I am appointed 
supervisor in the common routine, I may be 
nominated on the collector's list, and this is al- 
ways a business purely of political patronage. 
A collectorship varies from better than two 
hundred a-year to near a thousand. They also 
come forward by precedency on the list, and 
have, besides a handsome income, a life of 
complete leisure. A life of literary leisure, 
with a decent competence, is the summit of my 
wishes. It would be the prudish affectation oi 
silly pride in me to say that I do not need, nor 
would not be indebted to, a political friend. 
At the same time, s ir, I by no means lay my 
affairs before you thus to hook my dependent 
situation on your benevolence." This modest 
vision of literary independence might have 
been realized had the Poet been prudent, and 
government liberal. 

During this period of the life of Burns, and 
indeed as early as the close of the year 1792, 
some of his friends, hearkening to rumours in- 
jurious to his name, volunteered counsel or re- 
proof. The wreck of all his speculations and 
hopes preyed on his mind, and he sought to 
escape in company from his own reflections. 
To one of his sensibility of mind, the future 
loured ominous and dark. The company of a 
man of his eminence, and wonderful colloquial 
powers, was much in request ; for many loved 
his genius, and many did not fear the frowns of 
men in office. Mrs. Dunlop was the first that 
admonished.— "You must not think, as you 

I 2 



seem to insinuate," replied the Poet, "that in 
my way of life I want exercise. Of that I 
have enough : but occasional hard-drinking 
is the devil to me. Against this I have again 
and again bent my resolution, and have greatly 
succeeded. Taverns I have totally abandoned. 
It is the private parties in the family way, 
among the hard-drinking gentlemen of this 
county, that do me the mischief — but even this 
I have more than half given over.''" The view 
which Burns takes of his situation is illustrated 
by an apology tendered to Mrs . Riddel, after 
a social bout at her too hospitable table. — " I 
write you/' he says, " from the regions of hell, 
amid the horrors of the damned. Here am I, 
laid on a bed of pitiless furze, while an infernal 
tormentor, wrinkled and cruel, called Recollec- 
tion, with a whip of scorpions, forbids peace 
or rest to approach me, and keeps anguish 
eternally awake. I wish I could be reinstated 
in the good opinion of the fair circle, whom my 
conduct last night so much offended ! To the 
men of the company I will make no apology. 
Your husband, who insisted on my drinking 
more than I chose, has no right to blame me, 
and the other gentlemen were partakers of my 
guilt." The Poet erred as others erred. 

It must have surprised Burns not a little 
when William Nicol lifted up his voice and 
admonished him. The Poet answered, in a 
manner so cutting and ironical that the irascible 
pedant was silent ever afterwards. — " O ! thou, 
wisest among the wise, meridian blaze of pru- 
dence, full moon of discretion, and chief of 
many counsellors ! How infinitely is thy rattle- 
headed, wrong-headed slave indebted to thy 
super-eminent goodness, that, from the luminous 
path of thy own right-lined rectitude, thou 
lookest benignly down on an erring wretch, of 
whom the zig-zag wanderings defy all the 
powers of calculation, from the simple copula- 
tion of units up to the hidden mysteries of 
fluxions ! From the cave of my ignorance, 
amid the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential 
fumes of my political heresies, I look up to thee 
as doth a toad through the iron-barred lucerne 
of a pestiferous dungeon to the cloudless 
glory of a summer's sun ! Sorely sighing, in 
bitterness of soul, I say, when shall my name 
be the quotation of the wise, and my counte- 
nance be the delight of the godly, like the illus- 
trious lord of Laggan's many hills — that father 
of proverbs and master of maxims— that anti- 
pode of folly and magnet among the sages, the 
wise and witty WilBe Nicol ? As for thee, thy 
thoughts are pure, and thy lips are holy — 
never did the unhallowed breath of the powers 
of darkness, and the pleasures of darkness, 
pollute the sacred flame of thy sky-descended 
and heaven-bound desires. O ! that like thine 
were the tenor of my life ! like thine the tenor of 
my conversation — then should no friend fear for 
my strength, no enemy rejoice in my weakness!" 



The indifferent success of Nicol seems not to. 
have awed John Syme, who, in his parlour at 
Ryedale, one afternoon, when the wine flowed, 
and the Poet was gracious and confidential, took 
upon him the ungentle task of admonishing his 
guest. — " I might have spoken daggers," said 
he, " but I did not mean them : Burns shook 
to the inmost fibres of his frame, and drew his 
sword-cane, when I exclaimed, ' What ! wilt 
thou thus, and in mine own house ?' The poor 
fellow was so stung with remorse that he 
dashed himself down on the floor." Syme told 
the story, in a rather darker manner, to Sir 
Walter Scott, who thus related it in one of his 
criticisms. — " It is a dreadful truth, that, when 
racked and tortured by the well-meant and 
warm expostulations of an intimate friend, he 
started up in a paroxysm of frenzy, and, draw- 
ing a sword-cane which he usually wore, made 
an attempt to plunge it into the body of his 
adviser — the next instant he was with difficulty 
withheld from suicide." I have heard a much 
gentler version of the story : indeed it has 
several variations, and a biographer has some 
latitude of choice. This is the last and mildest. 
— " When I expostulated with Burns," says 
Syme, " he stared at me, and with such fury of 
look that, had a sword been in his hand, I 
am sure he would have run me through." I 
cannot disprove the story, nor yet can I alto- 
gether believe it. The Poet was far more 
likely, when deeply moved, to draw his sword 
upon himself than on his friend : but though 
only, perhaps, a sort of theatrical flourish, the 
impression on Syme was that he meant mischief. 
This strange tale induced some to believe that 
Burns was capable of drawing his sword on the 
unarmed and defenceless ! 

Those who are persuaded of that will feel 
disposed to doubt his courage in a dispute into 
which he was precipitated, during a drinking 
bout at a friend's table. " I was, I know," he 
says, " drunk last night, but I am sober this 

morning. From the expressions Captain 

made use of to me, had I nobody's welfare to 
care for but my own, we should certainly have 
come, according to the manner of the world, 
to the necessity of murdering one another about 
the business. The words were such as gene- 
rally, I believe, end in a brace of pistols ; but I 
am still pleased to think that I did not risk the 
peace and welfare of a wife and children in a 
drunken squabble. You know that the report 
of certain political opinions being mine has 
already brought me to the brink of destruction. 
I dread last night's business might be inter- 
preted the same way. You, I beg, will take 
care to prevent it. I tax your wish for my 
welfare with that of waiting, as soon as possible, 
on every gentleman who was present, and state 
this to him, and, as you please, shew him this 
letter. What, after all, was the obnoxious- 
toast ? ' May our success in the present war be 



®= 



^ITAT. 34. 



MRS. RIDDEL OF W O D LEE-PARK. 



117 



equal to the justice of our cause.' A toast 
that the most outrageous frenzy of loyalty 
cannot object to." 

I know not what the import of those words 
were at that period : they seem harmless 
enough now ; but a disloyal meaning seems to 
have been attached to them by some gunpow- 
der captain, who desired to find that practice at 
home among civilians which he might have 
obtained from disciplined hands abroad. He 
seems to have felt that some insult to the go- 
vernment was meant, though he did not exactly 
understand what, and bit his glove in token 
of mortal wrath. With the morning, sobriety 
brought reflection to both sides ; and Clarke 
found little trouble in restoring harmony, which 
is lucky ; for, had a duel ensued, the Poet's bio- 
grapher would have experienced some difficulty 
in accounting for it. A handsome pair of pistols, 
with latchlocks, brass - barrelled and screwed, 
were at this time given to the Poet by Blair of 
of Birmingham — his acknowledgments were 
brief and Burns-like, " Sir, I have received and 
proved the pistols, and can say of them what I 
would not say of the bulk oi mankind — they 
are a credit to their maker." 

Amid these intemperate quarrels and political 
heart-burnings, the muse of Burns was not 
wholly idle ; confounded though she no doubt 
was, with the unmelodious and mingled cries of 
loyalty and sedition, which filled every borough 
town, she not only inspired lyrics, tender and 
harmonious, but added a poem or two to those 
already published. Among the latter are some 
felicitous verses to " The Maxwells' veteran 
chief/' the Laird of Terraughty, on his birthday. 

" If envious buckies view wi' sorrow 
Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow, 
May Desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, 

Nine miles an hour, 
Rake them like Sodom and Gomorrha 

In brunstane stoure." 

The true spirit of the Poet flashes out also in 
iiis " Address to the Tooth-ache :" there are few 
who cannot attest the accuracy of the descrip- 
tion : — 

" My curse upon thy venom'd stang, 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang, 
And through my lugs gi'es mony a twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance, 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, 

Like racking engines ! 
" Of a' the num'rous human dools, 
111 har'st, daft bargains, cutty-stools, 
Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools, 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,— 

Thou bear' st the gree." 

It was now his pleasure to satirize the beau- 
tiful Maria Woodleigh — Mrs. Riddel. How 
this fair and favoured lady happened to move his 
indignation, is something of a mystery. She 
was young and accomplished : her verses have 
more of nature in them than the ordinary lines 



of lady-poetesses ; and her letters are lively and 
witty, and partake not a little of the sarcastic 
turn of the Poet's own mind. On introducing 
her, in 1793, to Smellie, Bums said, " She has 
one unlucky failing — a failing which you will 
easily discover, as she seems rather pleased with 
indulging in it — and a failing which you will 
easily pardon, as it is a sin which very much 
besets yourself. Where she dislikes or despises, 
she is as apt to make no more a secret of it than 
where she esteems and respects." In a rhyme 
epistle Burns seems to complain that this young 
beauty paid more respect to others than to 
himself: — 

" I see her face the first of Ireland's sons, 
And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze. 
The hopeful youth in Scotia's senate bred, 
Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head; 
Comes, 'mid a string of coxcombs to display, 
That veni, vidi, vici ! is his way. 
The shrinking Bard adown an alley skulks, 
And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich hulks •• 
Though there, his heresies in church and state 
Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate." 

Though severe in this poem, for he calls her 

" A wit in folly, and a fool in wit," 

he reserves his sharpest satire for a regular 
monody on her memory : he looks on her grave, 
and exclaims — 

" How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd, 

How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd ' 
How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd, 
How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd !" 

He refrains from calling on the Loves and Graces 
to attend, but summons the offspring of Folly to 
shower over her idle weeds and typical nettles. 
He then imagines a monument : — 

" We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay- 
Here vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 

Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire." 

This sarcastic monody was widely circulated ; 
nor was the object of it kept a secret. In the 
printed copies the name is Eliza — but why 
should the truth be concealed? It is to the 
honour of Mrs. Riddel that, though affected 
at the lampoon at first, she soon relented, and 
not only forgave the author and received him 
into favour, but when laid in the grave, and 
the envious and malicious were making mouths 
at his fame, she vindicated his aspersed charac- 
ter ; and, in an article written with great ten- 
derness and truth, gave us the right image of 
the man and the poet, 

In the following year Britain was threatened 
by an army of French republicans, and Pitt, in 
the words of Scott, 

" Brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's laws." 

Burns at once enrolled himself in the bands 
of gentlemen volunteers of Dumfries, though 
not without opposition from some of the haughty 
Tories, who demurred about his principles 



118 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1794. 



which they called democratic. I remember well 
the appearance of that respectable corps : their 
odd, but not ungraceful, dress ; white kerseymere 
breeches and waistcoat ; short blue coat, faced 
with red ; and round hat, surmounted by a 
bearskin, like the helmets of our horse-guards ; 
and I remember the Poet also — his very swar- 
thy face, his very ploughman-stoop, his large 
dark eyes, and indifferent dexterity in the han- 
dling of his arms. When those " sons of sedi- 
tion, Syme, Burns, and Maxwell," as a dull 
epigram of that day worded it, were admitted 
into the volunteers, it was not without hope 
that a heroic song, rivalling " Scots wha hae 
wi' Wallace bled," might be forthcoming. At 
a public dinner of the corps, when Burns de- 
sired leave to give a toast, the proposal was 
received with rapturous applause, and some- 
thing high was hoped for. — " Gentlemen," said 
he, " may we never see the French, and may 
the French never see us :" it was drunk, but 
with a murmur of disapprobation. The poet 
felt this ; and, on going home, wrote that cha- 
racteristic and truly national song — " Does 
haughty Gaul invasion threat ?" He sent it to 
Jackson's Dumfries Journal — a great number of 
copies were struck off with the music, in Edin- 
burgh, and widely circulated by the author. 

This lyric may be looked on as containing the 
sentiments of Burns in matters of government : 
it re - echoed the admirable letter which he 
addressed to Erskine of Mar, and expresssed 
what all lovers of Britain felt then, or feel now, 
on the subject of change and alteration — - 

" Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 

Then let the louns beware, sir, 
There's wooden walls upon our seas, 

And, volunteers on shore, sir ; 
The Nith shall rin to Corsincon, 

And Criffel sink in Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

" O ! let us not like snarling tykes, 

In wrangling be divided, 
Till, slap, come in an unco loun, 

And wi' a rung decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted ! ' ' 

This song hit the taste and suited the feelings of 
the humbler classes, who added it to " The poor 
and honest Sodger," the " Song of Death," 
and " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled." Hills 
echoed with it : it was heard in every street, 
and did more to right the mind of the rustic 
part of the population than all the speeches of 
Pitt and Dundas, or of the chosen " Five-and- 
forty." 

At Midsummer, 1794, Burns removed his 
increasing family from the Bank-Vennel to 
Mill-hole-brae, where be leased a small house 
of two stories, plain and humble, but commo- 
dious. This street is connected with a wide and 



respectable one, called the Kirk-gate ; is near 
the bleaching or parade-ground, on the river- 
side — a favourite walk in the summer mornings 
and evenings for the citizens of Dumfries. 
The choice, though respectable enough, was 
not a poetical one ; but the house suited his 
humble circumstances ; and here he arranged 
his small library, fixed his table, and placed 
the chair, on whose hind -legs, as he relates, 
he poised or swung himself, when conceiving 
his matchless lyrics. Here, too, I have heard 
his townsmen say, while passing by during a 
pleasant afternoon, they could see, within the 
open door, the Poet reading amongst hi& 
children : while his wife moved about, set 
matters in order, and looked to the economy 
of her household. He was welcomed to his 
new house by most of his early friends ; and 
the ladies, who sympathized in his fortunes, 
were among the foremost. Of these, one of 
the mildest and gentlest was Jessie Lewars, 
now Mrs. Thomson, the sister of a brother 
ganger : she felt the genius, and perceived, with 
Mrs. Burns, the fading looks and declining 
health of the Poet, and ministered unto him 
and his young family with all the affection of 
a daughter. 

Burns still continued to correspond with se- 
veral distinguished persons ; the circle of his 
friends had, however, gradually diminished ; 
the demon of politics made some cold ; distance 
rendered others forgetful ; and death had re- 
moved one or two to whom he looked up for 
countenance and support. Riddel of Friars- 
Carse, in whose company he took much pleasure, 
died towards the close of 1794 : and the last 
time that Burns was in that neighbourhood, he 
visited the Hermitage, and wrote on the win- 
dow, — 

" To Riddel, much lamented man, 
This ivied cot was dear ; 
Reader, dost value matchless worth ? 
This ivied cot revere." 

Sickness and death came next to the Poet's own 
household. — " I have lately," says he to Mrs. 
Dunlop, " drunk deep of the cup of affliction. 
The autumn robbed me of my only daughter 
and darling child, and that at a distance too, 
and so rapidly as to put it out of my power to 
pay the last duties to her. I had scarcely be- 
gun to recover from that shock, when I became 
myself the victim of a most severe rheumatic 
fever : and long the die spun doubtful, until, 
after many weeks of a sick bed, it seems to have 
turned up life, and I am beginning to crawl 
across my room, and once indeed, have been J 
before my own door in the street." To the 
same lady he again writes, as he ever wrote to 
her, in a strain of serious thought and deep 
emotion: — "There had much need be many 
pleasures annexed to the states of husband and 
father ; for, God knows, they have many pe- 
culiar cares. I cannot describe to you the an- 



2ETAT. 35. 



DEATH OF GLENDINNING. 



119 



xious, sleepless hours these ties frequently give 
me. I see a train of helpless little folks ; me 
and my exertions all their stay ; and on what a 
brittle thread does the life of man hang ! If I 
am nipt off at the command of fate — even in 
all the vigour of manhood, as I am, such things 
happen every day — gracious God ! what would 
become of my little flock ? ? Tis here that I 
envy your people of fortune." 

The poet was now and then in a more sportive 
mood ; despondency was lifted from him like a 
cloud, and his mind lay in sunshine for an hour 
or so, till reflection darkened it down again. 
He loved to ponder on the fate of men of 
genius. — "There is not," he said to Helen 
Craik, of Arbigland, " among all the martyro- 
logies that ever were penned, so rueful a narra- 
tive as the lives of the poets. In the compara- 
tive view of wretches, the criterion is not what 
they are doomed to suffer, but how they are 
formed to bear. Take a being of our kind ; give 
him a stronger imagination and a more delicate 
sensibility — which, between them, will ever 
engender a more ungovernable set of passions 
than are the usual lot of man ; implant in him 
an irresistible impulse to some idle vagary — 
such as arranging wild flowers in fantastical 
nosegays, tracing the grasshopper to his haunt 
by his chirping song, watching the frisks of the 
little minnows in the sunny pool, or hunting 
after the intrigues of butterflys — in short, send 
him adrift after some pursuit which shall eter- 
nally mislead him from the paths of lucre, and 
yet curse him with a keener relish than any man 
living for the pleasures that lucre can purchase ; 
lastly, fill up the measure of his woes by bestow- 
ing on him a spurning sense of his own dignity 
— and you have created a wight nearly as 
miserable as a poet." 

Burns looked with a mistrusting eye towards 
future fortune ; he saw no outlet for his ambi- 
tion ; poetry had done all for him that poetry 
was likely to do ; and he desired distinction 
without the means of gratifying it. He some- 
times lamented to friends that he could not find 
his way into the House of Commons ; he felt a 
strong call towards oratory, and all who heard 
him speak — and some of them were excellent 
judges — admitted his wonderful quickness 
of apprehension and readiness of eloquence. 
He seemed inclined to believe that misfortune 
had marked him out for her own, and that evil 
was the only certainty in life. — " In this short, 
stormy, day of fleeting existence," he observes 
to Miss Benson, "when you now and then 
meet with an individual whose acquaintance is 
a real acquisition, there are all the probabilities 
against you that you will never meet with that 
character more. On the other hand, if there is 
any miscreant whom you hate, or creature whom 
you despise, the ill run of chances will be so 
against you that, in the jostlings and turnings 
of life, pop, at some unlucky corner, eternally 



comes the wretch upon you, and will not allow 
your indignation or contempt one moment's 
repose." 

It cannot be denied that Burns had a fancy 
fruitful in images of misery — that he looked on 
earth, and thought the water nought and the 
ground barren, and believed its surface to be 
infested with a hundred dolts and scoundrels 
for one wise and honest man. — " Sunday," says 
the Poet to Mrs. Riddell, "closes a period of 
our curst revenue business, and may probably 
keep me employed with my pen till noon — fine 
employment for a poet's pen ! There is a species 
of the human genus that I call the gin-horse 
class : what amiable dogs they are ! round, 
and round, and round they go. Mundell's ox 
that turns his cotton-mill is their exact proto- 
type — without an idea or wish beyond their 
circle ; fat, sleek, stupid, patient, quiet, and 
contented ; while here I sit, altogether Novem- 
berish, a damned melange of fretfulness and 
melancholy, not enough of the one to rouse me 
to passion, nor of the other to repose me in tor- 
por; my soul flouncing and fluttering round 
her tenement like a wildfinch caught amid the 
horrors of winter and newly thrust into a cage. 
Well, I am persuaded it was of me the Hebrew 
sage prophesied when he foretold : ' And be- 
hold, on whatsoever this man doth set his heart, 
it shall not prosper V " 

A circumstance occurred in the winter of this 
year to strengthen those gloomy presentiments. 
Burns, accompanied by his friends, the Richard- 
sons of Dumfries, went to Moffat, a distance of 
fifteen innes, to spend the day and dine. The 
moxning was rough and cold ; the bridge, too, 
1 er the Kinnel was tottering and unsafe, and 
they were obliged to pass the flooded water, 
which they accomplished not without difficulty 
and danger ; the Poet was in one of his sun- 
niest moods, and laughed alike at storm and 
stream, and in this temper the party sat down 
to dinner. " We were all in high spirits," said 
Archibald Richardson, " and were waited on 
by a young man not unknown to us, of the 
name of Glendinning, who said he was to be 
married in a day or two. This gave a new turn 
to the conversation. Burns descanted with 
much humour and uttered many merry jokes 
on matrimony : the bridegroom smiled, and was 
pleased to be noticed, and we were in the ful] 
tide of enjoyment, when, on removing the last 
dish, he took a step towards the door, dropped 
down at our feet, and died without uttering a 
word. I never saw a man so much affected as 
the Poet was ; the brightness of his eye was 
gone at once : his face darkened ; he rose and 
he sat down : he looked at my brother and he 
looked at me ; he refused wine, nor did he 
speak above his breath for the remainder of 
the evening ; he seemed afraid of offending 
the spirit of the dead. In this mood we jour- 
neyed home : and Burns afterwards declared 



to me, that the death of Glendinning coloured 
with sadness some of his best compositions." 

During the year 1795, rumour was busy with 
the name of Burns. Those — and I am sorry to 
say they were not few — who longed for his 
halting, whispered about that he Avas become a 
lover of low company — a seeker of consolation 
against imaginary woes, in the bottle ; and that 
in his Howff, as he called the Globe tavern, he 
forgot what was due to his dignity of mind and 
his domestic peace; nay, they hesitated not 
to insinuate that his very genius was sunk and 
! fallen, like Milton's Satan, from its original 
brightness. Much of this required no refuta- 
tion. Burns was fallen off, indeed! — not in 
brightness of genius, but in vigour and health. 
1 His walks were shorter, his rests more frequent ; 
his smile had something of melancholy in it, 
and amid the sons of men he looked like one 
marked out for an early grave. My friend, 
Mrs. Hyslop — daughter of Mr. Geddes of 
Leith — happened to meet him one day in the 
streets of Dumfries, and was affected by his ap- 
pearance. He stooped more than was his wont ; 
his dress, about which he used to be rather nice, 
was disordered and shabby, and he bore on his 
face the stamp of internal sorrow. The meet- 
ing was cordial and warm ; on parting he wrung 
her brother, who accompanied her, earnestly by 
the hand, turned half away from him, and said, 
"lam going to ruin as fast as I can ; the best 
I can do is to go consistently." 

At this period some of the lofty aristocracy 
of the country shunned the Poet's company, 
not for bis conduct as a man, but for his senti- 
ments as a politician. That Burns was fre- 
quently in the company of the tradesmen of 
Dumfries, and joined in their socialities, is per- 
fectly true ; his small income hindered him from 
seeking loftier society : he who has only a shil- 
ling in his pocket must be contented with hum- 
ble friends. But it is untrue that this was the 
only company he kept ; some of the first gen- 
tlemen in the land were still his friends ; he 
was a welcome and an invited guest at their 
tables, and might be seen walking with their 
wives and their daughters, when his health 
enabled him to go abroad. 

The best answer, which such malevolent re- 
presentations could receive, has been given by 
Gray and Findlater ; both of these gentlemen 
lived near the Poet ; they were wise and sensi- 
ble men, and incapable of misrepresentation. — 
" It came under my own view professionally," 
said the former, " that Burns superintended the 
education of his children with a degree of care 
that I have never seen surpassed. In the bo- 
som ,of his family he spent many an hour, 
directing the studies of his eldest son, a boy of 
uncommon talents, I have frequently found 
him explaining to this youth, then not more 
than nine years of age, the poets from Shaks- 
peare to Grey, or storing his mind with exam- 



<§u 



pies of heroic virtue, as they live in the pages of 
the English historians. I would ask any person of 
common candour, if employments like these are 
consistent with habitual drunkenness? It is 
not denied that he sometimes mingled with so- 
ciety unworthy of him ; he was of a social and 
convivial nature. In his morning hours, I never 
saw him like one suffering from the effects of 
last night's intemperance." Almost the last 
words that Gray uttered to me before he went 
to India were about Burns : — " I was sometimes 
surprised," he said, " at the vigour and elegance 
of Robert's versions from the Latin. I told him 
he got help ; he looked up in my face and said, 
' Yes, my father helps me.' " 

The testimony of Findlater is equally deci- 
sive : — " My connexion with Burns," he 
observed, " commenced immediately after his 
admission to the Excise, and continued to the 
hour of his death. In all that time the super- 
intendence of his behaviour, as an officer of the 
revenue, was a branch of my especial province, 
and I was not an inattentive observer of the 
general conduct of a man and a Poet so cele- 
brated by his countrymen. He was exemplary 
in his attention, and was even jealous of the 
least imputation on his vigilance. It was not 
till near the latter end of his days that there was 
any falling off in this respect ; and this was well 
accounted for by the pressure of disease and 
accumulating infirmities. I will further avow 
that I never saw him — which was very fre- 
quently while he lived at Ellisland, and still 
more so, almost every day, after he removed to 
Dumfries — in hours of business, but he was 
quite himself, and capable of discharging the 
duties of his office ; nor was he ever known to 
drink by himself, or seen to indulge in the use 
of liquor in a forenoon. I have seen Burns in 
all his various phases — in his convivial moments, 
in his sober moods, and in the bosom of his 
family. Indeed, I believe I saw more of him 
than any other individual had occasion to see, 
and I never beheld anything like the gross 
enormities with which he has been charged. That 
when he sat down in the evening with friends 
whom he liked lie was apt to prolong the social 
hours beyond the bounds which prudence would 
dictate, is unquestionable ; but in his family, I 
will venture to say, he was never seen other- 
wise than as attentive and affectionate in a high 
degree." 

The recollections of my friend Dr. Copland 
Hutchison are equally in the Poet's favour : — 
" I lived in Dumfries," he observed in a late 
conversation, " during the whole period that 
Burns lived there } I was much about, and saw 
him almost daily, but I never saw him even the 
worse of liquor ; he might drink as much as 
other men, but certainly not more." 

Professor Walker, a gentleman of unquesti- 
oned candour, was two days in the Poet's com- 
pany, during November, 1795. — "I went tc 



MTAT. 36. 



PROFESSOR WALKER.— MITCHELL. 



121 



Dumfries," he says, " and called upon him early 
in the forenoon. I found him in a small house ; 
he was sitting on a window-seat, reading, with 
the doors open, and the family arrangements 
going on in his presence, and altogether with- 
out that appearance of snugness and seclusion 
which a studious man requires. After convers- 
ing with him for some time, he proposed a 
walk, and promised to conduct me through 
some of his favourite haunts. We accordingly 
quitted the town, and wandered a considerable 
way up the beautiful banks of the Nith. Here 
he gave me an account of his latest productions, 
and repeated some satirical ballads which he 
had composed ; these I thought inferior to his 
other pieces, though they had some lines in 
which vigour compensated for coarseness. He 
repeated also a fragment of an Ode to Liberty, 
with marked and peculiar energy, and shewed 
a disposition, which was easily repressed, to 
make political remarks." 

To this picture of the first day I shall add a 
sketch of the second : — " On the next morning 
I returned with a friend, and we found him 
ready to pass part of the day with us at the inn. 
On this occasion I did not think him so inter- 
esting as he had appeared at his outset. His 
conversation was too elaborate ; in his praise 
and censure he was so decisive as to render a 
dissent from his judgment difficult to be recon- 
ciled with the laws of good breeding. His wit 
was not more licentious than it is in higher cir- 
cles, though I thought him rather unnecessarily 
free in the avowal of his excesses. When it 
began to grow late he shewed no disposition to 
retire, but called for fresh supplies of liquor 
with a freedom which might be excusable, as 
we were in an inn, and no condition had been 
made, though it might have been inferred — had 
the inference been welcome — that he was to 
consider himself as our guest : nor was it till he 
saw us worn out that he departed, about three 
in the morning, with a reluctance that probably 
proceeded less from being deprived of our com- 
pany than from being confined to his own. I 
discovered in his conduct no errors which I had 
not seen in men who stood high in the favour 
of society. He on this occasion drank freely, 
without being intoxicated ; a circumstance from 
which I concluded, not only that his constitu- 
tion was still unbroken, but that he was not 
addicted to solitary cordials. Had he tasted 
liquor in the morning he must have easily 
yielded to the excess of the evening." A grave 
Professor was not likely to speak in commen- 
dation of the late hours and deep socialities 
practised by the Dumfries-shire topers ; men in 
those days seldom quitted the bottle or the 
punch - bowl before day-light came to shew the 
way home ; and it was likely that Burns ima- 
gined he was asserting a proper independence, 
when he desired more liquor and consulted his 
own inclination. 



New-year's-day, 1796, found the Poet under 
a triple visitation of poverty, domestic sorrow, 
and ill health : it is not known that he uttered 
any complaints ; if he desired life it was less 
for himself than for his wife and children. 
There is something to me inexpressibly touch- 
ing in the request which he made to his collector 
and pay-master, Mitchell, for the humble stipend 
then due, and without which he would have 
been unable to meet the new year's morning. 
To render it more acceptable he made it in 
rhyme : — 

" Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal ; 
Alake ! alake ! the meikle deil, 
Wi' a' his witches, 
Are at it, skelpin' jig and reel, 

In my poor pouches!" 

To this request, which it seems he hesitated to 
make, Burns added a mournful postscript con- 
cerning his health : — 

" Ye've heard this while how I've been licket, 
And by fell death was nearly nicket 
Grim loon ! he gat me by the fecket, 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 

And turned a neuk." 

His illness now alarmed his friends. Max- 
well, with equal skill and kindness of heart, 
attended him carefully : De Peyster, his colo- 
nel, a rough veteran, and a rhymer if not a 
poet, visited him and made frequent inquiries : 
the ailing man was touched with these atten- 
tions, and thanked his commander in verse. I 
shall transcribe a couple of stanzas — he is 
always his own best biographer : — 

" My honoured colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal : 
Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus, pill, 

And potion glasses." 

This world, he goes on to say, would be plea 
sant, if care and sickness would stay away, and 
fortune favour worth and merit according to 
their deservings — the strain concludes sadly : — 

" Dame Life, though fiction out may trick her, 
And in paste gems, and frippery deck her ; 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 

I've found her still, 
Ay wavering like the willow- wicker, 

'Tween guid and ill," 

In his lines to Mitchell, Burns seems to ac- 
knowledge — for he never spared himself — that 
he owed some of his illness to folly : in his 
verses to De Peyster he intimates his meaning 
more clearly, and blames, but good-humouredly, 
the spirit of evil — ■ 

" First shewing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines, and bonnie lasses rare, 
To put us daft." 

Thomson began to feel alarm at the ominous 
silence of the Poet, and inquired the cause ; 



122 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1796. 



the answer was written in April. — '*' Alas ! 1 
fear it will be some time ere I tune my lyre 
again. ' By Babel's streams I've sat and wept/ 
almost ever since I wrote you last : I have only 
known existence by the pressure of the heavy 
hand of sickness, and have counted time by the 
repercussions of pain ! Rheumatism, cold, and 
fever have formed to me a terrible combination. 
I close my eyes in misery, and open them with- 
out hope. I look on the vernal day, and say, 
with poor Fergusson — 

'Say, wherefore has an all-indulgent Heaven 
Light to the comfortless and wretched given ?' " 

The inquiries of Thomson induced his fancy 
once more to take flight in song : Burns had 
formerly, in health, sung of beauty with 

" Cheeks like apples, which the sun had rudded," 

and adorned with smiles : he looked around, 
and seeing Jessie Lewars watching over him, 
with anxiety on her brow and tenderness in her 
eyes, he honoured her with one of his happiest 
songs ; it bears her name, and is the last perfect 
offspring of his muse. In all the compass of 
verse there is nothing more touching than this 
exquisite stanza : — 

" Altho' thou maun never be mine, 
Altho' even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing 
Than aught in the world beside." 

As the same young lady was moving with a 
light foot about the house, lest she should dis- 
turb him, the Poet took up a crystal goblet 
which contained wine and water for moistening 
his lips, and wrote on it with a diamond, — 

" Fill me with the rosy wine: 
Call a toast — a toast divine ; 
Give the Poet's darling flame, 
Lovely Jessie be the name ; 
Then thou mayest freely boast 
Thou hast given a peerless toast." 

Though now and then well enough to walk 
out in the sunshine, or visit a neighbour, Burns 
was no longer able to do his duties in the Ex- 
cise. Mr. Stobie,* a young expectant in the 
Excise, kindly undertook to perform them for 
him, else the Poet might have starved ; for it 
is the rule — and a cruel and unjust one — in 
the Customs, to give but half-pay to the sick 
or those unable to work. When the birth-day 
of the king came, his friend Mrs. Riddel, de- 
sirous of soothing or pleasing him, requested 
him to accompany her to the assembly held in 
the evening, and shew his loyalty. — " I am," 
said he, " in such miserable health as to be in- 
capable of shewing my loyalty in any way. 
Racked as I am with rheumatisms, I meet every 

* [Mr. Chambers recollects this amiable man in the sta- 
tion of an ordinary exciseman at Pinkie salt-pans, about the 
year 1817. The only fragment of his conversation respecting 
Burns, which he can now recal, is what he said of the Poet's 



®= 



face with a greeting like that of Balak to 
Balaam, — ' Come, curse me, Jacob ; and come 
defy me Israel ! ' So say I — come, curse me 
that east wind, and come, defy me the north ! 
Would you have me, in such circumstances, 
copy you out a love-song ? I will not be at the 
ball. Why should I ? ' Man delights not me, 
nor woman neither.' Can you supply me with 
the song, ' Let us all be unhappy together V 
do so, and oblige le paiwre miserable, Robert 
Burns." 

Well or ill, his heart was still with t'he muse. 
He began to feel that he was soon to pass from 
among the living, and became solicitous about 
his fame. — " I have no copies of the songs I 
sent you," he says to Thomson, "and I have 
taken a fancy to review them all, and possibly 
may mend some of them ; so, when you have com- 
plete leisure, I will thank you for the originals, 
or copies. I had rather be the author of five 
well - written songs than of ten otherwise." 
This request refers to those lyrics hitherto un- 
published, of which Thomson had nearly fifty ; 
it is needless to say that this revisal the Poet 
did not live to perform. 

To Johnson, proprietor of the Museum, 
Burns wrote on the 4th of July, — " You may 
probably think that for some time past I have 
neglected you and your work ; but, alas ! the 
hand of pain, and sorrow, and care, has these 
many months lain heavy upon me. Personal 
and domestic affliction have almost entirely 
banished that alacrity and life with which I 
used to woo the rural muse of Scotia. Many a 
merry meeting this publication has given us, 
and possibly it may give us more — though, alas ! 
I fear it. This protracting, slow - consuming 
illness which hangs over me, will, I doubt not, 
my ever dear friend, arrest my sun before he 
has well nigh reached his middle career, and 
will turn over the poet to far other and more 
important concerns than studying the brilliancy 
of wit or the pathos of senthnent. However, 
hope is the cordial of the human heart, and I 
endeavour to cherish it as well as I can." His 
sun of life was descending to the setting. 

The summer warmth wrought no change in 
his suffering frame ; and he was advised, about 
the close of June, to go into the country. I 
believe Burns followed his own feelings rather 
than the counsel of his physician, Avhen he took 
up his residence at a lonely place called The 
Brow, on the shore of Solway in Annandale, 
resolved to try the effects of bathing in the sea 
— a remedy recommended in almost all cases by 
our rustic doctors. It happened at that time 
that Mrs. Riddel was residing near The Brow ; 
she was herself ailing. On hearing of the 
Poet's arrival, she invited him to dinner, and 



singing powers. " He sang like a nightingale," said Stobie 
(meaning that he had no reluctance nor hesitation in singing": 
" but he had the voice of a boar."] 



MTAT. 37. 



HIS ILLNESS AT BROW. 



123 



sent her carriage for him to the cottage where 
he lodged, as he was unable to walk. 

" I was struck," said she, " with his appear- 
ance on entering the room : the stamp of death 
was impressed on his features. He seemed al- 
ready touching the brink of eternity. His first 
words were, ' Well, madam, have you any com- 
mands for the other world ? ' I replied that it 
seemed a doubtful case which of us should be 
there soonest, and that I hoped he would yet 
live to write my epitaph. (I was then in a poor 
state of health.) Lie looked in my face with 
an air of great kiirdness, and expressed his con- 
cern at seeing me look so ill, with his usual 
sensibility. At table he ate little or nothing, 
and he complained of having entirely lost the 
tone of his stomach. We had a long and serious 
conversation about his present state, and the 
approaching termination of all his earthly pros- 
pects. He spoke of his death, with firmness 
as well as feeling, as an event likely to happen 
very soon, and which gave him concern chiefly 
from leaving his four children so young and 
unprotected, and his wife in the hourly expecta- 
tion of lying-in of a fifth. He shewed great 
concern about the care of his literary fame, and 
particularly the publication of his posthumous 
works. He said he was well aware that 
his death would occasion some noise, and that 
every scrap of his writing would be revived 
against him, to the injury of his future repu- 
tation ; that letters and verses, written with un- 
guarded freedom, would be handed about by 
vanity or malevolence, when no dread of his 
resentment would restrain them, nor prevent 
malice or envy from pouring forth their venom 
to blast his fame. The conversation was kept up 
with great evenness and animation on his side. 
I had seldom seen his mind greater, or more 
collected. There was frequently a considerable 
degree of vivacity in his sallies, and they would 
probably have had a greater share, had not the 
concern and dejection, I could not disguise, 
damped the spirit of pleasantry he seemed wil- 
ling to indulge. We parted about sun-set on 
the evening of the 5th of July ; the next day 
I saw him again, and we parted — to meet no 
more ! " 

The house which he occupied at The Brow is 
at a little distance from the sea, and its windows 
opened towards the west ; at one of these it 
was the Poet's practice to sit during the after- 
noon, looking at the visiters as they passed, 
and at the sun as it descended on the distant 
hills. One fine evening two young ladies 
called to see him : the sun streamed brightly 
on him through the glass, when one of them 
(Miss Craig — afterwards Mrs. Henry Duncan) 
was afraid the light might be too much for him, 
and rose, with the view of letting down the 
window-blinds. Burns immediately guessed 
what she meant to do, and, regarding the young 
lady with a look of great benignity, said, 



"Thank you, my dear, for your kind attention ; 
but oh ! let him shine ! — he will not shine long 
for me!" 

With how little advantage to his health he 
bathed in the Solway may be gathered from 
his letter to Cunningham, of the 7th July. — 
" Alas ! my friend, I fear the voice of the Bard 
will soon be heard among you no more ! For 
these eight or ten months I have been ailing, 
sometimes bedfast and sometimes not ; but these 
last three months I have been tortured with an 
excruciating rheumatism, which has reduced 
me to nearly the last stage. You would actu- 
ally not know me if you saw me. Pale, ema- 
ciated, and so feeble as occasionally to need help 
from my chair — my spirits fled ! fled ! — but I can 
no more on this subject. — I beg of you to use your 
utmost interest, and that of all your friends, to 
move our Commissioners of Excise to grant me 
my full salary. If they do not grant it, I must 
lay my account with an exit truly en poete — if 
I die not of disease, I must perish with hunger." 
The Excise refused this last humble boon. 

On the 10th of July, he thus writes to his 
brother Gilbert : — " It will be no very pleasing 
news to you to be told that I am dangerously 
ill, and not likely to get better. An inveterate 
rheumatism has reduced me to such a state of 
debility, and my appetite is so totally gone, that 
I can scarcely stand on my legs. God help my 
wife and children ! If I am taken from their 
head, they will be poor indeed. Remember me 
to my mother." To his wife he writes, — " No 
flesh nor fish can I swallow ; porridge and milk 
are the only things I can taste. I am very 
happy to hear by Miss Jessie Lewars that you 
are all well. My very best compliments to her 
and to all the children. I will see you on Sun- 
day. Your affectionate husband, Robert 
Burns." He likewise wrote to James Armour 
of Mauchline, his father-in-law, saying that his 
dear wife was nigh her confinement : that his 
days were numbered, for he felt himself dying, 
and requesting that Mrs. Armour might hasten 
to Dumfries, to speak and look comfort to them. 

Burns had formerly, when his hopes were 
higher and his health good, made it almost a 
quarrel with Thomson that he had sent him five 
pounds in acknowledgment of his songs. His 
situation, in all respects, was changed now ; he 
had to bend his proud heart to beg from the 
Excise the continuance of his pay ; and he had 
to lay himself under obligations to Stobie, who 
generously performed his duties gratis. He had 
no money in his pocket, and little food in his 
house ; and, to aggravate these evils, one Wil- 
liamson, to whom he owed the price of the cloth 
of his volunteer regimentals, threatened to sue 
him for the amount. The Poet was alarmed at 
this ; and on the 12th of July wrote to Thom- 
son, saying, " After all my boasted independ- 
ence, curst necessity compels me to implore you 
for five pounds. A cruel haberdasher, to whom 



124 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1796 



I owe an account, taking it into his head that I 
am dying, has commenced a process, and will 
infallibly put me into jail. Do, for God's sake, 
send me that sum, and that by return of post. 
Forgive me thib earnestness ; but the horrors of 
a jail have made me half-distracted." To ren- 
der this very modest request more acceptable, 
the Poet, ill as he was, tried his hand on the air 
of Rothemurche ; and, allowing his mind to 
wander to scenes of former happiness, and to 
one whom he had loved, composed the last song 
he was to measure in this world, beginning, 
" Fairest maid on Devon banks." It is written 
in a character indicating the feeble state of his 
bodily strength. 

Thomson instantly complied with the request 
of Burns: he borrowed a five-pound note * from 
Cunningham, and sent it, saying he had made 
up his mind to enclose the identical sum the 
Poet had asked for when he received his letter. 
For this he has been sharply censured ; and his 
defence is that he was afraid of sending more, 
lest he should offend the pride of the Poet, who 
was uncommonly sensitive in pecuniary matters. 
A better defence is Thomson's own poverty ; 
only one volume of his splendid work was then 
published ; his outlay had been beyond his 
means, and very small sums of money had come 
in to cover his large expenditure. Had he been 
richer, his defence would have been a difficult 
matter. When Burns made the stipulation, his 
hopes were high, and the dread of hunger, or of 
the jail, was far from his thoughts ; he imagined 
that it became genius to refuse money in a work 
of national importance. But his situation grew 
gloomier as he wrote ; he had lost nearly his all 
in Ellisland, and was obliged to borrow small 
sums, which he found a difficulty in repaying. 
That he was in poor circumstances was well 
known to the world ; and, had money been at 
Thomson's disposal, a way might have been 
found of doing the Poet good by stealth ; he 
sent five pounds, because he could not send ten ; 
and it would have saved him from some sar- 
castic remarks, and some pangs of heart, had 
he said so at once. 

On the same day that Burns wrote to Thom- 
son he also wrote to Mrs. Dunlop, and to his 
cousin, James Burness, of Montrose. To the 
latter he said, " A rascal of a haberdasher, 
to whom I owe a considerable bill, believes 
that I am dying, and will infallibly put my 
emaciated body into jail. Will you be so good 
as to accommodate me, and that by return of 
post, with ten pounds ? O, James ! did you 
know the pride of my heart, you would feel 
doubly for me ! Alas ! I am not used to beg ! 
O, do not disappoint me ! — save me from the 
horrors of a jail ! " To Mrs. Dunlop he said, 
! "I have written to you so often without receiv- 
ing any answer that I would not trouble you 



again but for the circumstances in which I am. 
An illness which has long hung about me, in 
all probability will speedily send me beyond 
that ' bourne whence no traveller returns.' 
Your friendship, with which for many years 
you honoured me, was a friendship dearest to 
my soul ; your conversation, and especially your 
correspondence, were at once highly entertain- 
ing and instructive. With what pleasure did I 
use to break up the seal ! The remembrance 
yet adds one pulse more to my poor palpitating 
heart. Farewell." The Poet's cousin instantly 
sent the ten pounds, though at that time far from 
rich : he afterwards sent five pounds more, and 
generously offered to take Robert and educate 
and bring him up like one of his own sons : 
Mrs. Dunlop also wrote ; and, alarmed with 
the despondency of the Poet's last letter, assured 
him of her undiminished esteem, and that his 
family might depend on her friendship : it is 
needless so say how amply this was fulfilled. 

These are supposed, by some, to be the last 
words which he wrote : there are yet later, and 
of higher import and meaning. As the day of 
life darkened down, Burns began to prepare 
for the change : he remembered that he had 
written many matters, both in verse and prose, 
of a nature licentious as well as witty. He 
sought to reclaim them, and in some instances 
succeeded ; he had, when his increasing diffi- 
culties were rumoured about, received an offer 
for them from a bookseller ; but he spurned at 
fifty pounds in comparison with his fair fame, 
and refused to sell or sanction them. That such 
things were scattered abroad troubled him 
greatly ; he reflected that the mean and the 
malignant might rake them together; and, 
quoting them against him, triumph over his 
fame, and trample on his dust. Perhaps he 
felt some consolation in believing that his other 
works transcended these so far in talent and in 
number that the grosser would be weighed 
down, cast aside, and forgotten. What troubled 
him most was the imputations of disloyalty to 
his country which had been thrown upon his 
character : he trembled lest he should be repre- 
sented as one who desired to purchase republi- 
can license at the price of foreign invasion. 
He had defended his character and motives in 
a letter, uncommonly manly and eloquent, to 
Erskine of Mar ; but he had requested it to be 
burnt, and was not aware that it was fortu- 
nately preserved. He still retained the letter 
in his memory, and it was the last act of his 
pen to write it out fair, and with comments, 
into his memorandum-book. Burns thus gave 
his deliberate — I might say dying — sanction to 
that important letter ; it makes statements 
which cover the Board of Excise and the 
British government of that day with eternal 
shame, and contains sentiments honourable to 



[It appears from the inventory of Burns's effects that it was a Banker's draft which was sent by Mr. Thomson.] 



.ETAT. 37. 



DUMFRIES.— HIS DEATH. 



the head and heart of the Poet— such as should 
live in the bosom of every Briton. 

" You have been misinformed," says Burns, 
" as to my final dismission from the Excise — I 
am still in the service. Indeed, but for the 
exertions of Mr. Graham of Fintray, who has 
ever been my warm and generous friend, I had, 
without so much as a hearing, or the slightest 
previous intimation, been turned adrift, with 
my helpless family, to all the horrors of want. 
In my defence to their accusations, I said that, 
whatever might be my sentiments of republics, 
ancient or modern, as to Britain I abjured the 
idea ; that a constitution, which, in its original 
principles, experience had proved to be every 
way fitted for our happiness in society, it would 
be insanity to sacrifice to an untried visionary 
theory ; — that, in consideration of my being 
situated in a department, however humble, im- 
mediately in the hands of people in power, I 
had forborne taking any active part, either per- 
sonally or as an author, in the present business 
of reform ; but that, where I must declare my 
sentiments, I would say there existed a system 
of corruption between the executive power and 
the representative part of the legislature, which 
boded no good to our glorious constitution, and 
which every patriotic Briton must Avish to see 
amended. My last remark gave great offence, 
and Mr. Corbet was instructed to inquire on 
the spot, and to document me — ' That my busi- 
ness was to act, not to think.'" A nobleman 
connected with the Pitt administration, to whom 
I repeated these last words, smiled bitterly and 
said — " They are as absurd as they are cruel." 

Having removed the veil of mystery which 
hung too long over this transaction, and esta- 
blished himself as a lover of his country with 
all who know what patriotism is, Burns pro- 
ceeds to discuss his hopes of fame, and his cha- 
racter as a man and a poet. — " The partiality 
of my countrymen," he observes, " has brought 
me forward as a man of genius, and has given 
me a character to support. In the Poet I 
have avowed manly and independent sentiments 
which, I trust, will be found in the man. My 
honest fame is my dearest concern, and a thou- 
sand times I have trembled at the idea of those 
degrading epithets that malice or misrepresen- 
tation may affix to my name. I have often, in 
blasting anticipation, listened to some future 
hackney scribbler, with the heavy malice of sav- 
age stupidity exulting in his hireling paragraphs 
— ' Burns, notwithstanding the fanfaronade of 
independence to be found in his works, and 
after having been held forth to public view, and 
to public estimation, as a man of some genius, 
yet, quite destitute of resources within himself to 
support his borrowed dignity, he dwindled into 
a paltry exciseman, and slunk out the rest of 
his insignificant existence in the meanest of pur- 
suits, and among the vilest of -mankind.' — In 
your hands, sir, permit me to lodge my disavowal 



and defiance of these slanderous falsehoods. 
Burns was a poor man by birth, and an excise- 
man by necessity ; but — I will say it — the ster- 
ling of his honest worth no poverty could de- 
base, and his independent British mind oppres- 
sion might bend, but could not subdue." These 
sentiments need no comment : in them we hear 
the voice of Burns speaking from the grave, 
desiring justice rather than mercy. 

Sea-bathing relieved for awhile the pains in 
the Poet's limbs ; but his appetite failed ; he 
was oppressed with melancholy ; he looked 
ruefully forward, and saw misery and ruin ready 
to swallow his helpless household up. He grew 
feverish on the 14th of July ; felt himself sink- 
ing, and longed to be at home. He returned 
on the 18th in a small spring cart ; the ascent 
to his house was steep, and the cart stopped at 
the foot of the Mill-hole-brae ; when he alighted 
he shook much, and stood with difficulty ; he 
seemed unable to stand upright. He stooped, 
as if in pain, and walked tottering towards his 
own door ; his looks were hollow and ghastly, 
and those who saw him then never expected to 
see him in life again. 

It was soon spread through Dumfries that 
Burns had returned from The Brow much worse 
that when he went away, and it was added that 
he was dying. The anxiety of the people, 
high and low, was very great. I was present 
and saw it. Wherever two or three were to- 
gether their talk was of Burns, and of him 
alone. They spoke of his history, of his per- 
son, and of his works — of his witty sayings 
and sarcastic replies, and of his too early fate, 
with much enthusiasm, and sometimes Avith 
deep feeling. All that he had done, and all 
that they had hoped he would accomplish, were 
talked of: half-a-dozen of them stopped Dr. 
Maxwell in the street, and said, " How is 
Burns, Sir?" He shook his head, saying, " he 
cannot be worse," and passed on to be subjected 
to similar inquiries farther up the way. I heard 
one of a group inquire, with much simplicity, 
" Who do you think will be our poet now ? " 

Though Burns now knew he was dying, his 
good humour was unruffled, and his wit never 
forsook him. When he looked up and saw 
Dr. Maxwell at his bed-side, — ''Alas!" he 
said, " what has brought you here ? I am but 
a poor crow, and not worth plucking." He 
pointed to his pistols, those already mentioned, 
the gift of their maker, Blair of Birmingham, 
and desired that Maxwell would accept of 
them, saying they could not be in worthier 
keeping, and he should never more have need 
of them. This relieved his proud heart from a 
sense of obligation. Soon afterwards he saw 
Gibson, one of his brother- volunteers, by the 
bed-side, with tears in his eyes. He smiled 
and said, — u John, don't let the awkward squad 
fir>> over me ! ; 

His household presented a melancholy spec 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



1796 



tacle : the Poet dying ; his wife in hourly ex- 
pectation of bein<£ confined : four helpless chil- 
dren wandering from room to room, gazing on 
their miserable parents, and but too little of 
food or cordial kind to pacify the whole or 
soothe the sick. To Jessie Lewars, all who 
are charmed with the Poet's works are much 
indebted : she acted with the prudence of a 
sister and the tenderness of a daughter, and 
kept desolation away, though she could not 
keep disease. — " A tremor," says Maxwell, 
" pervaded his frame ; his tongue, though often 
refreshed, became t parched ; and his mind, 
when not roused by conversation, sunk into 
delirium. On the second and third day after 
his return from The Brow, the fever increased 
and his strength diminished. On the fourth 
day, when his attendant, James Maclure, held 
a cordial to his lips, he swallowed it eagerly — 
rose almost wholly up — spread out his hands — 
sprang forward nearly the whole length of the 
bed — fell on his face and expired.* He was 
thirty-seven years and seven months old, and of 
a form and strength which promised long life ; 
but the great and inspired are often cut down 
in youth, while 

" Villains ripen gray with time." 

I went to see him laid out for the grave ; 
several elder people were with me. He lay in 
a plain unadorned coffin, with a linen sheet 
drawn over his face ; and on the bed and around 
the body, herbs and flowers were thickly strewn, 
according to the usage of the country. He 
was wasted somewhat by long illness ; but 
death had not increased the swarthy hue of his 
face, which was uncommonly dark and deeply 
marked — his broad and open brow was pale 
and serene, and around it his sable hair lay in 
masses, slightly touched with grey. The room 
where he lay was plain and neat, and the sim- 
plicity of the Poet's humble dwelling pressed 
the presence of death more closely on the heart 
than if his bier had been embellished by vanity 
and covered with the blazonry of high ancestry 
and rank. We stood and gazed on him in 
silence for the space of several minutes — we 
went, and others succeeded us — not a whisper 
was heard. 

On the evening of the 25th of July, the 
remains of the Poet were removed from his 
house to the Town Hall, where they lay in 
state until the next morning. 

His interment took place on the 26th of 
July ; nor should it be forgotten, in relating 
the Poet's melancholy story, that, while his 
body was borne along the street, his widow was 
taken in labour and delivered of a son, who 
survived his birth but a short while. The 

* [Mr. Chambers says the author must have been misin- 
formed when he represented the Poet as rising at the last 
moment, and springing to the bottom of the bed. " The 
poor Bard was far indeed from being in a condition to make 
any violent movement. Though he had been muttering in 



leading men of the town and neighbourhood 
appeared as mourners ; the streets were lined 
by the Angus-shire Fencibles, and the Cinque 
Ports Cavalry, and his body was borne by the 
Volunteers, to the old kirk-yard, with military 
honours. The multitude who followed amount- 
ed to many thousands. It was an impressive 
and a mournful sight; all was orderly and 
decorous. The measured steps, the military 
array, the colours displayed, and the muffled 
drum — I thought then, and think now — had 
no connexion with a Pastoral Bard. I mingled 
with the mourners. On reaching the grave 
into which the Poet's body was about to de- 
scend, there was a pause among them, as if loth 
to part with his remains ; and when the first 
shovel-full of earth sounded on the coffin-lid, I 
looked up, and saw tears on many cheeks where 
tears were not usual. The Volunteers justified 
the surmise of Burns by three ragged and 
straggling volleys : the earth was heaped up, 
the green sod laid over him, and the vast mul- 
titude melted silently away. The day was a 
fine one, the sun was almost without a cloud, 
and not a drop of rain fell from dawn to twi- 
light. I notice this, not from any concurrence 
in the common superstition that ' happy is the 
corpse which the rain pours on/ but to confute 
the pious fraud of a religious writer, who inti- 
mated that Heaven expressed its wrath at the 
interment of a profane poet, in thunder, in 
lightning, and in rain. 

The body of Burns was not, however, to 
remain long in its place. To suit the plan of a 
rather showy mausoleum, his remains were 
removed into a more commodious spot of the 
same kirk - yard, on the 5th of June, 1815. 
The coffin was partly dissolved away ; but the 
dark curling locks of the Poet were as glossy, 
and seemed as fresh, as on the day of his death. 
In the interior of the structure stands a marble 
monument, embodying, with little skill or grace, 
that well-known passage in the dedication to 
the gentlemen of the Caledonian Hunt : — "The 
poetic Genius of my country found me, as the 
prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha — at the plough 
— and threw her inspiring mantle over me." 
The Poet's dust has been a second time dis- 
turbed. At the funeral of his widow, April 
1834, two or three believers in the romantic 
science of craniology disinterred his skull, ap- 
plied their compasses, and satisfied themselves 
that Burns had capacity equal to the compo- 
sition of " Tam-o-Shanter," " The Cotter's 
Saturday Night," and " To Mary in Heaven." 
" O for an hour of Burns for these men's sake ! " 
exclaims a kindred spirit, " were there a witch 
of Endor in Scotland, it would be an act of 
comparative piety in her to bring up his spirit: 



delirium for some time before, he died in a state of perfect 
calmness — the calmness of exhaustion. His eldest son, who 
was in the room at the moment, reports the mournful event 
as having thus taken place ; and we cannot well see how he 
could be mistaken."—] 



^TAT. 37. 



HIS PERSONAL CHARACTER BY A LADY. 



127 



to stigmatize them in verses that would burn for 
ever would be a gratification for which he 
might think it worth while to be thus brought 
again upon earth." All mankind have heard 
of the malediction which Shakspeare utters 
from his monument, and of the dread which 
came upon the boors of Stratford-on-Avon, as 
they presumed to gaze on his dust : no such 
fears, however, fell upon the craniologists of 
Dumfries : the clock struck one as they touched 
the dread relic : they tried their hats upon the 
head, and found them all too little ; and, having 
made a mould, they deposited the skull in a 
leaden box, " carefully lined with the softest 
materials," and returned it once more to the 
hallowed ground ! Here, as to a shrine, flock 
annually vast numbers of pilgrims ; many, 
very many, are from America ; not a few from 
France and Germany ; and the list-book con- 
tains the names of the most eminent men of 
England, Scotland, and Ireland. 

Though Burns died poor, the generous acti- 
vity of his friends and admirers, among whom 
Synie, Maxwell, and Macmurdo, were active 
and liberal, placed his young widow and help- 
less children beyond the reach of want. Currie, 
the chief benefactor of all, wrote the Poet's 
life, and edited his works : Lord Sidmouth 
placed his eldest son Robert in the Stamp-office : 
Lord Panmure sent fifty pounds annually to his 
widow, till her sons were able to interpose and 
rake the pious duty on themselves ; and William 
Xicol and James Glencairn went out to India on 
cadetships, one of which was bestowed by the 
generous Sir James Shaw. Francis Wallace 
died young, so did Maxwell : the street in 
which the Poet died was named Burns-street : 
the walks in which he mused were remembered 
and respected, and his widow lived and died in 
the house which he had occupied. She had 
acted, throughout her long life, with equal pru- 
Jence and propriety ; lived in comfort, and, 
aided by the counsel and advice of her younger 
brother, a London merchant of great respect- 
ability, preserved her affairs in excellent order, 
and was enabled to save a small sum out of her 
annual income. 

[Soon after the death of Burns, the following 
article appeared in the Dumfries Journal. It 
is from the elegant pen of a lady already 
alluded to in the course of these memoirs,* whose 
exertions for the family of our Bard, in the 
circles of literature and fashion in which she 
moves, have done her so much honour. 

" The attention of the public seems to be 
much occupied at present with the loss it has 
recently sustained in the death of the Caledo- 
nian Poet, Robert Burns — a loss calculated to 
be severely felt throughout the literary world, 
as well as lamented in the narrower sphere 
of private friendship. It was not, therefore, 

[* Mrs. Riddel of Woodlee-Park.] 



probable that such an event should be long 
unattended with the accustomed profusion of 
posthumous anecdotes and memoirs which are 
usually circulated immediately after the death of 
every rare and celebrated personage. I had, 
however, conceived no intention of appropriat- 
ing to myself the privilege of criticising Burns's 
writings and character, or of anticipating on the 
province of a biographer. 

"Conscious, indeed, of my own inability to 
do justice to such a subject, I should have con- 
tinued wholly silent, had misrepresentation and 
calumny been less industrious ; but a regard to 
truth, no less than affection for the memory of a 
friend, must now justify my offering to the pub- 
lic a few at least of those observations which an 
intimate acquaintance with Burns, and the fre- 
quent opportunities I have had of observing 
equally his happy qualities and his failings for 
several years past, have enabled me to commu- 
nicate. 

" It will actually be an injustice done to Burns's 
character, not only by future generations and 
foreign countries, but even by his native Scot- 
land, and perhaps a number of his contempora- 
ries, that he is generally talked of, and consi- 
dered, with reference to his poetical talents only : 
for the fact is, even allowing his great and ori- 
ginal genius its due tribute of admiration, that 
poetry (I appeal to all who have had the advan- 
tage of being personally acquainted with him) 
was actually not his forte. Many others, per- 
haps, may have ascended to prouder heights in 
the region of Parnassus, but none certainly ever 
outshone Burns in the charms, the sorcery, I 
would almost call it, of fascinating conversation, 
the spontaneous eloquence of social argument, 
or the unstudied poignancy of brilliant repartee ; 
nor was any man, I believe, ever gifted with a 
larger portion of the ' vivida vis aiumis.' His per- 
sonal endowments were perfectly correspondent 
to the qualifications of his mind — his form was 
manly — his action, energy itself — devoid in a 
great measure perhaps of those graces, of that 
polish, acquired only in the refinement of socie- 
ties where in early life he could have no opportu- 
nities of mixing ; but where such was the irre- 
sistible power of attraction that encircled him, 
though his appearance and manners were alwa} r s 
peculiar, he never failed to delight and to excel. 
His figure seemed to bear testimony to his 
earlier destination and employments. It seemed 
rather moulded by nature for the rough exercises 
of agriculture than the gentler cultivation of 
the Belles Lettres. His features were stamped 
with the hardy character of independence, and 
the firmness of conscious, though not arrogant, 
pre - eminence ; the animated expressions of 
countenance were almost peculiar to himself; 
the rapid lightnings of his eye were always the 
harbingers of some flash of genius, whether 
they darted the fiery glances of insulted and 
indignant superiority, or beamed with the im- 



128 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



179G. 



passioned sentiment of fervent and impetuous 
affections. His voice alone improved upon the 
magic of his eye : sonorous, replete with the finest 
modulations, it alternately captivated the ear 
with the melody of poetic numbers, the perspi- 
cuity of nervous reasoning, or the ardent sallies 
of enthusiastic patriotism. The keenness of 
satire was, I am almost at a loss whether to say 
his forte or his foible ; for though nature had 
endowed him with a portion of the most pointed 
excellence in that dangerous talent, he suffered 
it too often to be the vehicle of personal and 
sometimes unfounded animosities. It was not 
always that sportiveness of humour, that 'unwary 
pleasantry/ which Sterne has depicted with 
touches so conciliatory, but the darts of ridicule 
were frequently directed as the caprice of the 
instant suggested, or as the altercations of par- 
ties and of persons happened to kindle the rest- 
lessness of his spirit into interest or aversion. 
This, however, was not invariably the case : his 
wit (which was no unusual matter indeed) had 
always the start of his judgment, and would 
lead him to the indulgence of raillery uniformly 
acute, but often unaccompanied with the least 
desire to wound. The suppression of an arch 
and full - pointed bon-mot, from a dread of 
offending its object, the sage of Zurich very 
properly classes as a virtue only to be sought for 
in the calendar of saints ; if so, Burns must not 
be too severely dealt with for being rather defi- 
cient in it. lie paid for his mischievous wit as 
dearly as any one could do. ' 'Twas no extra- 
vagant arithmetic,' to say of him, as was said 
of Yorick, that ' for every ten jokes he got a 
hundred enemies ;' but much allowance will be 
made by a candid mind for the splenetic warmth 
of a spirit whom ' distress had spited with the 
world,' and which, unbounded in its intellectual 
-allies and pursuits, continually experienced the 
curbs imposed by the waywardness of his for- 
tune. The vivacity of his wishes and temper 
was indeed checked by almost habitual disap- 
pointments, which sat heavy on a heart that 
acknowledged the ruling passion of indepen- 
dence, without having ever been placed beyond 
the grasp of penury. His soul was never lan- 
guid or inactive, and his genius was extinguished 
only with the last spark of retreating life. His 
passions rendered him, according as they dis- 
closed themselves in affection or antipathy, an 
object of enthusiastic attachment, or of decided 
enmity ; for he possessed none of that negative 
insipidity of character whose love might be 
regarded with indifference, or whose resent- 
ment could be considered with contempt. In 
this, it should seem, the temper of his associates 
took the tincture from his own ; for he acknow- 
ledged in the universe but two classes of objects, 
those of adoration the most fervent, or of aver- 
sion the most uncontrollable ; and it has been 
frequently a reproach to him that, unsusceptible 
of indifference, often hating where he ought 



only to have despised, he alternately opened his 
heart, and poured forth the treasures of his 
understanding to such as were incapable of 
appreciating the homage ; and elevated to the 
privileges of an adversary some who were un- 
qualified in all respects for the honour of a 
contest so distinguished. 

" It is said that the celebrated Dr. Johnson 
professed to * love a good hater ' — a tempera- 
ment that would have singularly adapted him 
to cherish a prepossession in favour of our Bard, 
who perhaps fell but little short even of the surly 
doctor in this qualification, as long as the dispo- 
sition to ill-will continued ; but the warmth of 
his passions was fortunately corrected by their 
versatility. He was seldom, indeed never, impla- 
cable in his resentments, and sometimes, it has 
been alleged, not inviolably faithful in his en- 
gagements of friendship. Much, indeed, has 
been said about his inconstancy and caprice ; 
but 1 am inclined to believe that they originated 
less in a levity of sentiment than from an ex- 
treme impetuosity of feeling, which rendered 
him prompt to take umbrage ; and his sensa- 
tions of pique, where he fancied he had dis- 
covered the traces of neglect, scorn, or unkind- 
ness, took their measure of asperity from the 
over-flowings of the opposite sentiment which 
preceded them, and which seldom failed to 
regain its ascendancy in his bosom on the return 
of calmer reflection. He was candid and manly 
in the avowal of his errors, and his avowal was 
a reparation. His native fierte never forsaking 
him for a moment, the value of a frank ac- 
knowledgment was enhanced tenfold towards a 
generous mind, from its never being attended 
with servility. His mind, organized only for 
the stronger and more acute operations of the 
passions, was impracticable to the efforts of 
superciliousness that would have depressed it 
into humility, and equally superior to the en- 
croachments of venal suggestions that might 
have led him into the mazes of hypocrisy. 

"It has been observed that he was far from 
averse to the incense of flattery, and could re- 
ceive it tempered with less delicacy than might 
have been expected, as he seldom transgressed 
extravagantly in that way himself: where he 
paid a compliment, it might indeed claim the 
power of intoxication, as approbation from him 
was always an honest tribute from the warmth 
and sincerity of his heart. It has been some- 
times represented by those who, it should seem, 
had a view to depreciate, though they could not 
hope wholly to obscure, that native brilliancy 
which the powers of this extraordinary man 
had invariably bestowed on every thing that 
came from his lips or pen, that the history of 
the Ayr-shire plough-boy was an ingenious fic- 
tion, fabricated for the purposes of obtaining 
the interests of the great, and enhancing the 
merits of what in reality required no foil. 
"The Cotter's Saturday Night," "Tarn o' 



HIS PERSONAL CHARACTER BY A LADY. 



129 



Shanter," and " The Mountain Daisy," besides 
a number of later productions, where the ma- 
turity of his genius will be readily traced, and 
which will be given to the public as soon as his 
friends have collected and arranged them, speak 
sufficiently for themselves ; and had they fallen 
from a hand more dignified in the ranks of 
society than that of a peasant, they had perhaps 
bestowed as unusual a grace there as even in 
the humbler shade of rustic inspiration from 
whence they really sprang. 

" To the obscure scene of Burns's education, 
and to the laborious, though honourable station 
of rural industry, in which his parentage en- 
rolled him, almost every inhabitant of the south 
of Scotland can give testimony. His only sur- 
viving brother, Gilbert Burns, now guides the 
ploughshare of his forefathers in Ayrshire, at a 
farm near Mauchline ; and our Poet's eldest son, 
a lad of nine years of age, whose early dispo- 
sitions already prove him to be in some measure 
the inheritor of his father's talents as well as 
indigence, has been destined by his family to the 
humble employments of the loom. 

" That Burns had received no classical educa- 
tion, and was acquainted with the Greek and 
Roman authors only through the medium of 
translations, is a fact of which all who were in 
the habit of conversing with him might readily 
be convinced. I have, indeed, seldom observed 
him to be at a loss in conversation, unless where 
the dead languages and their writers have been 
the subjects of discussion. AYhen I have 
pressed him to tell me why he never applied 
himself to acquire the Latin, in particular, a 
language which his happy memory would have 
so soon enabled him to be master of, he used 
only to reply, with a smile, that he had already 
iearnt all the Latin he desired to know, and 
that was omnia vincit amor — a sentence that, 
from his writings and most favourite pursuits, 
it should undoubtedly seem he was most tho- 
roughly versed in ; but I really believe his classic 
erudition extended little, if any, farther. 

"The penchant Burns had uniformly acknow- 
ledged for the festive pleasures of the table, and 
towards the fairer and softer objects of nature's 
creation, has been the rallying point whence the 
attacks of his censors have been uniformly 
directed ; and to these, it must be confessed, he 
showed himself no stoic. His poetical pieces 
blend, with alternate happiness of description, 
the frolic spirit of the flowing bowl, or melt the 
heart to the tender and impassioned sentiments 
in which beauty always taught him to pour 
forth his own. But who would wish to reprove 
the feelings he has consecrated with such lively 
touches of nature ? And where is the rugged 
moralist who will persuade us so far to ' chill 
the genial current of the soul ' as to regret 
that Ovid ever celebrated his Corinna, or that 
Anacreon sang beneath his vine ? 

" I will not, however, undertake to be the 



apologist of the irregularities even of a man of 
genius, though I believe it is as certain that 
genius never was free from irregularities as that 
their absolution may, in great measure, be 
justly claimed, since it is perfectly evident that 
the world had continued very stationary in its 
intellectual acquirements had it never given 
birth to any but men of plain sense. Evenness of 
conduct, and a due regard to the decorum of the 
world, have been so rarely seen to move hand in 
hand with genius that some have gone so far as 
to say, though there I cannot wholly acquiesce, 
that they are even incompatible ; besides, the 
frailties that cast their shade over the splendour 
of superior merit are more conspicuously glaring 
than where they are the attendants of mere 
mediocrity. It is only on the gem we are dis- 
turbed to see the dust ; the pebble may be 
soiled, and we never regard it. The eccentric 
intuitions of genius too often yield the soul to 
the wild effervescence of desires, always un- 
bounded, and sometimes equally dangerous to 
the repose of others as fatal to its own. No 
wonder, then, if virtue herself be sometimes lost 
in the blaze of kindling animation, or that the 
calm monitions of reason are not invariably 
found sufficient to fetter an imagination which 
scorns the narrow limits and restrictions that 
would chain it to the level of ordinary minds. 
The child of nature, the child of sensibility, 
unschooled in the rigid precepts of philosophy, 
too often unable to control the passions which 
proved a source of frequent errors and misfor- 
tunes to him, Burns made his own artless apo- 
logy, in language more impressive than all the 
argumentary vindications in the world could do, 
in one of his own poems, where he delineates 
the gradual expansion of his mind to the lessons 
of the ' tutelary muse,' who concludes an ad- 
dress to her pupil, almost unique for simplicity 
and beautiful poetry, with these lines: — 

' I saw thy pulse's madd'rring play 
Wild send thee pleasure's devious way ; 
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray, 

By Passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from heaven. '* 

"I have already transgressed beyond the 
bounds I had proposed to myself on first commit- 
ting this sketch to paper, which comprehends 
what, at least, I have been led to deem the 
leading features of Burns's mind and character. 
A literary critique I do not aim at — mine is 
wholly fulfilled if in these pages I have been 
able to delineate any of those strong traits that 
distinguished him, of those talents which raised 
him from the plough, where he passed the bleak 
morning of his life, weaving his rude wreaths 
of poesy with the wild field-flowers that sprang 
around his cottage, to that enviable eminence 
of literary fame, where Scotland will long 
cherish his memory with delight and gratitude ; 



: See the Vision — Duan 2d. 



<5 = 



130 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



and proudly remember that beneath her cold 
sky a genius was ripened, without care or cul- 
ture, that would have done honour to climes 
more favourable to those luxuriances — that 
warmth of colouring and fancy in which he so 
eminently excelled. 

" From several paragraphs I have noticed in 
the public prints, ever since the idea of sending 
this sketch to some one of them was formed, I 
find private animosities have not yet subsided, 
and that envy has not yet exhausted all her 
shafts. I still trust, however, that honest fame 
will be permanently affixed to Burns' s charac- 
ter, which I think it will be found he has 
merited, by the candid and impartial among his 
countrymen. And where a recollection of the 
imprudences that sullied his brighter qualifica- 
tions interposes, let the imperfection of all human 
excellence be remembered at the same time, 
leaving those inconsistencies, which alternately 
exalted his nature into the seraph and sank it 
again into the man, to the tribunal which alone 
can investigate the labyrinths of the human 
heart — 

' Where they alike in trembling hope repose, 
The bosom of his father and his God.' — Gray's Elegy. 
Annandale, August 7, 1796.''] 

Thus lived and died Robert Burns, the 
chief of Scottish Poets. He seems to have 
been created to shew how little classic lore is 
required for the happiest flights of the muse — 
how dangerous to domestic peace burning pas- 
sions and touchy sensibilities are — and how 
divinely a man may be inspired, without gain- 
ing bread or acquiring importance in the land 
his genius adorns. 

Burns in his youth was tall and sinewy, 
with coarse swarthy features, and a ready word 
of wit or of kindness for all. The man differed 
little from the lad ; his form was vigorous, his 
limbs shapely, his knees firmly knit, his arms 
muscular and round, his hands large, his fingers 
long, and he stood five feet ten inches high. 
All his movements were unconstrained and free : 
— he had a slight stoop of the neck ; and a lock 
or so of his dark waving hair was tied carelessly 
behind with two casts of narrow black ribbon. 
His looks beamed with genius and intelligence ; 
his forehead was broad and clear, shaded by raven 
locks inclined to curl ; his cheeks were furrowed 
more with anxiety than time ; his nose was 
short rather than long; his mouth, firm and 
manly: his teeth, white and regular; and there 
was a dimple, a small one, on his chin. His 
eyes were large, dark, and lustrous : I have 
heard them likened to coach-lamps approach- 
ing in a dark night, because they were first 
seen of any part of the Poet. — " I never saw," 
said Scott, " such another eye in a human head, 
though I have seen the most distinguished men 
of my time." In his ordinary moods, Burns 
looked a man of a hundred ; but when animated 
in company, he was a man of a million \ his 



swarthy features glowed ; his eyes kindled up 
till they all but lightened ; his slight stoop 
vanished ; and his voice — deep, manly, and mu- 
sical — added its sorcery of pathos or of wit, till 
the dullest owned the enchantments of genius. 

His personal strength was united to great 
activitjr : he could move a twenty-stone sack 
of meal without much, apparent effort, and load 
a cart with bags of corn in the time, one of 
his neighbours said, that other men were talk- 
ing about it. A mason was hewing him a 
stone for a cheese-press, and Burns took plea- 
sure, as a side was squared, to turn over the 
huge mass unaided. A large pebble is still 
pointed out at Ellisland, as his putting-stone ; 
and though no living man at Mthsdale per- 
haps can poise it in the air, the tradition 
proves the popular belief in his great strength. 
He delighted in feats of rural activity and 
skill ; he loved to draw the straightest furrow 
on his fields, to sow the largest quantity of 
seed-corn of any farmer in the dale in a day, 
mow the most rye-grass and clover in ten hours 
of exertion, and stook to the greatest number 
of reapers. In this he sometimes met with 
his match. After a hard strife on the harvest 
field, with a fellow-husbandman, in which the 
Poet was equalled : — " Robert," said his rival, 
" I'm no sac far behind this time, I'm thinking?" 
— "John," said he in a whisper, "you're be- 
hind in something yet : I made a sang while I 
was stocking !" I have heard my father say 
that Burns had the handsomest cast of the hand 
in sowing corn he ever saw on a furrowed field. 

Burns desired as much to excel in conversa- 
tion as he did in these fits and starts of hus- 
bandry ; but he was more disposed to contend 
for victory than to seek for knowledge. The 
debating club of Tarbolton was ever strong 
within him : a fierce lampoon, or a rough 
epigram, was often the reward of those who 
ventured to contradict him. His conversation 
partook of the nature of controversy, and he 
urged his opinions with a vehemence amount- 
ing to fierceness. All this was natural enough 
when he was involved in argument with the 
boors around him ; but he was di&posed, when 
pressed in debate, to be equally discourteous 
and unsparing to the polite and the titled. 

In the company of men of talent he was 
another man ; he was then among nis peers, 
and listened with attention, and spoke with a 
modest eloquence, which surprised many. i( I 
think Burns," said Robertson, the historian, 
to Professor Christison, " was one of the most 
extraordinary men I ever met with ; his poetry 
surprised me very much, his prose surprised me 
still more, and his conversation surprised me 
more than both his poetry and prose." " His 
address," says Robert Riddel, " was pleasing ; 
he was neither forward nor embarrassed in 
manner ; his spirits were generally high, and 
his conversation animated. His language was 



©~ 



HIS CHARACTER. 



fluent, frequently fine ; his enunciation always 
rapid : his ideas clear and vigorous, and he had 
the rare power of modulating his peculiarly 
fine voice, so as to harmonise with whatever 
subject he touched upon. I have heard him 
talk with astonishing rapidity, nor miss the 
articulation of a single syllable ; elevate and 
depress his voice as the topic seemed to require ; 
and sometimes, when the subject was pathetic, 
he would prolong the words in the most im- 
pressive and affecting manner, indicative of the 
deep sensibility which inspired him. He often 
lamented to me that fortune had not placed 
him at the bar or in the senate ; he had great 
ambition, and the feeling that he could not 
gratify it preyed upon him severely." 

In the morning of life, Burns met lords 
with awe and embarrassment ; in the after- 
noon of existence, he encountered them with 
suspicion and scorn. Those who named a lord, 
or alluded to a person of rank in his com- 
pany, were instantly crushed in an epigram, 
or offended by some sarcastic sally. The con- 
duct of the Scottish aristocracy had sunk to 
his heart, and the neglect of the Pitt adminis- 
tration was seldom away from his fancy. The 
more he saw of the world, and the more he 
reflected, these unwelcome thoughts pressed the 
more upon him. He could not but know that 
the high-born and the well-connected prospered : 
that thousands less worthy than himself were 
fattening on posts and pensions, and elbowing 
the sons of genius out of what he considered 
their patrimony ; he had also been - made to 
feel his dependence, in that insulting mandate 
from the Board of Excise, that his duty was 
Ci to act, and not to think." It is true that 
his dislike might have been expressed with 
more courtesy, and his wit might have had less 
ferocity, with equal keenness of point. Yet, 
when he proposed to drink the health of 
Washington instead of Pitt, it was less a mat- 
ter of ill-breeding, or republican feeling, than 
a burst of anger : he considered the Premier as 
one of his oppressors; and perhaps the want 
of courtesy belonged to him who invited the 
Poet to dinner, and greeted him w r ith this un- 
welcome toast. 

In the company of ladies, Burns w 7 as quite 
another being ; for them he calmed down his 
impetuous temper, and allowed all that was 
winning in his nature to shine out. He was 
fierce as Moloch among men : among women 
he was a Belial, soft, insinuating, and eloquent : 
his eyes, which before sparkled like those of the 
serpent, became meek like those of the dove : 
tlie love of contradiction died within him, and he 
courted his way to their hearts and their under- 
standings at the same time. In this his letters 
differ widely from his conversation : the pre- 
sence of beauty inspired him ; when it was no 
longer before him, he seems to hunt for thoughts 
and hesitate for words, and, amid much natural 



emotion, is affected and cumbrous. Nothing 
more untrue was ever uttered than that his 
female patronesses shrunk from the vehement 
familiarity of his admiration : there is no proof 
to be found of this : Margaret Chalmers, indeed, 
scrupled to have a song published in her praise ; 
and Miss Alexander chose to resent by her 
silence the song of the " Lass of Ballochmyle ;' ; 
but there is no instance of ladies shrinking from 
the audacity of his admiration. His most 
constant correspondents were ladies of birth and 
talent j the ladies of the north, much to their 
honour, sympathised with their Poet to the last : 
and the day after he was buried, some of the 
proudest dames of Dumfries-shire shed tears, as 
they scattered flowers over his grave. In truth, 
he did not express the rapture of an enamoured 
peasant, as Jeffrey assures us he did, but the 
admiration of a man : he preferred the good- 
breeding of nature to the iced civilities of 
polished life : he did not, indeed, think that 
woman was to be worshipped according to the 
fantastic rules of chivalry ; but when she spoke, 
he listened ; when she sang, he seemed to be- 
come intoxicated with the sound ; and when she 
played on an instrument, he neither heard nor 
saw aught else save herself and her music. 

To the opinions of the world Burns paid too 
little deference : whatever he felt he said, and 
w r hat he said often glanced sharply on religion 
and on politics. He attacked the fiery zeal 
of sundry churchmen — it was called an attack 
on religion : he attacked the pride and pre- 
sumption of the titled — it was called envy and 
arrogance : he wished for more wealth among 
the poor, and more humility among the rich 
—and was branded as a disturber of the public 
peace ; and he desired to see the principles of 
the revolution of 1688 carried into effect with 
less corruption in the high places — and was 
called a jacobin, and ordered to be silent. 

What he w r as with the world at large, so 
was he with man in particular : he had no 
medium in his hatred or his love ; he never 
spared the dull, as if they were not to be en- 
dured because he was himself bright ; wealth 
he was inclined to visit as a fault on the pos- 
sessor. When in the company of the demure 
and the pious, he loved to start doubts in reli- 
gion, which he knew nothing short of inspiration 
could solve ; and to speak of Calvinism with 
such latitude of language as shocked or vexed 
all listeners, and caused him to be regarded by 
some as a free-thinker or a deist. In his oavu 
household he was another man : he was an 
affectionate husband and a dutiful father ; he 
loved to teach his boys their duty to God and 
to their neighbour. To Mrs. Haugh — a most 
respectable woman — in whose house he lived in 
the Bank- Vermel, and who was much with him 
during his long illness — he lamented that he 
had sometimes doubted the truths of Scripture 1 
he found them to be his consolation at last. 

K 2 'X 

- = r- ~ : © 



132 



LIFE OF BUBNS. 



I have no wish to shut my eyes on the follies 
of the Poet : they have darkened other narra- 
tives than mine. The memoir of Heron, the 
criticism of Jeffrey, and the communications of 
Syme have gone widely abroad. With the 
first, Burns is a coarse libertine ; with the 
second a careless drunkard, who starved his 
wife and children ; while the third describes him 
as rough and fierce, and inclined to stab the 
friend who hazarded good advice. Of the feel- 
ings of Heron, it is sufficient to say that he 
penned his depreciating memoir to meet the 
subscription for the Poet's widow and children ; 
of the opinion of Jeffrey, I may safely assert 
that he has judged amiss ; and with regard to 
the account of Syme, I can only imagine that 
it originated in some mistake on the part of 
him of Ryedale : — to suppose Burns serious, 
contradicts all the rest of his lite. Of Heron, 
the Poet must have thought when he said,— 
"I have often, in blasting anticipation, listened 
to some future hackney scribbler with the heavy 
malice of savage stupidity exulting in his hire- 
ling paragraphs." 

Barns was no tippler; he loved the excite- 
ment of company, and to see the bottle circulate; 
to others, as well as to him, 

"Every new cork was a new spring of joy." 

Nor did he know always when to retire from 
these social excesses; good fellowship was ;i^ 
a spell upon him. His own heart, always too 

open, was then laid hare. He watched the 
characters of men ; he gladdened the clever by 
the sallies of his fancy, stimulated the dull by 
his wit, and imagined that he was strengthen- 
ing the ties of friendship, and that 

" The bands grew the tighter the more they were wet." 

No doubt, later in life he desired to escape 
from uneasy reflection- -from thinking of ruined 
hopes and humbled ambition, and, seeking con- 
solation in company, he took an angel of dark- 
ness to his heart rather than one of light. I am 
assured by Mrs. Haugh, who knew him well to 
the last, that Burns drank from circumstances 
rather than inclination. An angel from heaven, 
she said, could scarcely have escaped corruption 
in his situation : he was constantly invited, nay 
sometimes almost literally dragged into company. 
Her husband now and then, as he went out by 
day -light in the morning to his work, met 
Burns coming home. The Poet never passed 
him without a word or two, expressing his sor- 
row for the life he was leading — such as, " O, 
Mr. Haugh, you are a happy man ; you have 
arisen from a refreshing sleep, and left a kind 
wife and children, while I am returning a poor 

[*" He was always anxious that his wife should have a neat 
and genteel appearance. In consequence, as she alleged, of 
the duties of nursing and attending to her infants, she~ could 
not help being sometimes a little slovenly. Burns disliked 
this, and not only remonstrated against it in a gentle way, 
but did the utmost that in him lav to counteract it, by buy- 
ing for her the best clothes he 'could afford. Anv little 



self-condemned wretch to mind." At whatever 
hour he came home, or in whatever condition 
he returned, he always spoke kindly to his wife ; 
reproachful words were never heard between 
them.* He was a steadfast friend and a good 
neighbour, raady with his hands, and willing 
to oblige : while he lived at Eilisland, few 
passed his door without being cheered by his 
wit or treated at his table. 

Of women and their fascinations he loved to 
talk freely and wildly ; the witchery of his con- 
versation, and the magic of his songs, were too 
powerful for the resolution of some ; but his 
errors in this way have been seriously exagge- 
rated. Those who were unacquainted with the 
freedoms of the muse beheld him making love 
in every song he wrote ; and young spinsters — 

" Coost their heads fu' high," 

when they saw their charms reflected in the 
brig! it verses of the Bard, and suspected their 
own fortitude. Some were less timid : one in- 
trepid young lady said she desired the Poet's 
acquaintance of all things, and intimated the 
time and place where he might meet her. He 
took a way which did not always succeed, ot 
scaring such ini pertinents. — " it is scarcely 
modest in a fine young woman," was the reply, 
" to seek the acquaintance of one whose cha- 
racter is considered so bad." To a lively land- 
lady in Dumfries, whose ale firkins were to be 
examined, he said, — " Who will go down to the 
cellar with me till I gauge the browst?" — " I'll 
go down with you myself, Mr. Burns," she 
replied. He turned round on her, and, with a 
peculiar glance, said, — " O, woman, strong is 
thy .aith !" Stories of this complexion, oftener 
for than against him, might be multiplied : — 



' Between two maids 
He had, indeed, no 



who hath the merriest eye 
shallow spirit of judgment.' 1 



The political heresies of the Poet are more 
easily dealt with. He knew that he was cre- 
ated with high powers of mind ; he was con- 
scious not only of his superiority to the peasants 
around, but to men of high title and of long 
descent, and felt himself defrauded of the station 
nature intended him to fill in society : — this is 
visible in almost all he writes. He can justify 
the ways of God to man, but he cannot justify 
the ways of man to God ; he feels that heaven 
creates nothing hereditary — neither beauty, nor 
taste, nor talent ; and he is grieved to see men 
insult the great laws of nature, and form in- 
stitutions contradicting God's divine system. 
This is the sentiment which inspires that noble 
lyric " A man's a man for a' that ;" and it was 
this feeling which made him sad and despond- 
novelty in female dress was almost sure to meet with 
patronage from Burns — all with the aim of keeping up a 
spirit for neat dressing in his wife. She was, for instance, 
one of the first persons in Dumfries who appeared in a dress 
of gingham — a stuff now common to all, but, at its first in- 
troduction, rather costly, and almost exclusively used by 
persons of superior condition." Chambers.] 



HIS MODES OF STUDY AND HABITS. 



133 



ing — which induced him bo Beek consolation in 
the shadowy images of republics, and hail with 
so much rapture the dawn of a liberty which 
promised the empire of the earth to the worth 
and genius which it produced. That Pitt did 
not feel truly, nor weigh worthily, the genius 
and sentiments of the ** meteor of the north," as 
the Poet was idly called, seems perfectly clear. 
When reminded of his claims bv Henry Ad- 
dington, he pushed the bottle to Lord Melville, 

and did nothing; his own days were shortened 

by disappointed hopes and crushed ambition. 
Had a situation worthy of the genius of Burns 
been bestowed on him, this tale had neither been 
so dark nor so sorrowful — he would not have 

perished like a caged eagle, denied the full use 
of its wings and the free range of its cloud-capt 

mountains. 
Of his modes of study and habits of life much 

has already been said : something more can be 
added, lie has told us how he delighted in the 
rushing of the storm through the leafless wood- ; 
how he nt'joiced in the out-gushing of the flow- 
ers in spring, in the song of the birds and the 
melody of running waters. In stormy nights 
he lias been known to rise from good company 
and a well- furnished table, to gaze on the 
tumultuous clouds, to mark the vivid lightnings, 
and hearken to the pealing thunder, lie loved, 
while in his farm, to stand on the scaur, and, 
when Nith was in flood, look at the red tor- 
rent bursting from the Bankhead-wood against 
Dalswinton holm, flashing and foaming from 
side to side, making the ashes and alder- of 
the banks quiver and quake. His favourite 
spot of study lies between El! island onstead 
and the Isle — where the uplands descend by 
the water side to the holm. Here the neigh- 
bouring gentry love to walk, and peasants to 
assemble — they hold it sacred to the memory 
of his musings. 

When he lived in Dumfries, he had three 
favourite walks — on the dock-green by the 
river side — among the ruins of Lincluden Col- 
lege, — and towards the Martingdon-Ford on 
the north side of the Nith. This latter place 
was secluded, commanding a view of the dis- 
tant hills and the romantic towers of Linclu- 
den, and afforded soft green-sw r ard banks to 
rest upon, and the sight and sound of the 
stream : — here he composed many of his finest 
songs. As soon as he was heard to hum to 
himself, his wife saw r that he had something 
in his mind, and was quite prepared to see 
him snatch up his hat and set silently off for 
his musing ground. When by himself and in 
the open air, his ideas arranged themselves in 
their natural order, words came at will, and 
he seldom returned without having finished a 
song. In case of interruption, he set about 
completing it at the fire-side ; he balanced 
himself on the hind-iegs of his arm-chair, and, 
rocking to and fro, continued to hum the tune, 



and seldom failed of BUCCeSS. When t he \ cr-e- 

were finished, he passed them through the 
ordeal of .Mrs. Burns' voice ; listening atten- 
tively while she BUng ; asked her if any of 

the words were difficult, and w hen one hap- 
pened to lie too rough he readily found a 
smoother — but he never, save at the n-olute 

entreacyofa scientific musician, sacrificed sin-. 

to sound. The autumn was his i'a\ ourite -ea-on. 
and the twilight his favourite hour of study. 

As a former and an exciseman he did his 

duty, and he did little more. lie was labori- 
ous by fits, and attentive by starts ; he tilled 
the ground and protected the revenue, but he 

wrought without hone in the one, and without 

heart in the other, lie endeavoured to make 
his farm yield the rent by butter and by cheese, 
as well as b\ corn ; and as this required female 
hand-, he confided it mostly to the management 

of hi- wife and maid-scr\ ants. But Elli-land 
is naturally fitter for corn than for grass ; th( 
green-sward was tiir from being SO luxuriant as 
that of the milk and butter districts of ( lunning- 
ham and Kyle: nor was ids wife siilricientlv 
intimate with the management of cow-, am! 
the guidance of a dairy. The plan of Burns to 
unite, in his own person, the poet, the excise- 
man, and the tanner, was poetic, and failed a- 
much from miscalculation as mismanagemeut. 
His duties in the Excise he performed with 
strict punctuality ; he was afraid of* bein<i 
reckoned negligent, and was always at hi: 
post. He kept his books in excellent order.- 
" Bring me Burns* book-.** said Maxwell oi 
Terraughty, a rigid and determined magistrate ; 
" it always dot's me good to see them — thej 
shew me that a warm kind-hearted man may 
be a diligent and honest officer.*' He was not 
a bustling active ganger, nor did he love to put 
himself foremost in adventures which he knew 
would end in distress to many. One clear 
moonlight morning, on being awakened by the 
clang of horses at a gallop, he started up, 
looked out at the window, and to his wife, who 
asked eagerly what it was, he whispered, "It 
is the noise of smugglers, Jean." — " Bobert, 
then I fear ye'll be to follow them V site said. 
— "'And so I would," he answered, '-were it 
Will Gunnion or Edgar Wright ; but it's poor 
Brandyburn, who has a wife and three weans, 
and is no doing owre weel in his farm. What 
can I do V She pulled him from the window. 
Many anecdotes of this kind might be told. 

Of his quick wit and caustic keenness of re- 
mark I have already given instances ; more are 
in circulation bcth in prose and verse. It is 
much, however, to be regretted that his sallies, 
where sentiment unites with gaiety, have fre- 
qu ntly escaped, as matters too light and elu- 
sive, from the public mind ; while sayings and 
retorts — sharp, personal, or profane — have re- 
mained. I shall relate a few, that nothing on 
which his spirit is impressed may be lost. II f 



=® 



134 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



disliked puns, and was seldom civil to those 
who uttered them. — " After all, a pun is an 
innocent thing," said one of his companions. — 
" Innocent !" said Burns, " no, Sir ; it is com- 
mitting • a fleed without a name' with the lan- 
guage." He disliked to hear great people 
talked about more than they deserved. One 
who was in his company kept saying, the Earl 
of such a place said this, and Duke so-and-so 
said that. — " Be silent, Sir !" exclaimed the 
Poet ; " you are stopping our mouths by a 
royal proclamation." He loved praise— and 
loved it not the less when it came from the lips 
of an accomplished lady. — " Madam," said he 
to Mrs. M'Murdo, " your praise has ballooned 
me up Parnassus." — " My merit is not all my 
own," he said to Robert Aiken of Ayr, " for 
you have read me into reputation." He called 
once on a certain Lord, in Edinburgh, and was 
shewn into the library. To amuse himself till 
his Lordship was at leisure, he took down a 
volume of Shakspeare, splendidly bound, and on 
opening it, discovered, from the gilding, that it 
had never been read ; also, that the worms were 
eating it through and through. Some dozen 
years afterwards, another visiter took down the 
same volume, and found the following lines 
pencilled by Burns on the first page : — 

(i Through and through the inspired leaves, 
Ye maggots, make your windi] 
But, oh ! respect his lordship's taste, 
And spare his golden bindings." 

[" Even to the ladies," says Lockhari, " when 
he suspected them of wishing to make a show 
of him, he could not help administering a little 
of his village discipline. A certain stately 
Peeress sent to invite him, while in Edinburgh, 
to her assembly, without, as he fancied, having 
sufficiently cultivated his acquaintance before- 
hand. His answer was : — ' Mr. Burns will do 
himself the honour of waiting on the Countess 

of provided her Lordship will invite 

also the learned Pig/ — Such an animal was 
then exhibiting in the Grass-market of Edin- 
burgh."] 

Burns paid little deference to the artificial 
distinctions of society. On his way to Leith, 
one morning, he met a man in hoddin' grey — a 
west-country farmer ; he shook him earnestly 
by the hand, andstopt and conversed with him. 
All this was seen by a young Edinburgh blood, 
who took the poet roundly to task for this de- 
fect of taste. — u Why, you fantastic gomeral," 
said Burns, "it was not the grey coat, the 
scone-bonnet, and the Sanquhar boot-hose I 
spoke to, but the man that was in them ; and 
the man, Sir, for true worth, would weigh you 
and me, and ten more such, doAvn any day." 
His discernment was great : when Scott was 
quite a lad he caught the notice of the Poet, by 
naming the author of some verses describing a 
soldier lying dead on the snow. Burns re- 
garded the future minstrel with sparkling eyes, 



and said, "Young man, you have begun to 
consider these things early." He paused on 
seeing Scott's flushing face — shook him by the 
hand, saying in a deep tone, " This boy will be 
heard of yet." 

Speaking one day of his own poetry, Burns 
said, " I have much to answer for: my success 
in rhyme has produced a shoal of ill-spawned 
monsters who imagine, because they make words 
clink, they are poets. It requires a will-o'- 
wisp to pass over the quicksands and quagmires 
of the Scottish dialect. I am spunkie — they 
follow me, and sink." 

On hearing a gentleman sneering at the Solemn 
League and Covenant, and calling it ridiculous 
itical, the Poet eyed him across the 
table, and exclaimed, 

"The Solemn League and Covenant 

Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland tears — 
But it scaled Freedom's sacred cause : — 
If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers." 

Of the farm of Ellisland, when some one said 
it was good ground, Burns answered,*' And so 
it is, save what is composed of stones. It is not 
land, Sir ; it is the riddlings of the creation !" 
While he was at Moffat once with Clarke the 
composer, the Poet called for a bumper of 
brandy.—" Oh, not a bumper," said the mu- 
sician — "I prefer two small glasses." — "Two 
glasses!" cried Burns, "why, you are like the 
lass in Kyle, who said she would rather be 
kissed twice bare-headed than once with her 
bonnet on." At the table of Maxwell of Ter- 
raughty, when one of the guests chose to talk 
of the .Dukes and Earls with whom lie had 
drunk or dined, Burns silenced him with an 
epigram : — 

" What of earls with whom you have supt, 

And of dukes that you dined with yestreen ? 
Lord ! an insect's an insect at most, 
Though it crawl on the curls of a queen." 

On one occasion, being storm-stayed at Lam- 
ington in Clydesdale, he went to church, but 
was so little pleased with the preacher and the 
place, that he left the following poetic record on 
the church-window : — ■ 

" As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in't but few ; 
As cauld a minister 's e'er spak, 
Ye'se a' be het ere I come back." 

[" Sir Walter Scott," says Lockhart, " pos- 
sessed a tumbler, on which were the following 
verses, written by Burns on the arrival of a 
friend, Mr. W. Stewart, factor to a gentleman 
of Nithsdale. The landlady being very wroth 
at what she considered the disfigurement of her 
glass, a gentleman present appeased her by 
paying down a shilling, and carried off the 
relic : — 

"You're welcome, Willie Stewart, 
You're welcome, Willie Stewart ; 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May 
That's half sae welcome 's thou art. 



BURNS, AS A POET. 



135 



" Come, bumpers high, express your joy, 
The bowl we maun renew it ; 
The tappit-hen gae bring her lien 
To welcome Willie Stewart. 

'• May foes be strain?, and friends lie slack, 
Ilk action may he rut- it ; 
May woman on him turn her back 
That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart!"] 

"Idined with Burns,"said M t iagu, 

\ "bigland : he was \\ il ty ; drank a • othi rs 
drank; and was long in coming to the tea- 
table. It was then the fashion for 

to lie busy about something — I was working a 
flower. The Poet sat down beside mo, talked 
of the beauty of what 1 v. 
put Ins hand so near the work, that I 
' Well, take it, and do a bit yourself.' — * ( >, ho ! ' 
said ho, 'you think my hand is unsteady A\ith 
wine. I cannot work a flower, madam ; but — ' 
he palled the thread out of the needle, and re- 
threaded it in a moment — 'can a tipsy man do 
that r He talked to me of his children, more 
particularly of his eldest son, and called him 
a promising boy — 'And yet, madam,' he 
with a sarcastic glance of his eye. ' I ho] 
will turn out a glorious blockhead, and BO make 
his fortune.'" Burns assumed, as well he 
might, the title of Poet : he Avas none of those 
who insult the taste of their admirers by depre- 
ciating the merit of their own works : on one 
of his books, in my possession, there is written, 
in his own rough, free, manly hand, " Robert 
Burns, Poet;'' an imitation of this is added 
to the admirable portrait which embellishes 
this edition. On the collar of a favourite dog 
he had the same words engraven. 

As a poet, Burns stands in the first rank : 
his conceptions are original ; his thoughts new 
and weighty ; his manner unborrowed ; and 
even his language is his own. He owes no 
honour to his subjects, for they are all of an 
ordinary kind, such as humble life around him 
presented : he sought neither in high station 
nor in history for matter to his muse, and yet 
all his topics are simple, natural, and to be 
found without research. The Scottish bards, 
who preceded him, selected subjects which ob- 
tained notice from their oddity, and treated 
them in a w T ay singular and outre. The verses 
of the first and fifth James, as well as those of 
Ramsay and Fergusson, are chiefly a succession 
of odd and ludicrous pictures, as true as truth 
itself, and no more. To their graphic force of 
delineation Burns added sentiment and passion, 
and an elegant tenderness and simplicity. He 
took topics familiar to all ; the Daisy grew on 
the lands he ploughed ; the Mouse" built her 
nest on his own stubble-field ; the Haggis 
smoked on his own board ; the Scotch Drink 
whieh he sung was distilled on the banks of 
Doon ; the Dogs that conversed so wittily and 
wisely were his own collies j Tarn O'Shanter 



was a merry husbandman of hi« own acquaint- 
ance; and even the " De'il himself" was fa- 
miliar to all, and had often alarmed, by his 
eldritch croon, and the marks of his cloven foot, 
the pastoral people of Kyle. Burns was the 
first who taught the world that in lowly sub- 
jects high | letry resided. Touched by him, 
they wen lifted a1 once into of in- 

: I is spirit ascend* d into an hui 
topic, as th to en- 

dow It with beauty and fi i 

Bur ! Poet ; he o 

notion or of the 

materials of his poetry ti ! -he is the 

offspri natural to 

land a .11 his 

like our nocti of the 

north. Nor has he tak< a up 
his soi - and 

chang< m— it is oi* the 

human hei rt of the mi and fears, 

and o aspirations. ' >th< rs give us 

itwi nl form and pressure of society — the 
e— the laced la- 
pelle and the epauletted shouldi r. He gives us 
flesh and blood; all he has he holds in common 
with mankind, yet all is national and Scottish. 
We can see to whom other bards have looked 
up for inspiration — like fruit of the finest sort, 
they smack of the stock on which they were 
grafted. Burns read Young, Thomson, Shen- 
stone, and Shakspeare ; yet there is nothing 
of Young, Thomson, Shenstone, or Shakspeare 
about him ; nor is there much of the old bal- 
lad. His light is of nature, like sunshine, and 
not reflected. When, in after life, he tried 
imitation, his " Epistle to Graham of Fintray " 
shewed satiric power and polish little inferior 
to Dry den. 

He is not only one of the truest and best of 
Scottish Poets, but, in ease, fire, and passion, 
he is second to none save Shakspeare. I know 
of no one besides, whose verse flows forth so 
sparkling and spontaneous. On the lines of 
other bards we see marks of care and study — 
now and then they are happy, but they are as 
often elaborated out and brightened like a key 
by frequent handling. Burns is seldom or never 
so — he wrote from the impulse of nature — he 
w r rote because his passions raged like so many- 
demons till they got vent in rhyme. Others 
sit and solicit the muse, like a coy mistress, to 
be kind ; she came to Burns " unsent for,'"' like 
the "bonnie lass" in the song, and showered 
her favours freely. The strength was equal to 
the harmony ; rugged westlin words w T ere taken 
from the lips of the weaver and the ploughman, 
and adorned with melody and feeling; and 
familiar phrases w r ere picked up from shepherds 
and mechanics, and rendered as musical as 
Apollo's lute. — " I can think of no verse since 
Shakspeare's," said Pitt to Henry Addington, 
" which comes so sw r eetly an«d at once from 



136 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



nature. ' Out of the eater came forth meat :' " 
— but the premier praised whom he starved. 
Burns was not a Poet by fits and starts ; the 
mercury of his genius stood always at the in- 
spired point ; like the fairy's drinking-cup, the 
fountain of his fancy was ever flowing and ever 
full. He had, it is* true, set times and seasons 
when the fruits of his mind were more than 
usually abundant ; but the songs of spring 
were equal to those of summer — those of sum- 
mer were not surpassed by those of autumn ; 
the quantity might be different, the flavour and 
richness were ever the same. 

His variety is equal to his originality. His 
humour, his gaiety, his tenderness, and his 
pathos come all in a breath ; they come freely, 
for they come of their own accord ; nor are 
they huddled together at random, like doves 
and crows in a flock ; the contrast is never of- 
fensive ; the comic slides easily into the serious, 
the serious into the tender, and the tender into 
the pathetic. The witch's cup, out of which 
the wondering rustic drank seven kinds of wine 
at once, was typical of the muse of Burns. It 
is this which has made him welcome to all 
readers. — "No poet," says Scott, "with the 
exception of Shakspeare, ever possessed the 
power of exciting the most varied and discord- 
ant emotions with such rapid transitions." 

Notwithstanding the uncommon ease and 
natural elegance of his musings — the sweet and 
impassioned tone of his verse, critics have not 
been wanting who perceived in his works the 
humility of his origin. Yet his poems, I re- 
member well enough, were considered by many, 
at first, as the labours of some gentleman who 
assumed the rustic for the sake of indulging in 
satire ; their knowledge was reckoned beyond 
the reach, and their flights above the power, of 
a simple ploughman. Something of this belief 
may be seen in Mrs. Scott of Wauchope's 
letter ; and when it was known for a truth that 
the author was a ploughman, many lengthy 
discussions took place concerning the way in 
which the Poet had acquired his knowledge. 
Ayr race-course was pointed out as the likely 
scenes of his studies of high life, wliere he 
found what was graceful and elegant ! When 
Jeffrey wrote his depreciating criticism, he for- 
got that Burns had studied politeness in the 
very school where he himself was polished. 
The stanza, in the lines on meeting with Lord 
Daer, commencing : — 

" I've been at drunken writers' feasts," 

claims a scholarship w r hi.ch the critic might 
have respected. If sharp epigrams, familiar 
gallantry, love of independence, and a leaning 
to the tumid be, as that critic assures us, true 
symptoms of vulgar birth, then Swift was a 
scavenger, Rochester a coalheaver, Pope a 
carman, and Thomson a boor. He might as 
well see lowness of origin in the James Stuart 



who wrote " Christ's Kirk on the green," as in 
the Robert Burns who wrote "TamO'Shan- 
ter." The nature which Burns infused into all 
he wrote deals with internal emotions : feeling 
is no more vulgar in a ploughman than in a 
prince. 

In all this I see the reluctance of an accom- 
plished scholar to admit the merits of a rustic 
poet who not only claimed, but took, the best 
station on the Caledonian Parnassus. It could 
be no welcome sight to philosophers, historians, 
and critics to see a peasant, fragrant from 
the furrow, elbowing his w r ay through their 
polished ranks to the highest place of honour, 
exclaiming, — 

" What's a' your jargon o' your schools? " 

Some of them were no doubt astonished and 
incensed; nature was doing too much: they 
avenged themselves by advising him to leave 
his vulgar or romantic fancies and grow classi- 
cal. His best songs they called random flights ; 
his happiest poems the fruit of a vagrant im- 
pulse ; they accounted him an accident — " a 
wild colt of a comet" — a sort of splendid 
error ; and refused to look upon him as a true 
poet, raised by the kindly warmth of nature; 
for they thought nothing beautiful which was 
not produced or adorned by learning. " What 
would Hums have been if a Patrician?" said 
Lord Byron. " We should have had more 
polish- -less force — just as much verse, but no 
immortality !" 

Burns is a thorough Scotchman ; his nation- 
ality, like cream on milk, floats on the surface 
of all his works ; it mingles in his humour as 
well as in his tenderness ; yet it is seldom or 
never offensive to an English ear ; there is 
nothing narrow-souled in it. He rejoices in 
Scotland's ancient glory and in her present 
strength; he bestows his affection on her 
heathery mountains, as well as on her romantic 
vales ; he glories in the worth of her husband- 
men, and in the loveliness of her maidens. 
The brackeny glens and thistly brae-sides of 
the North are more welcome to his sight than 
the sunny dales of Italy, fragrant with un- 
gathered grapes ; its men, if not quite divinities, 
are more than mortal ; and the women are 
clothed in beauty, and walk in a light of their 
own creating ; a haggis is food fit for gods ; 
brose is a better sort of ambrosia ; " wi' two- 
penny w r e fear nae evil ; " and whiskey not only 
makes us insensible of clanger, but inspires noble 
verse and heroic deeds. There is something at 
once ludicrous and dignified in all this : to ex- 
cite mingled emotions was the aim of the Poet. 
Besides a love of country, there is an intense 
love of freedom about him ; not the savage joy 
in the boundless forest and the unlicensed range, 
but the calm determination and temperate de- 
light of a reflecting mind. Burns is the bard 
of liberty — uot that which sets fancy free and 



HIS POETRY. 



■ 



187 



fetters the body ; lie resists oppression — he 
covets free thought and speech — he scorns slav- 
ish obedience to the mob as much as he detests 
tyranny in the rulers. He spoke oat like a 
bold-inspired person ; he knew his word would 
have weight with the world, and sung his " A 
man's a man for a' that," as a watch-word to 
future generations — as a spell against slavery. 

The best poems of Burns relate to rural and 
pastoral life, and describe the hopes, the joys, and 
aspirations of that portion of the people falsely 
called the humble, as if grandeur of soul were 
a thing " born in the purple," and not the free 
gift and bounty of heaven. The passions and 
feelings of man are disguised, not changed, in 
polished society ; flesh and blood are the same 
beneath hoddin* grey as beneath three- piled 
velvet. This was what Burns alluded to when 
he said he saw little in the splendid circles of 
Edinburgh which was new to him. His pic- 
tures of human life and of the world are of a 
mental as well as a national kind. His "Twa 
Dogs" prove that happiness is not unequally 
difftised : " Scotch Drink " gives us fire-side 
enjoyments; the " Earnest Cry and Prayer" 
shews the keen eye which humble people cast 
on their rulers ; the li Address to the Deil " in- 
dulges in religious humanities, in which sym- 
pathy overcomes fear ; "The Auld Mare," and 
"The Address to Mailie," enjoin, by the most 
simple and touching examples, kindness and 
mercy to dumb creatures ; " The Holy Fair " 
desires to curb the licentiousness of those who 
seek amusement, instead of holiness, in religion ; 
" Man was made to Mourn " exhorts the strong 
and the wealthy to be mindful of the weak and 
the poor; "Hallowe'en" shews us superstition 
in a domestic aspect ; " Tam O'Shanter " adorns 
popular belief with humorous terror, and helps 
us to laugh old dreads away; "The Mouse," 
in its weakness, contrasts with man in his 
strength, and preaches to us the instability of 
happiness on earth ; while " The Mountain 
Daisy" pleads with such moral pathos the 
cause of the flowers of the field sent by God 
to adorn the earth for man's pleasure, that our 
feet have pressed less ungraciously on the " wee 
modest crimson - tipped floAver" since his song 
was written. 

Others of his poems have a still grander 
reach. "The Vision" reveals the Poet's plan 
of Providence, proves the worth of eloquence, 
bravery, honesty, and beauty, and that even the 
rustic bard himself is an useful and ornamental 
link in the great chain of being. " The Cot- 
ter's Saturday Night" connects us with the in- 
visible world, and shews that domestic peace, 
taithful love, and patriotic feelings, are of 
earthly things most akin to the joys of heaven ; 
while the divine " Elegy on Matthew Hender- 
son" unites human nature in a bond of sym- 
pathy with the stars of the sky, the fowls of 
•:he air, the beasts of the field, the flowery vale, 



and the lonely mountain. The hastiest of his 
effusions has a wise aim ; — this the eloquent 
Curran perceived when he spoke of the "sub- 
lime morality of Burns." 

Had Burns, in his poems, preached only 60 
many moral sermons, his audience might have 
been a select, but it would have been a limited, 
one. The sublimest truths, like the surest me- 
dicines, are sometimes uneasy to swallow : for 
this the Poet provided an effectual remedy ; he 
associated his moral counsel with so much ten- 
derness and pathos, and garnished it all about 
with such exquisite humour, that the public, 
like the giant drinking the wine in Homer, 
gaped, and cried, ''More! this is divine!" If 
a reader has such a limited soul as to love hu- 
mour only, why Burns is his man— he has more 
of it than any modern poet : should he covet 
tenderness, he cannot read far in Burns without 
finding it to his mind ; should hedesire pathos, the 
Scottish Peasant has it of the purest sort; and 
if he wished for them mingled, let him try no 
other hard - for in what other poet will he find 
them woven more naturally into the web of 
song .' Jt is by thus suiting himself to so many 
minds and tastes that Burns has become such a 
favourite with the world ; if, in a strange com- 
pany, we should chance to stumble in quoting 
him, an English voice, or an Irish one, corrects 
us ; much of the business of lite is mingled with 
his verse; and the lover, whether in joy or in 
sorrow, will find that Burns has anticipated 
every throb of his heart : — 

" Every pulse along his veins, 
And every roving fancy." 

["Burns," says Professor "Wilson, "was in 
many respects born at a happy time ; happy 
for a man of genius like him, but fatal and 
hopeless to the more common mind, a whole 
world of life lay before him, whose inmost re- 
cesses, and darkest nooks, and sunniest emi- 
nences, he had familiarly trodden from his 
childhood. All that world he felt could be 
made his own. No conqueror had overrun its 
fertile provinces, and it was for him to be 
crowned supreme over all the 

' Lyric singers of that high-soul' d land.' 

The crown that he has won can never be re- 
moved from his head. Much is yet left for 
other poets, even among that life where his 
spirit delighted to work, but he has built monu- 
ments on all the high places, and they who fol- 
low can only hope to leave behind them some 
far humbler memorials."] 

He was the first of our northern poets who 
brought deep passion and high energy to the 
service of the muse, who added sublimity to 
simplicity, and found loveliness and elegance 
dwelling among the cottages of his native land 
His simplicity is graceful as well as strong ; he 
is never mean, never weak, never vulgar, and 



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138 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



but seldom coarse. All he says is above the 
mark of other men : his language is familiar, 
yet dignified ; careless, yet concise ; and he 
touches on the most ordinary —nay, perilous 
themes, with a skill so rare and felicitous that 
good fortune seems to unite with good taste, in 
helping him through the Slough of Despond, 
in which so many meaner spirits have wallowed. 
No one has greater power in adorning the hum- 
ble, and dignifying the plain — no one else has 
so happily picked the sweet fresh flowers of 
poesy from among the thorns and brambles of 
the ordinary paths of existence. 

[" The excellence of Burns," says Thomas 
Carlyle — a true judge, " is, indeed, among the 
rarest, whether in poetry or prose ; but at the 
same time it is plain and easily recognised — it is 
his sincerity — his indisputable air of truth. Here 
are no fabulous woes or joys ; no hollow fan- 
tastic sentimentalities ; no wire-drawn refmings 
either in thought or feeling : the passion that is 
traced before us has glowed in a living heart ; 
the opinion he utters has risen in his own un- 
derstanding, and been a light to his own steps. 
He does not write from hearsay, but from sight 
and experience : they are the scenes that he lias 
lived and laboured amidst that he decribes 5 
those scenes, rude and humble as they arc have 
kindled beautiful emotions in his soul, — noble 
thoughts and definite resolves — and lie speaks 
forth what is in him, not from any outward 
call of vanity or interest, but because his heart 
is too full to be silent. He speaks it, too, with 
such melody and modulation as he can, and 
though but in homely rustic jingle, it is his 
own, and genuine. This is the grand secret for 
finding readers, and retaining them : let him 
who would move and convince others, be first 
moved and convinced himself. I 

" But independently of this essential gift of 
true poetic feeling, there is a certain rugged, 
sterling worth pervades whatever Burns has 
written. A virtue, as of green fields and moun- 
tain breezes, dwells in his poetry, — it is redolent 
of natural life, and of handy, natural men. 
There is a decisive strength in him, and yet 
frequently a sweet native gracefulness. He 
is tender, and he is vehement ; yet without 
constraint, or any visible effort. He melts the 
heart, or inflames it with a power which seems 
habitual and familiar to him. We see in him 
the gentleness, though trembling pity, of a 
woman, with the deep earnestness, the force 
and passionate ardour, of the hero. Tears lie 
in him, and consuming fire, as lightning, lurks 
in the drops of the summer cloud. He has a 
consonance, in his bosom, for every note of 
human feeling ; the high and the low, — the sad 
and the ludicrous, — the mournful and the joy- 
ful, are welcome in their turns, to his all-con- 
ceiving spirit. And then, with what a prompt 
and eager force he grasps his subject, be it what 
it may ! How he fixes, as it were, the full 



image of the matter in his eye, full and clear 
in every lineament, and catches the real type 
and essence of it, among a thousand accidents 
and superficial circumstances, — no one of which 
misleads him ! If there is aught of reason or 
truth to be discovered, there is no sophistry, no 
vain, surface logic detains him : —quick, reso- 
lute, unerring, he pierces into the marrow of 
the question, and speaks his verdict with an 
emphasis that cannot be forgotten. Is it of 
description ? some visual object to be represent- 
ed ? No poet, of any age or nation, is more 
graphic than Burns. The characteristic features 
disclose themselves to him at a glance. Three 
lines from his hand, and we have a likeness, — 
and in that rough dialect, in that rude, often 
awkward metre, so clear and definite a likeness 
that it seems like a master limner working with 
a burnt stick, and yet the burin of a lletsch is 
not more expressive or exact. 

" This clearness of sight we may call the 
foundation of all talent. Homer surpasses all 
men in this quality ; but strangely enough, at 
no great distance below him, are Richardson 
and Defoe. It belongs in truth to what is called 
a lively mind, and gives no sure indication of 
lite higher endowments that may exist along 
with it. In all the three cases mentioned, it is 
combined with great garrulity, — their descrip- 
tions are detailed, ample, and tediously exact. 
Homer's fire bursts through from time to time 
as by accident ; but Defoe and Richardson have 
no fire, only a clear insight into the goings on 
of namre. Burns, again, is not more distin- 
guished by the clearness than by the impetuous 
force of his conceptions, — of the strength, the 
piercing emphasis, with which he thought, his 
emphasis of expression may give a humble, but 
the readiest, proof. Who ever uttered sharper 
sayings than his? who ever uttered words — 
words more memorable, either by their burning 
vehemence, their cool vigour, or their laconic 
pith ? A single phrase depicts a whole subject — 
a whole scene. Our Scottish forefathers, he 
says, struggled forward in the battle field, red- 
wat shod, giving in this one term a full vision 
of honor and carnage, perhaps too frightfully 
accurate for art. In fact, one of the leading 
features in the mind of Burns is this vigour of 
his strictly intellectual perceptions. A resolute 
force is ever visible in his judgments, as in 
his feelings and volitions; and this is at all 
times the very essence of a truly poetical en- 
dowment. 

" He was born a poet ; poetry was the celes- 
tial element of his being, and should have been 
the soul of his whole endeavours. Lifted into 
that serene ether, whither he had wings given 
him to mount, he would have needed no other 
elevation. Poverty, neglect, and all evil, save 
the desecration of himself and his art, were a 
small matter to him. The pride and passions 
of the world lav far beneath his feet, — and he 



@ -- 



HIS POETIC CHARACTER BY CARLYLE. 



139 



looked down alike on noble and on slave, on 
prince and beggar, and all thai wore the stamp 
of man — with clear recognition, with brotherly 
affection, with sympathy, andwith pity. Nay, 
we question whether, for Ins culture as a poet, 
poverty, and much suffering, for a Beason, were 
not altogether advantageous. Great men, in 
looking back over their lives, hai • 
that effect. A man like Burns might have 

divided his hours between poetry 'and \i • 

industry — industry, which all true feeling sanc- 
tions, nay, prescribes — and which b; 
for that; cause, beyond the pomp of il> 
But to divide Ids hours between poetry and 
rich men's banquets was an il] ad in- 

auspicious attempt. How could he 
at such banquets/ What had lie to ('<> 
mingling his music with the coarse roar oJ 
gether earthly voices, and brightening the I 
smoke of intoxication with lire lent from hea- 
ven? Was it his aim to enjoj Hie/ To-morrow 
lie must go drudge as an exciseman ! We ven- 
der not that Burns became mood] 
mint, and at times an offender againsl i 
rules of society; but rather thai In- did not 
grow utterly frantic, and run a. muck againsl 
them all. How could a man, as falsely placed 
by his own or others' fault, ever know content- 
ment, or peaceable diligence, for an hour .' 
AVhat he did under such perverse guidance, 
and what lie forbore to do, alike fill us with 
astonishment at the natural strength and worth 
of his character. 

"Byron — a man of endowment considerably 
less ethereal than that of Burns — was born in 
the rank, not of a Scotti>h ploughman, but of 
an English peer. The highest worldly honours, 
the fairest worldly career, are his by inherit- 
ance ; the richest harvest of feme he soon reaps. 
in another province, by his own hand — and 
what does all this avail him 1 Is he happy I is 
he good ? is he true ? Alas ! he has a poet's 
soul, and strives towards the infinite — the eter- 
nal — and soon feels that all this is hut mount- 
ing to the housetop to reach the stars. Like 
Burns, he is only a proud man, and might, like 
him, have purchased a pocket copy of Milton, 
to study the character of Satan ; for Satan also 
is Byron's grand exemplar — the hero of his 
poetry, and the model, apparently, of his con- 
duct. As in Burns's case, too, the celestial 
element will not mingle with the clay of earth. 
Both poet and man of the world he must not 
be ; — vulgar ambition will not live kindly with 
poetic adoration — he cannot serve God and 
mammon. Byron, like Burns, is unhappy ; 
nay, he is the most wretched of all men : his 
life is falsely arranged 5 the fire that is in him 
is not a strong, still, central fire, warming into 
beauty the products of a world, — but it is the 
mad fire of a volcano ; and now we look sadly 
into the ashes of a crater, which, ere long, will 
fill itself with snow. 



"Byron and Burns were put forth as mis- 
sioners to their generation, to teach it a 
. ;, purer truth : thej had a met 
1! liver which left them no resl till it was ac- 
complished. In dim throes of pain this divine 
behest lay smouldering within them: for they 

knew nol what it meant, and felt it on];, i 

iticipation, and thej had to die without 
lj uttering it. They are in the < amp 
of the unconverted ; yet n r »t as hi 

ant fellowship 
will they live there. They are first adulated, 
d ; they accomplish little for 
I nd no peac 
and the gn 

of these 

; — y< t ruined — to so 
little purpose, with all th< ir epfts. l\ 

rn moral in this piece of history, 
twice told as in our own time. Sur< ly to m< o 

of like g< niu-, if there be any such, ii carries 
with ir ale- -nn of deep significance. Surely it 
would become nub a man, — furnished for the 
■ , all 1 nt. rprises, I h the poet 

of the age, — to consider well vino; il is he 
attempts, <nu\ in what spirit he attempts it ; for 
the words of Milton were true at all times, and 
were never truer than at this : 'He who would 
write heroic poems must make his whole life a 
heroic poem.' If he cannot so make his life, then 
let him hasten from this arena; for neither its 
lofty glories, nor its fearful perils, are for him. 
Let him dwindle into a modish ballad-monger, 
let him worship and be-sing the idols of the 
time, — and the time will not fail to reward him ; 
if, indeed, he can endure to live in that capacity. 
Byron and Burns could not live as idol priests, 
but the fire of their own hearts consumed them ; 
and better it was for them that they could not ; 
for it is not in the favour of the great, nor of 
the small, but in a life of truth, and in the 
incxpun gable citadel of his own soul, that a 
Byron's or a Burns'? -trength must lie. Let 
the great stand aloof . om him, or know how- 
to reverence him. Beautiful is the union of 
wealth with favour, and furtherance for litera- 
ture : it is like the costliest flower-jar inclosing 
the loveliest on earth. Yet, let not the re- 
lation be mistaken: — a true poet is not one 
whoru they can hire by money or flattery to be 
a minister of their pleasures, — their waiter of 
occasional verses, their purveyor of table wit — 
he cannot be then* menial, he cannot even be 
their partisan. At the peril of both parties let 
no such union be attempted. Will a courser of 
the sun work patiently in the harness of a dray 
horse ? His hoofs are of fire, and his path is 
through the heavens, bringing light to all 
lands ; and will he lumber on mud highways, 
dragging ale for earthly appetites from door to 
door?"] 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



It must be mentioned, in abatement of this 
high praise, that Burns occasionally speaks 
with too little delicacy. He violates without 
necessity the true decorum of his subject, and 
indulges in hidden meanings and allusions, such 
as the most tolerant cannot applaud. Nor is 
this the worst : he is much too free in his treat- 
ment of matters holy. He ventures to take the 
Deity to task about his own passions, and the 
order of nature, in a way less reverent than he 
employs when winning his way to woman's 
love. He has, in truth, touches of profanity 
which make the pious shudder. In the warmth 
of conversation such expressions might escape 
from the lips ; but they should not have been 
coolly sanctioned in the closet with the pen. 
These deformities are not, however, of frequent 
occurrence ; and, what is some extenuation, 
they are generally united to a noble or natural 
sentiment. He is not profane or indecorous for 
the sake of being so : his faults, as well as his 
beauties, come from an overflowing fulness of 
mind. 

His songs have all the beauties, and few of 
the faults, of his poems. As compositions to be 
sung, a finer and more scientific harmony, and 
a more nicely-modulated dance of words were 
required, and Burns had both in perfection. 
They flow as readily to the music as if both the 
air and verse had been created together, and 
blend and mingle like two uniting streams. 
The sentiments are from nature ; and they 
never, in any instance, jar or jangle with the 
peculiar feeling of the music. While humming 
the air over during the moments of composition, 
the words came and took their proper places, 
each according to the meaning of the air : 
rugged expressions could not well mingle with 
thoughts inspired by harmony. 

In his poems, Burns supposes himself in the 
society of men, and indulges in reckless senti- 
ments and unmeasured language : in his songs 
he imagines himself in softer company ; when 
woman's eye is on him he is gentle, persuasive, 
and impassioned ; he is never boisterous ; he 
seeks not to say fine things, yet he never misses 
saying them ; his compliments are uttered of 
free will, and all his thoughts flow naturally 
from the subject. There is a natural grace and 
fascination about his songs ; all is earnest and 
from the heart : he is none of your millinery 
bards who deal in jewelled locks, laced gar- 
ments, and shower pearls and gems by the 
bushel on youth and beauty. He makes bright 
eyes, flushing cheeks, the music of the tongue, 
and the pulses' maddening play, do all. Those 
charms he knew came from heaven, and not out 
of the tire -woman's basket, and would last 
when fashions changed. It is remarkable that 
the most naturally elegant and truly impas- 
sioned songs in the language were written by a 
ploughman-lad in honour of the rustic lasses 
around him. 



If we regard the songs of Burns as so many 
pastoral pictures, we will find that he has an 
eye for the beauties of nature as accurate and 
as tasteful as the happiest landscape painter. 
Indeed he seldom gives us a finished image of 
female loveliness without the accompaniment 
of blooming flowers, running streams, waving 
woods, and the melody of birds : this is the 
frame -work which sets off the portrait.. He 
has recourse rarely to embellishments borrowed 
from art ; the lighted hall and the thrilling 
strings are less to him than a walk with her he 
loves by some lonely rivulet's side, when the 
dews are beginning to glisten on the lilies and 
weigh them down, and the moon is moving not 
unconsciously above them. In all this we may 
recognize a true poet — one who felt that wo- 
man's loveliness triumphed over these fragrant 
accompaniments, and who regarded her still as 
the " blood royal of life," the brightest part of j 
creation. 

Those who desire to feel, in their full force, 
the songs of Burns, must not hope it from sci- 
entific singers in the theatres. The right scene 
is the pastoral glen ; the right tongue for utter- 
ance is that of a shepherd lass ; and the proper 
song is that which belongs to her present feel- 
ings. The gowany glen, the nibbling sheep, 
the warbling birds, and the running stream 
give the inanimate, while the singer herself 
personates the living, beauty of the song. I 
have listened to a country girl singing one of 
his songs, while she spread her webs to bleach 
by a running stream — ignorant of her audience 
— with such feeling and effect as were quite 
overpowering. This will keep the fame of 
Burns high among us : should the printer's ink 
dry up, ten thousand melodious tongues will 
preserve his songs to remote generations. 

The variety, too, of his lyrics is equal to 
their truth and beauty. He has written songs 
which echo the feelings of every age and con- 
dition in life. He personates all the passions of 
man and all the gradations of affection. He 
sings the lover hastening through storm and 
tempest to see the object of his attachment — the 
swelling stream, the haunted wood, and the 
suspicious parents are all alike disregarded. He 
paints him again on an eve in July, when the 
air is calm, the grass fragrant, and no sound is 
abroad save the amorous cry of the partridge, 
enjoying the beauty of the evening, as he steals 
by some unfrequented way to the try sting thorn, 
whither his mistress is hastening ; or he limns 
him on a cold and snowy night, enjoying a 
brief parley with her whom he loves, from a 
cautiously opened window, which shews her 
white arm and bright eyes, and the shadow 
perhaps of a more fortunate lover, which ac- 
counts for the marks of feet impressed in the 
snow on the way to her dwelling. Nor is he 
always sighing and vowing ; some of his heroes 
answer scorn with scorn, are saucy with the 



HIS SONGS. 



saucy, and proud with the proud, and comfort 
themselves with sarcastic comments on woman 
and her fickleness and folly ; others drop all 
allegiance to that fantastic idol beauty, and 
while mirth abounds, and "the wine-cup shines 
in light," find wondrous solace. He laughs at 
the sex one moment, and adores them the next 
— be ridicules and satirizes — he vows and en- 
treats — he traduces and he defies — all in a 
breath. Burns was intimate with the female 
heart, and with the romantic mode of courtship 
practised in the pastoral districts of Caledonia. 
He was early initiated into all the mysteries of 
rustic love, and had tried his eloquence with 
such success among the maidens of the land 
that one of them said, " Open your eyes and 
shut your ears with Rob Burns, and there's nae 
fear o' your heart ; but close your eyes and 
open your ears, and you'll lose it." 

Of all lyric poets he is the most prolific 
and various. Of one hundred and sixty songs 
which he communicated to Johnson's Museum, 
all, save a score or so, are either his compo- 
sition, or amended with such skill and genius as 
to be all but made his own. For Thomson he 
wrote little short of a hundred. He took a 
peculiar pleasure in ekeing out and amending 
the old and imperfect songs of his country. He 
has exercised his fancy and taste to a greater 
extent that way than antiquarians either like or 
seem willing to acknowledge. Scott, who per- 
formed for the ballads of Scotland what Burns 
did for many of her songs, perceived this : — 
"The Scottish tunes and songs," he remarked, 
"preserved for Burns that inexpressible charm 
which they have ever afforded to his country- 
men. He entered into the idea of collecting 
their fragments with the zeal of an enthusiast ; 
and few, whether serious or humorous, passed 
through his hands without receiving some of 
those magic touches which, without greatly 
altering the song, restored its original spirit, or 
gave it more than it previously possessed. So 
dexterously are those touches combined with 
the ancient structure, that the rifacciamento, in 
many instances, could scarcely have been de- 
tected without the avowal of the Bard himself, 
either would it be easy to mark his share in 
the individual ditties. Some he appears to 
have entirely re-written ; to others he added 
supplementary stanzas ; in some he retained 
only the leading lines and the chorus ; and 
others he merely arranged and ornamented." 
No one has ever equalled him in these exqui- 
site imitations : he caught up the peculiar spirit 
of the old song at once : he thought as his elder 
brother in rhyme thought, and communicated 
an antique sentiment and tone to all the verses 
which he added. Finer feeling, purer fancy, 
more exquisite touches of nature, and more 
vigorous thoughts were the result of this inter- 
course. Burns found Scottish Song like a fruit- 
tree in winter, not dead, though unbudded ; nor 



did he leave it till it was covered with bloom 
and beauty. He sharpened the sarcasm, deep- 
ened the passion, heightened the humour, and 
abated the indelicacy of his country lyrics. 

" To Burns' ear," says Wilson — a high judge 
in all poetic questions — "the lowly lays of 
Scotland were familiar, and most dear were 
they all to his heart. Often had he 'sung 
aloud old songs that are the music of the 
heart;' and, some day, to be able himself to 
breathe such strains was his dearest, his highest 
ambition. His genius and his moral frame were 
thus imbued with the spirit of our old tradi- 
tionary ballad poetry : and, as soon as all his 
passions were ripe, the voice of song was on 
all occasions of deep and tender interest — the 
voice of his daily, his nightly speech. Those old 
songs were his models : he felt as they felt, and 
looked up with the same eyes on the same objects. 
So entirely was their language his language 
that all the beautiful lines, and half lines, and 
single words that, because of something in 
them most exquisitely true to nature, had sur- 
vived the rest of the compositions to which they 
had long ago belonged, were sometimes adopted 
by him, almost unconsciously it might seem, in 
his finest inspirations ; and oftener still sounded 
in his ear like a key-note, on which he pitched 
his own plaintive tune of the heart, till the 
voice and language of the old and new days 
were but as one." He never failed to sur- 
pass what he imitated : he added fruit to the 
tree, and fragrance to the flower. That his 
songs are a solace to Scottish hearts in far 
lands we know from many sources ; the poetic 
testimony of an inspired witness is all we shall 
call for at present : — 

' Encamped by Indian rivers wild, 
The soldier, resting on his arms, 
In Burns' carol sweet recalls 
The scenes that blessed him when a child, 
And glows and gladdens at the charms 
Of Scotia's woods and waterfalls.' " 

A want of chivalry has been instanced as a 
radical fault in the lyrics of Burns. He cer- 
tainly is not of the number who approach 
beauty with much awe or reverence, and who 
raise loveliness into an idol for man to fall dowm 
and worship. The polished courtesies and ro- 
mantic affections of high society had not found 
their way among the maidens of Kyle ; the 
midnight tryste, and the stolen interview — the 
rapture to meet, and the anguish to part — 
the secret vow, and the scarce audible whisper, 
were dear to their bosoms ; and they were, 
unacquainted with moving in parallel lines, and 
breathing sighs into roses, in affairs of the heart. 
To draw a magic circle of affection round those 
he loved, which could not be passed without 
lowering them from the station of angels, forms 
no part of the lyrical system of Burns' poetic 
wooing: there is no affectation in him; he 
speaks like one unconscious of the veneered and 



©= 



142 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



varnished civilities of artificial life ; lie feels 
that true love is unacquainted with fashionable 
distinctions, and in all he has written has thought 
but of the natural man and woman, and the 
uninfluenced emotions of the heart. Some have 
charged him with a want of delicacy — an accu- 
sation easily answered : he is rapturous, he is 
warm, he is impassioned — his heart cannot con- 
tain its ecstacies : he glows with emotion as a 
crystal goblet with wine ; but in none of his 
best songs is there the least indelicacy. Love 
is with him a leveller : passion and feeling are 
of themselves as little influenced by fashion 
and manners as the wind is in blowing, or the 
sun in shining ; chivalry, and even notions of 
delicacy, are changeable tilings ; our daughters 
speak no longer with the free tongues of their 
great grandmothers, and young men no longer 
challenge wild lions, or keep dangerous castles 
in honour of their ladies' eyes. 

The prose of Burns has much of the original 
merit of his poetry ; but it is seldom so pure, 
so natural, and so sustained. It abounds with 
bright bits, fine out-flashings, gentle emotions, 
and uncommon warmth and ardour. It is very 
unequal : sometimes it is simple and vigorous : 
now and then inflated and cumbrous : and he 
not seldom labours to say weighty and decided 
things, in which a "double double toil and 
trouble," sort of labour, is visible. " But hun- 
dreds even of his most familiar letters " ■ — I 
adopt the words of Wilson — " are perfectly art- 
less, though still most eloquent compositions. 
Simple we may not call them, so rich are they 
in fancy, so overflowing in feeling, and dashed 
off in every other paragraph with the easy bold- 
ness of a great master, conscious of his strength 
even at times when, of all things in the world, 
he was least solicitous about display ; while 
some there are so solemn, so sacred, so reli- 
gious, that he who can read them with an 
unstirred heart can have no trust, no hope, in 
the immortality of the soul." But those who 
desire to feel him in his strength must taste him 
in his Scottish spirit. There he spoke the lan- 
guage of life : in English, he spoke that of 
Education : he had to think in the former before 
he could express himself in the latter. In the 
language in which his mother sung and nursed 
him he excelled : a dialect reckoned barbarous 
by scholars grew classic and elevated when 
uttered by the tongue of Robert Burns. 

[THE WIDOW, CHILDREN, AND 
BROTHER OF BURNS. 

At the time of Burns's decease, his family 
consisted of his wife and four sons — Robert, 



*Mr.M'Diarmid gives a touching- account of the illness and 
death of one of the daughters of Captain James Glencairn 
Burns, on her voyage, homewards, from India. "At the 
funeral of the poor child there was witnessed a most affect- 
ing scene. Officers, passengers, and men, were drawn up in 
regular order on deck ; some wore crape round the right 
arm, others were dressed in the deepest mourning; every 



born at Mauchline, in 1780 ; Francis Wallace, 
born at Ellisland, April 9, 1791 ; William 
Nicol, born at Dumfries, November 21, 1792; 
and James Glencairn. Francis Wallace, a 
child of uncommon vivacity, died at the age of 
fourteen. The three other sons yet (1838) sur- 
vive. Robert received a good education at the 
academy of Dumfries, was two Sessions at the 
university of Edinburgh, and one at the univer- 
sity of Glasgow ; and, in 1804, obtained a 
situation in the Stamp Office, London, where 
he continued for twenty-nine years, improving 
a narrow income by teaching the classics and 
mathematics. It is remarkable that, during 
that long time he and his mother, though on 
the best terms, never once met. In 1833, hav- 
ing obtained a superannuation allowance, he 
retired to Dumfries, where he now lives. . He 
has the dark eyes, large head, and swarthy 
complexion of his father, and possesses much 
more than the average of mental capacity. 
He has written many verses far above medio- 
crity ; but the bent of his mind is towards geo- 
metry — a study in which his father was much 
more accomplished than his biographers seem 
to have been aware of. William and James 
went out to India on cadetships, and have each 
risen to the rank of major in the Company's 
service. "Wherever these men wander, at 
home or abroad, they are regarded as the scions 
of a noble stock, and receive the cordial greet- 
ings of hundreds who never saw their faces 
before, but who account it a happiness to grasp, 
in friendly pressure, the hand in which circu- 
lates the blood of Burns." — M'Diarmid's Pic- 
ture of Dumfries S* 

The only dependence of Mrs. Burns, after 
her husband's death, was on an annuity of ten 
pounds, arising from a benefit society connected 
with the Excise, the books and other moveable 
property left to her, and the generosity of the 
public. The subscription, as we are informed 
by Dr. Currie, produced seven hundred pounds ; 
and the works of the poet, as edited with sin- 
gular taste and judgment by that gentleman, 
brought nearly two thousand more. One half 
of the latter sum was lent on a bond to a Gal- 
loway gentleman, who continued to pay five 
per cent, for it till a late period. Mrs. Burns 
was thus enabled to support and educate her 
family in a manner creditable to the memory of 
her husband. She continued to reside in the 
house which had been occupied by her husband 
and herself, and 

"never changed, nor wished to change, her place." 

For many years after her sons had left her to 



head was uncovered ; and, as the lashing of the waves on the 
sides of the coffin proclaimed that the melancholy ceremony 
had closed, every countenance seemed saddened with grief 
— every eye moistened with tears. Not a few of the sailors 
wept outright, natives of Scotland, who, even when far away, 
had revived their recollections of home and youth by listen- 
ing to, or repeating, the poetry of Burns." 



HIS WIDOW, CHILDREN, AiSiD BROTHER. 



143 



pursue their fortunes in the world, she lived in 
a decent and respectable manner, on an income 
which never amounted to more than £62 per 
annum. At length, in 1817, at a festival held 
in Edinburgh to celebrate the birth-day of the 
bard, Mr. Henry (now Lord) Cockburn, acting 
as president, it was proposed by Mr. Maule of 
Panmure (now Lord Panmure), that some per- 
manent addition should be made to the income 
of the poet's widow. The idea appeared to be 
favourably received, but the subscription did 
not fill rapidly. Mr. Maule then said that the 
burden of the provision should fall upon him- 
self, and immediately executed a bond, entitling 
Mrs. Burns to an annuity of £50 as long as she 
lived. This act, together with the generosity 
of the same gentleman to Nathaniel Gov/, in 
his latter and evil days, must ever endear the 
name of Lord Panmure to all who feel warmly 
on the subjects of Scottish poetry and Scottish 
music. 

Mr. Maule's pension had not been enjoyed 
by the widow more than a year and a half, 
when her youngest son James attained the rank 
of Captain with a situation in the Commissariat, 
and was thus enabled to relieve her from the 
necessity of being beholden to a stranger's hand 
for any share of her support. She accordingly 
resigned the pension. Mr. M'Diarmid, who 
records these circumstances, adds, in another 
place, that, during her subsequent years, Mrs. 
Burns enjoyed an income of about two hundred 
a-year, great part of which, as not needed by 
her, she dispensed in charities. Her whole 
conduct in widowhood was such as to secure 
universal esteem in the town where she resided. 
She died, March 26, 1834, in the 68th year of 
her age, and was buried beside her illustrious 
husband, in the mausoleum at Dumfries/'" 

Mr. Gilbert Burns, the early companion and 
at all times the steadfast friend of the poet, 
continued to struggle with the miserable glebe 
of Mossgiel till about the year 1797, when he 
removed to the farm of Dinning, on the estate 
of Mr. Monteath of Cioseburn, in Nithsdale. 
The poet had lent him £200 out of the profits 
of the Edinburgh edition of his works, in order 
that he might overcome some of his difficulties; 
and he, some years after, united himself to a 
Miss Brekonridge, by whom he had a family 



* The household effects of Mrs. Burns were sold by public 
auction on the 10th and 11th of April, and, from the anxiety 
of the public to possess relics of this interesting- household, 
brought uncommonly high sums. According- to the Dum- 
fries Courier, "the auctioneer commenced with small arti- 
cles, and when he came to a broken copper coffee-pot, there 
were so many bidders that the price paid exceeded twenty- 
fold the intrinsic value. A tea-kettle of the same metal suc- 
ceeded, and reached £1 sterling. Of the linens, a table- 
cloth, marked 1/02, which, speaking commercially, may have 
been worth half-a-crown or rive shillings, was knocked down 
at £h. 7 s - Many other articles commanded handsome 
prices, and the older and plainer the furniture the better it 
sold. The rusty iron top of a shower-bath, which Mrs Dun- 
lop of DunLn) sent to the poet when amicted with rheuma- 
tism, was bought by a Carlisle gentleman for £\. 8s. ; and 



of six sons and five daughters. On all his boys 
he bestowed what is called occasional education. 
In consideration of the support he extended to 
his widowed mother, the poet seems never to 
have thought of a reckoning with him for the 
above sum. 

He was a man of sterling sense and sagacity, 
pious without asceticism or bigotry, and enter- 
taining liberal and enlightened views, without 
being the least of an enthusiast. His letter to 
Dr. Currie, given in the ensuing Appendix, 
shows no mean powers of composition, and 
embodies nearly all the philanthropic- views 
of human improvement which have been so 
broadly realised in our own day. We are 
scarcely more affected by the consideration of 
the penury under which some of his brother's 
noblest compositions were penned, than by the 
reflection that tins beautiful letter was the effu- 
sion of a man who, with his family, daily 
wrought long and laboriously under all those 
circumstances of parsimony which characterise 
Scottish rural life. Some years after, Mr. 
Gilbert Burns was appointed by Lady Blan- 
tyre to be land-steward or factor upon her 
estate of Lethington in East-Lothian, to which 
place he accordingly removed. His conduct in 
this capacity, during near twenty-five years, 
was marked by great fidelity and prudence, and 
gave the most perfect satisfaction to his titled 
employer. It was not till 1820 that he was 
enabled to repay, with interest, the money bor- 
rowed from his brother in 1788. Being in- 
vited by Messrs. Cadell and Davies to superin- 
tend, and improve as much as possible, a new 
edition of the poet's works, he received as much 
in remuneration for his labour as enabled him 
to perform this act of duty. 

The mother of Robert and Gilbert Bums 
lived in the household of the latter at Grant's 
Braes, near Lethington, till 1820, when she 
died at the age of eighty- eight, and was buried 
in the churchyard of Bolton. In personal as- 
pect, Robert Burns resembled his mother ; Gil- 
bert had the more aquiline features of his father. 
The portrait of Robert Burns, painted by a 
Mr. Taylor, and published in an engraved form 
by Messrs. Constable and Company a few years 
ago, bore a striking resemblance to Gilbert. 
This excellent man died at Grant's Braes, 



a low wooden kitchen chair, on which the late Mrs. Burns 
sat when nursing her children, was run up to .£3. /s. The 
crystal and china were much coveted, and brought, in most 
cases, splendid prices. Even an old fender reached a figure 
which would go far to buy half a dozen new ones, and every 
thing, towards the close, attracted notice, do^n to grey- 
beards, bottles, and a half-worn pair of bellows. The poet's 
eight-day clock, made by a Mauchline artist, attracted great 
attention, from the circumstance that it had frequently been 
wound up by his own hand. In a few seconds it was bid up 
to fifteen pounds or guineas, and was finally disposed of for 
^35. The purchaser had a hard battle to fip;ht ; but his 
spirit was good, and his purse obviously not a light one, and 
the story ran that he had instructed Mr. Richardson to 
secure a "preference at any sum under ^6'J.'' 



144 



LIFE OF BURNS. 



November 8, 1827, aged about sixty-seven years. 
His sons occupy respectable stations in society. 
One is factor to Lord Blantyre, and another is 
minister of the parish of Monkton, near Ayr. 

The untimely deatli of a third, a youth of 
very promising talents, when on the eve of 
being admitted to holy orders, is supposed to 
have hastened the departure of the venerable 
parent. 

Two sisters of Burns, one of whom is by 
marriage Mrs. Begg, yet survive. They re- 
side in the village of Tranent, East- Lothian. 

Through life, and in death, Gilbert Burns 
maintained, and justified the promise of his vir- 
tuous youth, and seems in all respects to have 
resembled his father, of whom Murdoch, long 
after he was no more, wrote in language 
honourable to his own heart : — " for a world 
of men of such dispositions : I have often 
wished, for the good of mankind, that it were as 
customary to honour and perpetuate the memory 
of those who excel in moral rectitude as it is to 
extol what are called heroic actions ; then 
would the mausoleum of the friend of my youth 
overtop and surpass most of those we see in 
Westminster Abbey I" 

We conclude this edition of his life in the 
appropriate 'words of Lockhart. " Burns, short 
and painful as were his years, has left behind 
him a volume in which there is inspiration for 
every fancy, and music for every mood ; which 
lives and will live in strength and vigour ; ' to 
soothe,' as a generous lover of genius, (Sir Eger- 
ton Brydges) has said, ' the sorrows of how 
many a lover, to inflame the patriotism of how 
many a soldier, to fan the fires of how many a 
genius, to disperse the gloom of solitude, ap- 
pease the agonies of pain, encourage virtue, 
and shew vice its ugliness !' a volume in which 
centuries hence, as now, wherever a Scotsman 
may wander, he will find the dearest consola- 
tion of his exile. Already in the language of 
Childe Harolde, has 



Scatter'dthe CLOUDS i 
The tears and praise 



Glory without end 
way, and on that name attend 
of all time ! "] 



My task is ended — farewell, Robin ! 
My prentice muse stands sad and sobbin' 
To think thy country kept thee scrubbin' 

Her barmy barrels, 
Of strains immortal mankind robbin', 

And thee of laurels. 

Let learning's Greekisli grubs cry Humph ! 
Hot zealots'groan, cold critics grumph, 
And ilka starr'd and gartered sumph 

Yawn, hum, and ha ; 
[n glory's pack thou art a trumph, 

And sweeps them a'. 



Round thee flock'd scholars mony a cluster, 

And dominies came in a fluster, 

In words three span lang 'gan they bluster 

Of classic models, 
Of Tully's light and Virgil's lustre, 

And shook their noddles. 

Ye laugh'd, and muttering, " Learning! d — i 

her ! " 
Stood bauldly up, but start or stammer 
Wi' Nature's fire for lore and grammar, 

And classic rules, 
Crush'd them as Thor's triumphant hammei 

Smash' d paddock stools. 

And thou wert right, and they were wrang — 

The sculptor's toil, the poet's sang, 

In Greece and Rome frae nature sprang, 

And bauld and free, 
In sentiment and language Strang, 

They spake like thee 

Thy muse came like a giggling taupie 
Dancing her lane ; her sangs, sae sappy, 
Cheer'd men like drink's inspiring drappie — 

Then grave and stern, 
High moral truths sublime and happy 

She made them learn. 

Auld grey-beard Lear, wi' college lantern, 
O'er rules of Horace stoitering, venturin' 
At song, glides to oblivion saunterin' 

And starless night ; 
Whilst thou, up cleft Parnassus canterin', 

Lives on in light. 

In light thou liv'st. While birds lo'e simmer, 
Wild bees the blossom, buds the timrner, 
And man lo'es woman — rosie limmer ! 

I'll prophecie 
Thy glorious halo nought the dimmer 

Will ever be. 

For me — though both sprung from ae mother, 
I'm but a weekly young half brother, 
Sae O ! forgive my musing swither, 

Mid toils benighted, 
'Twas lang a wish that nought could smother 

To see thee righted. 

Frae Kyle, w r i' music in her bowers ; 
Frae fairy glens, where wild Doon pours ; 
Frae hills, bedropped wi' sunny showers, 

On Solway strand, 
I've gathered, Burns, thy scattered flowers 

Wi' filial hand. 

And O ! bright and immortal spirit, 
If ought that lessens thy rare merit 
I've utter'd — like a god thouTt bear it, 

Thou canst but know 
Thy stature few or none can peer it 

Now born below. 



London. 1834. 



Allan Cunistivgham. 



APPENDIX TO THE LIFE OF BUKNS. 



RULES AND REGULATIONS 

TO BE OBSERVED IN 

€f)e SSatfjelorS' Cluiu 

1st. The club shall meet at Tarbolton every 
fourth Monday night, when a question on any 
subject shall be proposed, disputed points of 
religion only excepted, in the manner hereafter 
directed ; which question is to be debated in 
the club, each member taking whatever side he 
thinks proper. 

2d. When the club is met, the president, or, 
he failing, some one of the members, till he 
come, shall take his seat : then the other mem- 
bers shall seat themselves ; those who are for 
one side of the question, oji the president's right 
hand ; and those who are for the other side on 
his left — which of them shall have the right 
hand is to be determined by the president. The 
president, and four of the members being pre- 
sent, shall have power to transact any ordinary 
part of the society's business. 

3d. The club met and seated, the president 
shall read the question out of the club's book of 
records (which book is always to be kept by the 
president) ; then the two members nearest the 
president shall cast lots who of them shall speak 
first, and, according as the lot shall determine, 
the member nearest the president on that side 
shall deliver his opinion, and the member near- 
est on the other side shall reply to him ; then 
the second member of the side that spoke first 5 
then the second member of the'side that spoke 
second — and so on to the end of the company ; 
but if there be fewer members on the one v side 
than on the other, when all the members of the 
least side have spoken according to their places, 
any of them, as they please among themselves, 
may reply to the remaining members of the 
opposite side ; when both sides have spoken, 
the president shall give his opinion, after which 
they may go over it a second or more times, and 
so continue the question. 

4th. The club shall then proceed to the 
choice of a question for the subject of next 
night's meeting. The president shall first pro- 
pose one, and any other member who chooses 
may propose more questions ; and whatever one 
of them is most agreeable to the majority of the 
members shall be the subject of debate next- 
club-night. 

5th. The club shall, lastly, elect a new presi- 
dent for the next meeting : the president shall 
first name one, then any of the club may name 



another, and whoever of them has the majority 
of votes shall be duly elected — allowing the 
president the first vote, and the casting vote 
upon a par, but none other. Then, after a gen- 
eral toast to mistresses of the club, they shall 
dismiss. 

6th. There shall be no private conversation 
earned on during the time of debate, nor shall 
any member interrupt another while he is speak- 
ing, under the penalty of a reprimand from the 
president for the first fault, doubling his share 
of the reckoning for the second, trebling it for 
the third, and so in proportion for every other 
fault; provided always, however, that any 
member may speak at any time after leave 
asked, and given by the president. All swear- 
ing and profane language, and particularly all 
obscene and indecent conversation, is strictly 
prohibited, under the same penalty as aforesaid 
in the first clause of this article. 

7th. No member, on any pretence whatever, 
shall mention any of the club's affairs to any 
other person but a brother-member, under the 
pain of being excluded ; and particularly if any 
member shall reveal any of the speeches or 
affairs of the club, with a view to ridicule or 
laugh at any of the rest of the members, he 
shall be for ever excommunicated from the 
society ; and the rest of the members are de- 
sired, as much as possible, to avoid and have no 
communication with him as a friend or comrade. 

8th. Every member shall attend at the meet- 
ings, without he can give a proper excuse for 
not attending ; and it is desired that every one 
who cannot attend will send his excuse with 
some other member ; and he who shall be ab- 
sent three meetings without sending such excuse 
shall be summoned to the club-night, when, if 
he fail to appear, or send an excuse, he shall be 
excluded. 

9th. The club shall not consist of more than 
sixteen members, all bachelors, belonging to the 
parish of Tarbolton ; except a brother-member 
marry, and in that case he may be continued, if 
the majority of the club think proper. No per- 
son shall be admitted a member of this society, 
without the unanimous consent of the club ; 
and any member may withdraw from ,he club 
altogether, by giving a notice to the president 
in writing of his departure. 

10th. Every man proper for a member of this 
society must have a frank, honest, open heart ; 
above any thing dirty or mean ; and must be * 
professed lover of one or more of the female 



- © 



146 



APPEND-IX TO THE LIFE OF BURNS. 



sex. No haughty self-conceited person, who 
looks upon himself as superior to the rest of the 
club, and especially no mean-spirited, worldly 
mortal, whose only will is to heap up money, 
shall upon any pretence whatever be admitted. 
In short, the proper person for this society is 
a cheerful, honest-hearted lad, who, if he has a 
friend that is true, and a mistress that is kind, 
and as much wealth as genteely to make both 
ends meet, is just as happy as this world can 
make him.* 

The following interesting letter was addressed 
to Dr. Currie, the first biographer of Burns. 
It well deserves a place in this edition : — 

A LETTER OF GILBERT BURNS 

ON 

EDUCATION. 

Dinning, Dumfries-shire, 14th Oct. 1800. 

Dear Sir — When I threatened you in my 
last with a long letter on the subject of the 
books I recommended to the Mauchline club, 
and the effects of refinement of taste on the la- 
bouring classes of men, I meant merely that I 
wished to write you on that subject, with the 
view that, in some future communication to 
the public, you might take up the subject 
more at larsre. I had little expectation, how- 
ever, that I should overcome my indolence, and 
the difficulty of arranging my thoughts so far 
as to put my threat in execution ; till some 
time ago, before I had finished my harvest, 
having a call from Mr. Ewart, of Manchester, 
with a message from you, pressing me to the 
performance of this task, I thought myself no 
longer at liberty to decline it, and resolved to 
set about it with my first leisure. I will now 
therefore endeavour to lay before you what has 
occurred to my mind, on a subject where people 
capable of observation, and of placing their re- 
marks in a proper point of view, have seldom 
an opportunity of making their remarks on 
real life. In doing this, I may perhaps be led 
sometimes to write more in the manner of a 
person communicating information to you which 
you did not know before, and at other times 
more in the style of egotism, than I would 
choose to do to any person in whose candour, 
and even personal good will, I had less confi- 
dence. 

There are two several lines of study that 
open to every man as he enters life : the one, 



■* [It appears that our poet made more preparation than 
might be supposed for the discussions of the society at Tar- 
bolton. There were found some detached memoranda, evi- 
dently prepared for these meetings ; and, amongst others, the 
heads of a speech on the question mentioned in p. 17, in 
which, as might be expected, he takes the imprudent side of 
she question. The following may serve as a farther specimen 
«f the questions debated in the society at Tarbolton :— 
" Whether do we derive more happiness from love or friend- 



the general science of life, of duty, and of hap- 
piness ; the other, the particular arts of his 
employment or situation in society, and the 
several branches of knowledge therewith con- 
nected. This last is certainly indispensable, as 
nothing can be more disgraceful than ignorance 
in the way of one's own profession ; and, what- 
ever a man's speculative knowledge may be, if 
he is ill-informed there, he can neither be a 
useful nor a respectable member of society. It 
is nevertheless true that ' the proper study of 
mankind is man ;' to consider what duties are 
incumbent on him as a rational creature, and a 
member of society ; how he may increase or 
secure his happiness ; and how he may pre- 
vent or soften the many miseries incident to 
human life. I think the pursuit of happiness 
is too frequently confined to the endeavour after 
the acquisition of wealth. I do not wish to be 
considered as an idle declaimer against riches, 
which, after all that can be said against them, 
will still be considered by men of common 
sense as objects of importance, and poverty will 
be felt as a sore evil, after all the fine things 
that can be said of its advantages ; on the con- 
trary, I am of opinion that a great proportion 
of the miseries of life arise from the want of 
economy, and a prudent attention to money, or 
the ill-directed or intemperate pursuit of it. But 
however valuable riches may be as the means of 
comfort, independence, and the pleasure of doing 
good to others, yet I am of opinion that they 
may be, and frequently are, purchased at too 
great a cost, and that sacrifices are made in the 
pursuit which the acquisition cannot compen- 
sate. I remember hearing my worthy teacher, 
Mr. Murdoch, relate an anecdote to my father, 
which I think sets this matter in a strong light, 
and perhaps was the origin, or at least tended 
to promote this way of thinking in me. When 
Mr. Murdoch left Alloway, he went to teach 
and reside in the family of an opulent farmer 
who had a number of sons. A neighbour coming 
on a visit, in the course of conversation; asked 
the father how he meant to dispose of his sons. 
The father replied that he had not determined. 
The visitor said that were he in his place he 
would give them all good education and send 
them abroad, without, perhaps, having a pre- 
cise idea where. The father objected that 
many young men lost their health in foreign 
countries, and many their lives. True, replied 
the visitor, but, as you have a number of sons, it 
will be strange if some one of them does not 
live and make a fortune. 



ship ?" "Whether between friends, who have no reason to 
doubt each other's friendship, there should be any reserve V 
" Whether is the savage man, or the peasant of a civilised 
country, im the most happy situation?" " Whether is a 
young man of the lower ranks of life likeliest to be happy, 
who has got a good education, and his mind well informed, 
or he who has just the education and information of those 
around him ?" Currie.1 



GILBERT BURNS'S LETTER ON EDUCATION. 



147 



Let any person who has the feelings of a 
father comment on this story ; but though few 
will avow, even to themselves, that such views 
govern their conduct, yet do we not daily see 
people shipping off their sons (and who would 
do so by their daughters also, if there were any 
demand for them), that they may be rich or 
perish ? 

The education of the lower classes is seldom 
considered in any other point of view than as 
the means of raising them from that station to 
which they were born, and of making a fortune. 
I am ignorant of the mysteries of the art of ac- 
quiring a fortune without anything to begin with, 
and cannot calculate, with any degreee of ex- 
actness, the difficulties to be surmounted, the 
mortifications to be suffered, and the degrada- 
tion of character to be submitted to, in lending 
one's self to be the minister of other people's 
vices, or in the practice of rapine, fraud, oppres- 
sion, or dissimulation, in the progress ; but, even 
when the wished-for end is attained, it may be 
questioned whether happiness be much increased 
by the change. When I have seen a fortunate 
adventurer of the lower ranks of life returned 
from the East or West Indies, with' all the hau- 
teur of a vulgar mind accustomed to be served 
by slaves, assuming a character which, from 
early habits of life, he is ill fitted to support — 
displaying magnificence which raises the envy 
of some, and the contempt of others — claiming 
an equality with the great, which they are un- 
willing to allow — inly pining at the precedence 
of the hereditary gentry — maddened by the 
polished insolence of some of the unworthy part 
of them — seeking pleasure in the society of men 
who can condescend to flatter him, and listen to 
his absurdity for the sake of a good dinner and 
good wine — I cannot avoid concluding that his 
brother, or companion, who, by a diligent ap- 
plication to the labours of agriculture, or some 
useful mechanic employment, and the careful 
husbanding of his gains, has acquired a compe- 
tence in his station, is a much happier, and, in 
the eye of a person who can take an enlarged 
view of mankind, a much more respectable, 
man. 

But the votaries of wealth may be considered 
as a great number of candidates striving for a 
few prizes : and, whatever addition the success- 
ful may make to their pleasure or happiness, the 
disappointed will always have more to suffer, I 
am afraid, than those who abide contented in 
the station to which they were born. I wish, 
therefore, the education of the lower classes to 
be promoted and directed to their improvement 
as men, as the means of increasing their virtue, 
and opening to them new and dignified sources 
of pleasure and happiness. I have heard some 
people object to the education of the lower 
classes of men, as rendering them less useful, by 
abstracting them from their proper business ; 
others, as tending to make them saucy to their 



superiors, impatient of their condition, and tur- 
bulent subjects ; while you, with more huma- 
nity, have your fears alarmed, lest the delicacy 
of mind, induced by that sort of education and 
reading I recommended, should render the 
evils of their situation insupportable to them. I 
wish to examine the validity of each of these 
objections, beginning with the one you have 
mentioned. 

I do not mean to controvert your criticism of 
my favourite books, the Mirror and Lounger, 
although I understand there are people, who 
think themselves judges, who do not agree with 
you. The acquisition of knowledge, except 
what is connected with human life and conduct, 
or the particular business of his employment, 
does not appear to me to be the fittest pursuit 
for a peasant. I would say with the poet, 

" How empty learning, and how vain is art, 

Save where it guides the life, or mends the heart !" 

There seems to be a considerable latitude in 
the use of the word taste. I understand it to 
be the perception and relish of beauty, order, 
or any other thing, the contemplation of which 
gives pleasure and delight to the mind. I sup- 
pose it is in this sense you wish it to be under- 
stood. If I am right, the taste which these 
books are calculated to cultivate (besides the 
taste for fine writing, which many of the papers 
tend to improve and to gratify), is what is 
proper, consistent, and becoming in human cha- 
racter and eonduct, as almost every paper re- 
lates to these subjects. 

I am sorry I have not these books by me, 
that I might point out some instances. I re- 
member two ; one, the beautiful story of La 
Roche, where, besides the pleasure one derives 
from a beautiful simple story, told in M'Kenzie's 
happiest manner, the mind is led to taste, with 
heartfelt rapture, the consolation to be derived 
in deep affliction from habitual devotion and 
trust in Almighty God. The other, the story 

of General W , where the reader is led to 

have a high relish for that firmness of mind 
which disregards appearances, the common 
forms and vanities of life, for the sake of doing 
justice in a case which was out of the reach of 
human laws. 

Allow me then to remark that if the morality 
of these books is subordinate to the cultivation 
of taste ; that taste, that refinement of mind 
and delicacy of sentiment which they are in- 
tended to give, are the strongest guard and 
surest foundation of morality and virtue. Other 
moralists guard, as it were, the overt act ; these 
papers, by exalting duty into sentiment, are 
calculated to make every deviation from recti- 
tude and propriety of conduct painful to the 
mind 

" Whose temper'd powers 
Refine at length, and every passion wears 
A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.'* 
LS 



14 



APPENDIX TO THE L1EE OF BURNS. 



I 



I readily grant you that the refinement of 
mind which I contend for increases our sensibi- 
lity to the evils of life ; but what station of 
life is without its evils ? There seems to be no 
such thing as perfect happiness in this world, 
and we must balance the pleasure and the pain 
which we derive from taste, before we can pro- 
perly appreciate it in the case before us. I ap- 
prehend, that on a minute examination it will 
appear that the evils peculiar to the lower ranks 
of life derive their power to wound us more 
from the suggestions of false pride, and the 
" contagion of luxury, weak and vile," than the 
refinement of our taste. It was a favourite 
remark of my brothers that there was no part 
of the constitution of our nature to which we 
were more indebted than that by which " cus- 
tom makes things familiar and easy" (a copy 
Mr. Murdoch used to set us to write) ; and 
there is little labour which custom will not 
make easy to a man in health if he is not 
ashamed of his employment, or does not begin 
to compare his situation with those he may see 
going about at their ease. 

But the man of enlarged mind feels the re- 
spect due to him as a man ; he has learned that 
no employment is dishonourable in itself ; that 
while he performs aright the duties of that 
station in which God has placed him, he is as 
great as a king in the eyes of Him whom he is 
principally desirous to please ; for the man of 
taste, who is constantly obliged to labour, must 
of necessity be religious. If you teach him 
only to reason, you may make him an atheist, 
a demagogue, or any vile thing ; but if you 
teach him to feel, his feelings can only find their 
proper and natural relief in devotion and reli- 
gious resignation. He knows that those people 
who are to appearance at ease are not without 
their share of evils, and that even toil itself is 
not destitute of advantages. He listens to the 
words of his favourite poet : — 

" Oh, mortal man, that livest here by toil, 

Cease to repine and grudge thy hard estate 1 
That like an emmet thou art ever moil, 

Is a sad sentence of an ancient date ; 

And, certes, there is for it reason great ; 
Although sometimes it makes thee weep and wail, 

And curse thy star, and early drudge, and late ; 
Withouten that would come an heavier bale, 
Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale !" 

And while he repeats the words, the grateful 
recollection comes across his mind how often 
he has derived ineffable pleasure from the sweet 
song of " nature's darling child." I can say, 
from my own experience, that there is no sort 
of farm-labour inconsistent with the most re- 
fined and pleasurable state of the mind that I 
am acquainted with, thrashing alone excepted. 
That, indeed, I have always considered as in- 
supportable drudgery, and think the ingenious 
mechanic who invented the thrashing-machine 
ought to have a statue among the benefactors 



of his country, and should be placed in the 
niche next to the person who introduced the 
culture of potatoes into this island. 

Perhaps the thing of most importance in the 
education of the common people is to prevent 
the intrusion of artificial wants. I bless the 
memory of my worthy father for almost every 
thing in the dispositions of my mind, and my 
habits of life, which I can approve of; and for 
none more than the pains he took to impress 
my mind with the sentiment, that nothing was 
more unworthy the character of a man than 
that his happiness should in the least depend on 
what he should eat or drink. So early did he 
impress my mind with this, that, although I was 
as fond of sweetmeats as children generally are, 
yet I seldom laid out any of the half-pence 
which relations or neighbours gave me at fairs 
in the purchase of them ; and, if I did, every 
mouthful I swallowed was accompanied with 
shame and remorse ; and to this hour I never 
indulge in the use of any delicacy but I feel a 
considerable degree of self-reproach and alarm 
for the degradation of the human character. 
Such a habit of thinking I consider as of great 
consequence, both to the virtue and happiness 
of men in the lower ranks of life. And thus, 
Sir, I am of opinion that, if their minds are 
early and deeply impressed with a sense of the 
dignity of man, as such ; with the love of in- 
dependence and of industry, economy and tempe- 
rance, as the most obvious means of making 
themselves independent, and the virtues most 
becoming their situation, and necessary to their 
happiness; men in the lower ranks of life may 
partake of the pleasures to be derived from the 
perusal of books calculated to improve the mind 
and refine the taste, without any danger of be- 
coming more unhappy in their situation, or dis- 
contented with it. Nor do I think there is any 
danger of their becoming less useful. There 
are some hours every day that the most con- 
stant labourer is neither at work nor asleep. 
These hours are either appropriated to amuse- 
ment or to sloth. If a taste for employing 
these hours in reading were cultivated, I do not 
suppose that the return to labour would be more 
difficult. Every one will allow that the at- 
tachment to idle amusements, or even to sloth, 
has as powerful a tendency to abstract men 
from their proper business as the attachment to 
books ; while the one dissipates the mind, and 
the other tends to increase its powers of self- 
governance. 

To those who are afraid that the improvement 
of the minds of the common people might be 
dangerous to the state, or the established order 
of society, I would remark that turbulence and 
commotion are certainly very inimical to the 
feelings of a refined mind. Let the matter be 
brought to the test of experience and observa- 
tion^ Of what description of people are mobs 
and insurrections composed? axe they not uni 



MR. GRAY'S LETTER TO GILBERT BURNS. 



149 



versally owing to the want of enlargement and 
improvement of mind among the common peo- 
ple ? Nay, let any one recollect the characters 
of those who formed the calmer and more de- 
liberate associations which lately gave so much 
alarm to the government of this country. I 
suppose few of the common people who were 
to be found in such societies had the education 
and turn of mind I have been endeavouring to 
recommend. Allow me to suggest one reason 
for endeavouring to enlighten the minds of the 
common people. Their morals have hitherto 
been guarded by a sort of dim. religious awe, 
which from a variety of causes seems wearing 
off. I think the alteration in this respect con- 
siderable, in the short period of my observation. 
I have already given my opinion of the effects 
of refinement on morals and virtue. Whenever 
vulgar minds begin to shake off the dogmas of 
the religion in which they have been educated, 
the progress is quick and immediate to down- 
right infidelity ; and nothing but refinement of 
mind can enable them to distinguish between 
the pure essence of religion and the gross sys- 
tems which men have been perpetually connect- 
ing it with. 

In addition to what has already been done 
for the education of the common people of this 
country, in the establishment of parish schools, 
I wish to see the salaries augmented in some 
proportion to the present expense of living, and 
the earnings of people of similar rank, endow- 
ments, and usefulness, in society ; and I hope 
that the liberality of the present age will be 
no longer disgraced by refusing, to so useful a 
class of men such encouragement as may make 
parish schools worth the attention of men fitted 
for the important duties of that office. In fill- 
ing up the vacancies, I would have more atten- 
tion paid to the candidate's capacity of reading 
the English language with grace and propriety 
— to his understanding thoroughly, and having 
a high relish for, the beauties of English au- 
thors, both in poetry and prose — to that good 
sense and knowledge of human nature which 
would enable him to acquire some influence on 
the minds and affections of his scholars — to the 
general worth of his character, and the love of 
his king and his country — than to his proficiency 
in the knowledge of Latin and Greek. I 
would then have a sort of high English class 
established, not only for the purpose of teaching 

* Mr. Gray, the friend of Burns, was master of the High- 
sehool of Dumfries all the time that Burns was there, saw 
much of him, and was greatly attached to him. He was 
married to Miss Mary Phillips, eldest sister of my wife. She 
was the mother of his family, now mo&tly settled in India. 
From Dumfries he was translated to the High-school of 
Edinburgh, where he taught with singular success for up- 
wards of twenty years ; but, being disappointed, as he 
thought very unfairly, in obtaining the rectorship, he left 
that, and was made rector of the academy of Belfast. There 
he entered into holy orders, and soon after went out to India 
&s a chaplain in the Honourable East India Company's ser- 
vice. He was settled in Cutch, up nigh to the mouth of the 
Indus, and was greatly beloved by all lor the primitive sim- 



the pupils to read in that graceful and agreeable 
manner that might make them fond of reading, 
but to make them understand what they read, 
and discover the beauties of the author, in com- 
position and sentiment. I would have estab- 
lished in every parish a small circulating library, 
consisting of the books which the young people 
had read extracts from in the collections they 
had read at school, and any other books well 
calculated to refine the mind, improve the moral 
feelings, recommend the practice of virtue, and 
communicate such knowledge as might be use- 
ful and suitable to the labouring classes of men. 
I would have the schoolmaster act as librarian ; 
and, in recommending books to his young 
friends, formerly his pupils, and letting in the 
light of them upon their young minds, he should 
have the assistance of the minister. If once 
such education were become general, the low 
delights of the public-house, and other scenes 
of riot and depravity, would be contemned and 
neglected ; while industry, order, cleanliness, 
and every virtue which taste and independence 
of mind could recommend, would prevail and 
flourish. Thus possessed of a virtuous and en- 
lightened populace, with high delight I should 
consider my native country as at the head of all 
the nations of the earth, ancient or modern. 

Thus, Sir, have I executed my threat to the 
fullest extent, in regard to the length of my 
letter. If I had not presumed on doing it more 
to my liking, I should not have undertaken it ; 
but I have not time to attempt it anew ; nor, if 
I would, am I certain that I should succeed an . 
better. I have learned to have less confidence 
in my capacity of writing on such subjects. 
I am, dear Sir, your most obedient, 
and much obliged humble servant, 

Gilbert Burns. 



LETTER FROM MR. GRAY* 

TO 

GILBERT BURNS, 

CONTAINING OBSERVATIONS ON THE LAST 
THREE YEARS OF THE POET'S LIFE. 

It was my good fortune to be introduced to 
the poet soon after I went to Dumfries. This 
was early in 1794, and I saw him often and 
intimately during the remainder of his life. I 
have often been with him in his scenes of merri- 
ment, passing with him the social hour. I have 

plicity of his heart and manners. He was constituted tutor 
to the prince of that province, the first Christian who was 
ever so honoured in the East. He died there in September, 
1830, deeply regretted both at home and abroad. He was 
the author of ' Cuna of Cheyd,' and ' The Sabbath among 
the Mountains,' besides innumerable miscellaneous pieces. 
He has, moreover, left behind him ' India, ' — a poem in 
MS., and a translation of the Gospels into the Cutch dialect 
of the Hindostaneef. He was a man of genius ; but his 
genius was that of a meteor, it wanted steadying. A kinder 
and more disinterested heart than his never beat in a human 
b(*som. He is the fifteenth bard of the ' Queen's Wake,' 
which see for his character." — Hogg. 



150 



APPENDIX TO THE LIFE OF BURNS. 



been delighted by the constant flashes of a bril- 
liant wit, playful or caustic, as the occasion re- 
quired ; but never disgusted by anything coarse, 
vicious, or vulgar. I have not unfrequently 
enjoyed with him the morning walk — seen him 
clear and unclouded. I was astonished by the 
extent and promptitude of his information — by 
his keen inspection into human character — by 
the natural, warm, and energetic flow of his 
eloquence — and by the daring flights of his 
imagination. I have often seen him pourtray, 
with a pencil dipped in the colours of the rain- 
bow, every thing fair, great, or sublime, in 
human character or nature at large ; and along 
with those, I ever heard him the zealous advo- 
cate of humanity, religion, virtue, and freedom. 
On these occasions I have heard him quote the 
English poets, from Shakspeare down to Cow- 
per ; while their finest passages seemed to ac- 
quire new beauty from his energetic recitation. 
His countenance, on these occasions, would 
brighten, and his large dark eyes would sparkle 
with delight. At other times he would roll 
them over the purple tints of the morning sky, 
or the varied beauties of a fine landscape ; 
while he would burst out into glowing descrip- 
tions, or enthusiastic strains of adoration, wor- 
thy of the royal Hebrew bard. 

He seemed to me to frequent convivial par- 
ties from the same feelings with which he wrote 
poetry, because nature had eminently qualified 
him to shine there, and he never on any occa- 
sion indulged in solitary drinking. He was 
always the living spirit of the company, and, 
by the communications of his genius, seemed to 
animate every one present with a portion of his 
own fire. He indulged in the sally of wit and 
humour, of striking originality, and sometimes 
of bitter sarcasm, but always free from the least 
taint of grossness. I was, from the commence- 
ment of my acquaintance with him, struck with 
his aversion to all kinds of indelicacy, and have 
seen him dazzle and delight a party for hours 
together by the brilliancy and rapidity of his 
flashes, without even an allusion that could 
give offence to vestal purity. 

I often met him at breakfast parties, which 
were then customary at Dumfries ; and on 
these occasions, if he had been suffering from 
midnight excesses, it must have been apparent. 
But his whole air was that of one who had en- 
joyed refreshing slumbers, and who arose happy 
in himself, and to diffuse happiness on all 
around him ; his complexion was fresh and 
clear, his eye brilliant, his whole frame vigorous 
and elastic, and his imagination ever on the 
wing. His morning conversations were marked 
by an impassioned eloquence that seemed to 
flow from immediate inspiration, and shed an 
atmosphere of light and beauty around every 
thing it touched, alternately melting and ele- 
vating the souls of all who heard him. In our 
solitary walks on a summer morning, the simp- 



lest floweret by the way-side, every sight of 
rural simplicity and happiness, every creature 
that seemed to drink the joy of the seasons, 
awakened the sympathy of his heart, which 
flowed in spontaneous music from his lips ; and 
every new opening of the beauty or the magni- 
ficence of the scene before him called forth the 
poetry of his soul. 

As a friend, no views of selfishness ever 
made him faithless to those whom he had once 
honoured with that name — ever ready to aid them 
by the wisdom of his counsels, when his means 
were inadequate to their relief ; and, by a deli- 
cate sympathy, to soothe the sufferings and the 
sorrows he could not heal. As a citizen he 
never neglected a single professional duty ; and 
even on the slender income of an excise officer, 
he never contracted a single debt he could not 
pay. He could submit to privations, but could 
not brook the dependence of owing anything to 
any man on earth. To the poor he was liberal 
beyond his limited means, and the cry of the 
unfortunate was never addressed to him in vain, 
and when he could not himself relieve their ne- 
cessities, he was often known, by a pathetic reci- 
cital of their misfortunes, to draw the tear and 
open the purse of those who were not famed either 
for tenderness of heart or charity : on such occa- 
sions it was impossible to resist his solicitations. 

He was a kind and an attentive father, and 
took great delight in spending his evenings in 
the cultivation of the minds of his children. 
Their education was the grand object of his 
life, and he did not, like most parents, think it 
sufficient to send them to public schools ; he was 
their private instructor ; and even at that early 
age, bestowed great pains in training their 
minds to habits of thought and reflection, and 
in keeping them pure from every form of vice. 
This he considered a sacred duty, and never, to 
his last illness, relaxed in his diligence. 

With his eldest son, a boy cf not more than 
nine years of age, he had read many of the 
favourite poets, and some of the best historians, 
of our language ; and, what is more remark- 
able, gave him considerable aid in the study 
of Latin. This boy attended the grammar 
school of Dumfries, and soon attracted my no- 
tice by the strength of his talent, and the 
ardour of his ambition. Before he had been a 
year at school, I thought it right to advance 
him a form ; and he began to read Caesar, and 
gave me translations of that Author of such 
beauty as, I confess, surprised me. On en- 
quiry, I found that his father made him turn 
over his dictionary till he was able to translate 
to him the passage in such a way that he could 
gather the Author's meaning, and that it was 
to him he owed that polished and forcible Eng- 
lish with which I was so greatly struck. I 
have mentioned this incident merely to shew 
what minute attention he paid to this important 
branch of parental duty. 



PHRENOLOGICAL DEVELOPEMENT. 



151 



Many insinuations have been made against 
his character as a husband; but I am happy 
to say that I have in exculpation the direct 
evidence of Mrs. Burns herself, who, among 
many amiable and respectable qualities, ranks 
a veneration for the memory of her departed 
husband, whom she never named, but in terms 
of the profoundest respect and the deepest re- 
gret, to lament his misfortunes, or to extol his 
kindnesses to herself, not as the momentary 
overflowings of the heart, in a season of peni- 
tence for offences generously forgiven, but an 
habitual tenderness that ended only with his 
life. I place this evidence, which I am proud 
to bring forward on her own authority, against 
a thousand anonymous calumnies. 

To the very end of his existence, all the 
powers of his mind were as vigorous as in the 
blossom of their spring ; and it may be asked, 
if the numerous songs written for Mr. Thom- 
son's collection, which were his last composi- 
tions, and by many considered the glory of his 
genius, indicate any intellectual decay ? I saw 
him four days before he died, and, though the 
hand of death was obviously upon him, he re- 
peated to me a little poem he had composed the 
day before, full of energy and tenderness. 

Your brother partook, in an eminent de- 
gree, of the virtues and the vices of the poetical 
temperament. He was often hurried into error 
by the impetuosity of his passions, but he was 
never their slave ; he was often led astray by 
the meteor lights of pleasure, but he never lost 
sight of the right way, to which he was ever 
eager to return ; and, amid all his wanderings 
and his self-conflicts, his heart was pure, and 
his principles untainted. Though he was often 
well nigh broken-hearted by the severity of his 
fate, yet he was never heard to complain ; and, 
had he been an unconnected individual, he 
would have bid defiance to fortune ; but his 
sorrows for his wife and children, for whom he 
suffered much, and feared more, were keen and 
acute : yet unmingled with selfishness. All his 
life he had to maintain a hard struggle with 
cares ; and he often had to labour under those 
depressions to which genius is subject ; yet his 
spirit never stooped from its lofty career, and, to 
the very end of his warfare with himself and 
with fortune, he continued strong in its inde- 
pendence. The love of posthumous fame was 
the master passion of his soul, which kept all 
others in subordination, and prevented them 
from running into that disorder which his great 
susceptibility to all those objects which pleased 
his fancy or interested his heart, and the viva- 
city of all his emotions might, without this re- 
gulating principle, have produced. Amidst the 
darkest overshadowings of his fate, or the most 
alluring temptations of pleasure, it was his con- 
soling and leading star ; and, as it directed his 
eye to distant ages, it was often his only sup- 
port in the one, and the most powerful check 



against the dangerous indulgence of the other- 
Possessing an eloquence that might have guided 
the councils of nations, and which would have 
been eagerly courted by any party, he would 
have perished by famine rather than submit to 
the degradation of becoming the tool of faction. 
It is a known fact that he rejected a sum equal 
to his whole annual income, for the support of 
those measures which he thought most for the 
interests of the country. He had a loftiness of 
sentiment that raised him above making his 
genius a hireling even in a good cause, and his 
laurels were never stained by a single act of 
venality. 

Though his chosen companions were not more 
remarkable for talent than for the respectabi- 
lity of their character, and the purity of their 
lives, and many ladies, of the most delicate and 
cultivated minds and elegant manners, were 
numbered among his friends, who clung to him 
through good and through bad report, and still 
cherish an affectionate and enthusiastic regard 
for his memory, yet has he been accused of 
being addicted to low company. Qualified for 
the noblest employments, he was condemned to 
drudge in the lowest occupations — often in 
scenes where to avoid contamination was an 
effort of virtue. Accumulated misfortunes, and 
the cruelty of mankind, actually broke, his 
heart, and hurried him to a premature grave, 
which to him has been no sanctuary, for the 
voice of calumny has been heard even there ; 
but prejudices will pass away, and posterity will 
do him justice. I shall deem it the proudest 
work of my life, if my feeble efforts shall be in 
the slightest degree instrumental in correcting 
erroneous opinions, which have been too long 
and too widely circulated. 

I am, &c, 

James Gray. 
+ 

PjjmwTocjtcal 39*&eIoptmntt 

OF 

BURNS. 

THE CRANIUM OP BURNS. 

At the opening of the Mausoleum, March 
1834, for the interment of Mrs. Burns, it was 
resolved by some citizens of Dumfries, with the 
concurrence of the nearest relative of the widow, 
to raise the cranium of the poet from the grave, 
and have a cast moulded from it, with a view 
to gratifying the interest likely to be felt by the 
students of phrenology respecting its peculiar 
developement. This purpose was carried into 
effect during the night between the 31st March 
and the 1st April, and the following is the de- 
scription of the cranium, drawn up at the time 
by Mr. A. Blacklock, surgeon, one of the indi- 
viduals present : — 

" The cranial bones were perfect in every re- 
spect, if we except a little erosion of their 



152 



APPENDIX TO THE LIFE OF BURNS. 



external table, and firmly held together by 
their sutures ; even the delicate bones of the 
orbits, with the trifling exception of the os 
unguis in the left, were sound, and uninjured 
by death and the grave. The superior maxil- 
lary bones still retained the four most posterior 
teeth on each side, including the dentes sapien- 
tiae, and all without spot or blemish ; the inci- 
sores, cuspidati, &c, had, in all probability, 
recently dropped from the jaw, for the alveoli 
were but little decayed. The bones of the face 
and palate were also sound. Some small por- 
tions of black hair, with a very few grey hairs 
intermixed, were observed while detaching some 
extraneous matter from the occiput. Indeed, 
nothing could exceed the high state of preserva- 
tion in which we found the bones of the cra- 
nium, or offer a fairer opportunity of supplying 
what has so long been desiderated by phrenolo- 
gists—a correct model of our immortal poet's 
head : and, in order to accomplish this in the 
most accurate and satisfactory manner, every 
particle of sand, or other foreign body, was 
carefully washed off, and the plaster of Paris 
applied with all the tact and accuracy of an 
experienced artist. The cast is admirably 
taken, and cannot fail to prove highly interest- 
ing to phrenologists and others. 

Having completed our intention, the skull, 
securely enclosed in a leaden case, was again 
committed to the earth, precisely where we 
found it. Archd. Blacklock." 

A cast from the skull having been transmit- 
ted to the Phrenological Society of Edinburgh, 
the following view of the cerebral developement 
of Burns was drawn up by Mr. George Combe, 
and published in connection with four views of 
the cranium : — 



'I.— DIMENSIONS OF THE SKULL. 



n 22i 



Greatest circumference, 

From Occipital Spine to Individuality, 

over the top of the head, . .14 
Ear to ear vertically over the top 

of the head, . . . 13 
Philoprogenitiveness to Individuality, 

(greatest length), ... 8 

Concentrativeness to Comparison, . 7£ 

Ear to Philoprogenitiveness, . 4-£ 

Individuality, 4f 

Benevolence, . . 5£ 

Firmness, . . . 5£ 

Destructiveness to Destructiveness, 5f 

Secretiveness to Secretiveness, . 5| 

Cautiousness to Cautiousness, . 5| 

■ Ideality to Ideality, 4| 

Constructiveness to Constructiveness, 4£ 

Mastoid Process to Mastoid Process, 4| 

II.— DEVELOPEMENT OF THE ORGANS. 

Scale. 

1. Amativeness, rather large . . 16 

2. Philoprogenitiveness, very large, 20 

3. Concentrativeness, large, . . 18 



Adhesiveness, very large. 
Combativeness, very large, 
Destructiveness, large, 
Secretiveness, large . . 
Acquisitiveness, rather large, 
Constructiveness, full, 
Self-Esteem, large, 
Love of Approbation, very largi 
Cautiousness, large, 
Benevolence, very large, 
Veneration, large, 
Firmness, full, 
Conscientiousness, full 
Hope, full, 
Wonder, large, . 
Ideality, large, 
Wit, or Mirthfulness, full 
Imitation, large, 
Individuality, large, 
Form, rather large, 
Size, rather large, 
Weight, rather large, 
Colouring, rather large, 
Locality, large, 
Number, rather full, . 
Order, fuii, 
Eventuality, large, 
Time, rather large, 
Tune, full, 

Language, uncertain. 
Comparison, rather large, 
Causality, large, 





Scale- 




20 




20 




18 


. 


19 




16 


. 


15 




18 


ge, 


20 




19 




20 




18 




15 


. 


15 




14 




18 




18 




15 




19 




19 




16 




17 




16 




16 




. 18 


. 


12 




. 14 




18 




. 16 




15 




17 




18 



6. 

7. 

8. 

9. 
10. 
11. 
12. 
13. 
14. 
15. 
16. 
17. 
18. 
19. 
20. 
21. 
22. 
23. 
24. 
25. 
26. 
27. 
28. 
29. 
30. 
31. 
32. 
33. 
34. 
35. 

The scale of the organs indicates their rela- 
tive proportions to each other; 2 is idiotcy — 
10 moderate — 14: full— 18 large ; and 20 very 
large. 

The cast of a skull does not show the tem- 
perament of the individual, but the portraits of 
Burns indicate the bilious and nervous temper- 
aments, the sources of strength, activity, and 
susceptibility ; and the descriptions given by 
his contemporaries of his beaming and ener- 
getic eye, and the rapidity and impetuosity of 
his manifestations, establish the inference that 
his brain was active and susceptible. 

Size in the brain, other conditions being 
equal, is the measure of mental power. The 
skull of Burns indicates a large brain. The 
length is eight, and the greatest breadth nearly 
six inches. The circumference is 22^ inches. 
These measurements exceed the average of 
Scotch living heads, including the integuments, 
for which four - eighths of an inch may be 
allowed. 

The brain of Burns, therefore, possessed the 
two elements of power and activity. 

The portions of the brain which manifest the 
animal propensities are uncommonly large, 
indicating strong passions, and great energy 
in action under their influence. The group 
of organs manifesting the domestic affections 



PHRENOLOGICAL DEVELOPEMENT. 



153 



(Amativeness, Philoprogenitiveness, and Adhe- 
siveness) is large ; Philoprogenitiveness un- 
commonly so for a male head. The organs of 
Combativeness and Destructiveness are large, 
bespeaking great heat of temper, impatience, 
and liability to irritation. 

Secretiveness and Cautiousness are both 
large, and would confer considerable power of 
restraint, where he felt restraint to be necessary. 

Acquisitiveness, Self- Esteem, and Love of 
Approbation, are also in ample endowment, 
although the first is less than the other two ; 
these feelings give the love of property, a high 
consideration of self, and desire of the esteem of 
others. The first quality will not be so readily 
conceded to Burns as the second and third, 
which, indeed, were much stronger ; but the 
phrenologist records what is presented by na- 
ture, in full confidence that the manifestations, 
when the character is correctly understood, will 
be found to correspond with the developement, 
and he states that the brain indicates consider- 
able love of property. 

The organs of the moral sentiments are also 
largely developed. Ideality, Wonder, Imita- 
tion, and Benevolence, are the largest in size. 
"Veneration also is large. Conscientiousness, 
Firmness, and Hope, are full. 

The Knowing organs, or those of perceptive 
intellect, are large ; and the organs of Reflec- 
tion are also considerable, but less than the 
former. Causality is larger than Comparison, 
and Wit is less than either. 

The skull indicates the combination of strong 
animal passions with equally powerful moral 
emotions. If the natural morality had been 
less, the endowment of the propensities is suffi- 
cient to have constituted a character of the most 
desperate description. The combination, as it 
exists, bespeaks a mind extremely subject to 
contending emotions — capable of great good, or 
great evil — and encompassed with vast difficul- 
ties in preserving a steady, even, onward course 
of practical morality. 

In the combination of very large Philopro- 
genitiveness and Adhesiveness, with very large 
Benevolence and large Ideality, we find the 
elements of that exquisite tenderness and refine- 
ment, which Burns so frequently manifested 
even when at the worst stage of his career . In 
the combination of great Combativeness, De- 
structiveness, and Self-Esteem, we find the fun- 
damental qualities which inspired " Scots wha 
hae wi ? Wallace bled," and similar productions. 

The combination of large Secretiveness, Imi- 
tation, and the perceptive organs, gives the 
elements of his dramatic talent and humour. 
The skull indicates a decided talent for Hu- 
mour, but less for Wit. The public are apt to 
confound the talents for Wit and Humour. 
The metaphysicians, however, have distinguish- 
ed chem, and in the phrenological works their 
different elements are pointed out. Burns pos- 



sessed the talent for satire ; Destructiveness, 
added to the combination which gives Humour, 
produces it. 

An unskilful observer, looking at the fore- 
head, might suppose it to be moderate in size ; 
but when the dimensions of the anterior lobe, 
in both length and breadth, are attended to, 
the Intellectual organs will be recognised to 
have been large. The anterior lobe projects so 
much that it gives an appearance of narrow- 
ness to the forehead which is not real. This is 
the cause, also, why Benevolence appears to 
lie farther back than usual. An anterior lobe 
of this magnitude indicates great intellectual 
power. The combination of large Perceptive j 
and Reflecting organs (Causality predominant), 
with large Concentrativeness and large organs 
of the feelings, gives that sagacity and vigorous 
common sense for which Burns was distin- 
guished. 

The skull rises high above Causality, and 
spreads wide in the region of Ideality; the 
strength of his moral feelings lay in that region. 

The combination of large organs and the 
Animal Propensities, with little Cautiousness, 
and only full Hope, together with the unfa- 
vourable circumstances in which he was placed, 
accounts for the melancholy and internal un- 
happiness with which Burns was so frequently 
afflicted. This melancholy was rendered still 
deeper by bad health. 

The combination of Acquisitiveness, Cautious- 
ness, Love of Approbation, and Conscientious- 
ness, is the source of his keen feelings in regard 
to pecuniary independence. The great power 
of his Animal Propensities would give him 
strong temptations to waste ; but the combina- 
tion just mentioned would impose a powerful 
restraint. The head indicates the elements oi 
an economical character, and it is known that 
he died free from debt, notwithstanding the 
smallness of his salary. 

No phrenologist can look upon this head, and 
consider the circumstances in which Burns was 
placed, without vivid feelings of regret. Burns 
must have walked the earth with a conscious- 
ness of great superiority over his associates in 
the station in which he was placed — of powers 
calculated for a far higher sphere than that 
which he was able to reach, and of passions 
which he could with difficulty restrain, and 
which it was fatal to indulge. If he had been 
placed from infancy in the higher ranks of life, 
liberally educated, and employed in pursuits 
corresponding to his powers, the inferior por- 
tion of his nature would have lost part of its 
energy, while his better qualities would have 
assumed a decided and permanent superiority. 

A more elaborate paper on the skull of 
Burns appeared in the Phrenological Journal, 
No. XLI. from the pen of Mr. Robert Cox. This 
gentleman endeavours to show that the charac- 



=© 



154 



APPENDIX TO THE LIFE OF BURNS. 



ter of Burns -was in conformity with the full 
developement of acquisitiveness. " According 
to his own descriptions," says Mr. Cox, " he 
was a man who ' had little art in making 
money, and still less in keeping it.' That his 
art in making money was sufficiently mode- 
rate there can be no doubt, for he was engaged 
in occupations which his soul loathed, and 
thought it below his dignity to accept of pecu- 
niary remuneration for some of his most labori- 
ous literary performances. He was, however, 
by no means insensible to the value of money, 
and never threw it away. On the contrary, 
he was remarkably frugal, except when feelings 
stronger than acquisitiveness came into play — 
such as benevolence, adhesiveness, and love of 
approbation ; the organs of all which are very 
large, while acquisitiveness is only rather large. 
During his residence at Mossgiel, where his 
revenue was not more than £70, his expenses, as 
Gilbert mentions, ' never in any one year ex- 
ceeded his slender income.' It is also well 
known that he did not leave behind him a shil- 



ling of debt ; and I have learned from good 
authority that his household was much more 
frugally managed at Dumfries than at Ellisland 
— as in the former place, but not in the latter, 
he had it in his power to exercise a personal 
control over the expenditure. I have been told 
also, that, after his death, the domestic expenses 
were greater than when he was alive. These 
facts are all consistent with a considerable de- 
velopement of acquisitiveness, for, when that 
organ is small, there is habitual inattention to 
pecuniary concerns, even although the love of 
independence and dislike to ask a favour be 
strong. The indifference with respect to money, 
which Burns occasionally ascribes to himself, 
appears therefore to savour of affectation — a 
failing into which he was not unfrequently led 
by love of approbation and secretiveness. In- 
deed, in one of his letters to Miss Chalmers, he 
expressly intimates a wish to be rich." The 
whole of this essay is highly worthy of perusal 
by all who take an interest in the character of 
the Ayr-shire bard.] 



POEMS WRITTEN IN MEMORY OF BURNS. 

[The following poems form part of a vast number of verses written at various periods and in various moods in memory of 
Burns : too few perhaps are selected ; but to admit all would be to print a volume.] 



A POEM ADDRESSED TO BURNS 

BY 

MR. TELFORD.* 

" A great number of manuscript poems," says 
Dr. Currie, " were found among the papers of 
Burns, addressed to him by admirers of his 
genius, from different parts of Britain, as well 
as from Ireland and America. Among these 
was a poetical epistle from Mr. Telford, of 
Shrewsbury, of superior merit. It is written in 
the dialect of Scotland (of which country Mr. 
Telford is a native) and in the versification gen- 
erally employed by our Poet himself. Its ob- 
ject was to recommend to him other subjects of 
a serious nature, similar to that of ' the Cotter's 
Saturday Night ;' and the reader will find that 
the advice was happily enforced by example : — 

Pursue, O Burns ! thy happy style, 

" Those manner-painting strains," that while 

They bear me northward mony a mile, 

Recall the days 
When tender joys, with pleasing smile, 

Blest my young ways. 

I see my fond companions rise, 
I join the happy village joys, 
I see our green hills touch the skies, 
And thro' the woods 



* The late eminent engineer. 

t The banks of the Esk, in Dumfries-shire, are here 
alluded to. 

% A beautiful little mount, which stands a little before, or 



I hear the river's rushing noise, 

Its roaring floods. f 

No distant Swiss with warmer glow, 
E'er heard his native music flow, 
Nor could his wishes stronger grow, 

Than still have mine, 
When up this ancient mount J I go 

With songs of thine. 

O happy Bard ! thy gen'rous flame, 
Was given to raise thy country's fame ; 
For this thy charming numbers came, 

Thy matchless lays ; 
Then sing and save her virtuous name, 

To latest days. 
* * * * * 

But mony a theme awaits thy muse, 
Fine as thy Cotter's sacred views, 
Then in such verse thy soul infuse, 

With holy air, 
And sing the course the pious chuse, 

With all thy care. 

How with religious awe imprest, 

They open lay upon his breast, 

And youth and age with fears distrest, 

All due prepare, 
The symbols of eternal rest, 

Devout to share. § 



rather forms a part of, Shrewsbury Castle, a seat of Sir 
William Pulteney, Bart. 

§ The sacrament, generally administered in the country 
parishes of Scotland in the open air. 



POEMS IN MEMORY OF BURNS. 



155 



How down ilk lang withdrawing hill, 
Successive crowds the valleys fill, 
While pure religious converse still 

Beguiles the way, 
And gives a cast to youthful will, 

To suit the day. 

How placed along the sacred board, 

Their hoary pastor's looks ador'd ; 

His voice with peace and blessings stor'd, 

Sent from above ; 
And faith, and hope, and joy afford, 

And boundless love. 

O'er this with warm seraphic glow, 
Celestial beings pleased bow, 
And, whisper'd, hear the holy vow, 

'Mid grateful tears ; 
And mark amid such scenes below 

Their future peers. 

O mark the awful, solemn scene !* 
When hoary winter clothes the plain, 
Along the snowy hills is seen 

Approaching slow, 
In mourning weeds the village train, 

In silent woe. 

Some much-respected brother's bier 
(By turns in pious task they share) 
With heavy hearts they forward bear 

Along the path ; 
Where nei'bours saw, in dusky air, -J- 

The light of death. 

And when they pass the rocky brow, 
Where binwood bushes o'er them flow, 
And move around the rising knowe, 

Where far away 
The kirk-yard trees are seen to grow, 

By th' water brae. 

Assembled round the narrow grave, 
While o'er them wintry tempests rave, 
In the cold wind their grey locks wave, 

As low they lay 
Their brother's body 'mongst the lave 

Of parent clay. 

Expressive looks from each declare 
The griefs within their bosoms bear, 
One holy vow devout they share, 

Then home return, 
And think o'er all the virtues fair 

Of him they mourn. 
***** 
Say how, by early lessons taught, 
(Truth's pleasing air is willing caught) 
Congenial to th' untainted thought, 

The shepherd boy, 
Who tends his flocks on lonely height, 

Feels holy joy. 



* A Scottish funeral. 

f This alludes to a superstition prevalent in Eskdale and 



Is aught on earth so lovely known, 
On sabbath morn, and far alone, 
His guileless soul all naked shown 

Before his God ? 
Such pray'rs must welcome reach the throne^ 

And blest abode. 

O tell ! with what a heartfelt joy, 
The parent eyes the virtuous boy ; 
And all his constant kind employ 

Is how to give 
The best of lear he can enjoy, 

As means to live* 

The parish school, its curious site, 
The master who can clear indite, 
And lead him on to count and write, 

Demand thy care ; 
Nor pass the ploughman's school at night 

Without a share. 

Nor yet the tenty curious lad, 
Who o'er the ingle hings his head, 
And begs of nei'bours books to read ; 

For hence arise 
Thy country's sons who far are spread, 

Baith bauld and wise. 

The bonny lasses, as they spin,- 
Perhaps with Allan's sangs begin, 
How Tay and Tweed smooth flowing rin 

Thro' flow'ry hows ; 
Where shepherd lads their sweethearts win 

With earnest vows. 

Or maybe, Burns, thy thrilling page, 
May a' their virtuous thoughts engage, 
While playful youth and placid age 

In concert join 
To bless the Bard who, gay or sage, 

Improves the mind. 
* * _ * * * 

Long may their harmless, simple ways, 
Nature's own pure emotions raise ; 
May still the dear romantic blaze 

Of purest love, 
Their bosoms warm to latest days, 

And aye improve. 

May still each f;:::d attachment glow, 
O'er woods, o'er streams, o'er hills of snow, 
May rugged rocks still dearer grow, 

And may their souls 
Even love the warlock glens which through 

The tempest howls. 

To eternize such themes as these, 
And all their happy manners seize, 
Will every virtuous bosom please, 

And high in fame, 
To future times will justly raise 

Thy patriot name. 



Annandale, that a light precedes in the night every funeral, 
marking the precise path it is to pass. 



While all the venal tribes decay, 
That bask in flatt'ry's flaunting ray, 
The noisome vermin of a day, 

Thy works shall gain 
O'er every mind a boundless sway, 

And lasting reign. 

When winter binds the harden'd plains, 
Around each hearth, the hoary swains, 
Shall teach the rising youth thy strains, 

And anxious say 
Our blessing with our sons/remains, 

And Burns's lay ! 



ON THE DEATH OF BURNS. 

BY 

WILLIAM ROSCOE. 

Rear high thy Weak majestic hills, 

Thy shelter' d valleys proudly spread, 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red . 
But ah ! what poet now shall tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
Since he, the sweetest bard is dead 

That ever breath'd the soothing strain ? 

As green thy towering pines may grow, 

As clear thy streams may speed along, 
As bright thy summer suns may glow, 

As gaily charm thy feathery throng ; 
But now, unheeded is the song, 

And dull and lifeless all around, 
For his wild harp lies all unstrung, 

And cold the hand that wak'd its sound. 

What tho' thy vigorous offspring rise, 

In arts, in arms, thy sons excel ; 
Tho' beauty in thy daughters' eyes, 

And health in every feature dwell ; 
Yet who shall now their praises tell, 

In strains impassion' d, fond and free, 
Since he no more the song shall swell 

To love, and liberty, and thee ? 

With step-dame eye and frown severe 

His hapless youth why didst thou view ? 
For all thy joys to him were dear, 

And all his vows to thee were due : 
Nor greater bliss his bosom knew, 

In opening youth's delightful prime, ; 
Than when thy favoring ear he drew 

To listen to his chaunted rhyme. 

Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies 

To him were all with rapture fraught ; 
He heard with joy the tempest rise 

That wak'd him to sublimer thought : 
And oft thy winding dells he sought, 

Where wild flowers pour'd their rathe perfume, 
And with sincere devotion brought 

To thee the summer's earliest bloom. 

But ah ! no fond paternal smile 
His unprotected youth enjoy'd ; 



His limbs inur'd to early toil, 

His days with early hardships tried : 

And more to mark the gloomy void > 
And bid him feel his misery, 

Before his infant eyes would glide 
Day-dreams of immortality. 

Yet, not by cold neglect depress'd, 

With sinewy arm he turn'd the soil. 
Sunk with the evening sun to rest, 

And met at morn his earliest smile. 
Wak'd by his rustic pipe, meanwhile 

The powers of fancy came along, 
And sooth' d his lengthen' d hours of toil 

With native wit and sprightly song. 

— Ah ! days of bliss too swiftly fled, 

When vigorous health from labour springs. 
And bland contentment smoothes the bed, 

And sleep his ready opiate brings ; 
And hovering round on airy wings 

Float the light forms of young desire, 
That of unutterable things 

The soft and shadowy hope inspire. 

Now spells of mightier power prepare, 

Bid brighter phantoms round him dance ; 
Let flattery spread her viewless snare, 

And fame attract his vagrant glance ; 
Let sprightly pleasure too advance, 

Unveil'd her eyes, unclasp'd her zone, 
'Till lost in love's delirious trance 

He scorn the joys his youth has known. 

Let friendship pour her brightest blaze, 

Expanding all the bloom of soul ; 
And mirth concenter all her rays, 

And point them from the sparkling bowl ; 
And let the careless moments roll 

In social pleasures unconfin'd, 
And confidence that spurns control 

Unlock the inmost springs of mind ; 

And lead his steps those bowers among, 

Where elegance with splendor vies, 
Or science bids her favor'd throng 

To more refin'd sensations rise : 
Beyond the peasant's humbler joys, 

And freed from each laborious strife, 
There let him learn the bliss to prize 

That waits the sons of polish' d life. 

Then, whilst his throbbing veins beat high 

With every impulse of delight, 
Dash from his lips the cup of joy, 

And shroud the scene in shades of night ; 
And let despair, with wizard light, 

Disclose the yawning gulf below, 
And pour incessant on his sight 

Her specter' d ills and shapes of woe : 

And shew beneath a cheerless shed, 

With sorrowing heart and streaming eyes, 

In silent grief where droops her head, 
The partner of his early joys ; 



POEMS IN MEMORY OF BURNS. 



157 i 



And let his infant's tender cries 
His fond parental succour claim, 

And bid him hear in agonies 

A husband's and a father's name. 

"lis done, the powerful charm succeeds j 

His high reluctant spirit bends ; 
In bitterness of soul he bleeds, 

Nor longer with his fate contends, 
An idiot laugh the welkin rends 

As genius thus degraded lies ; 
'Till pitying Heaven the veil extends 

That shrouds the Poet's ardent eyes. 

— Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 

Thy shelter' d valleys proudly spread, 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 
But never more shall poet tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
Since he, the sweetest bard is dead 

That ever breath' d the soothing strain. 



ODE TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS. 

BY 

THOMAS CAMPBELL. 

Soul of the Poet ! wheresoe'er. 
Reclaimed from earth, thy genius plume 
Her wings of immortality, 
Suspend thy harp in happier sphere, 
And with thine influence illume 
The gladness of our jubilee. 

And fly like fiends from secret spell, 
Discord and strife at Burns's name, 
Exorcised by his memory ; 
For he was chief of bards that swell 
The heart with songs of social flame 
And high delicious revelry. 

And love's own strain to him was given 

To warble all its extacies 

With Pythian words, unsought, unwilled 

Love, the surviving gift of heaven, 

The choicest sweet of paradise 

In life's else bitter cup distilled. 

Who that has melted o'er his lay 
To Mary's soul in heaven above, 
But pictured sees, in fancy strong, 
The landscape and the livelong day 
That smiled upon their mutual love, — 
Who, that has felt, forgets the song? 

Nor skilled one flame above to fan 
His country's high-souled peasantry ; 
What patriot pride he taught ; — how much 



1 Major Edward Hodge, of the 7th Hussars, who fell at 



To weigh the inborn worth of man ! 
And rustic life and poverty- 
Grow beautiful beneath his touch. 

Him in his clay-built cot the muse 
Entranced, and showed him all the forms 
Of fairy-light and wizard gloom, 
(That only gifted poet views) 
The genii of the floods and storms, 
And martial shades from glory's tomb. 

On Bannock-field what thoughts arouse 

The swain whom Burns's song inspires ? 

Beat not his Caledonian veins, 

As o'er the heroic turf he ploughs, 

With all the spirit of his sires, 

And all their scorn of death and chains ? 

And see the Scottish exile, tanned 

By many a far and foreign clime, 

Bend o'er his home-born verse and weep, 

In memory of his native land, 

With love that scorns the lapse of time, 

And ties that stretch beyond the deep. 

Encamped by Indian rivers wild, 

The soldier resting on his arms, 

In Burns's carol sweet recals 

The scenes that blest him when a child, 

And glows and gladdens at the charms 

Of Scotia's woods and waterfalls. 

O deem not, midst this worldly strife, 
An idle art the poet brings ; 
Let high philosophy controul, 
And sages calm the stream of life ; 
'Tis he refines its fountain springs, 
The nobler passions of the soul. 

It is the muse that consecrates 
The native banner of the brave, 
Unfurling at the trumpet's breath 
Rose, thistle, harp — 'tis she elates 
To sweep the field or ride the wave, 
A sunburst in the storm of death. 

And thou, young hero, when thy pall 

Is crossed with mournful sword and plume, 

When public grief begins to fade, 

And only tears of kindred fall, 

Who but the bard shall dress thy tomb, 

And greet with fame thy gallant shade ? 

Such was the soldier ; — Burns, forgive 
That sorrows of mine own intrude 
In strains to thy great memory due . 
In verse like thine, oh ! could he live 
The friend I mourned, the brave, the gootj, 
Edward* that died at Waterloo ! 



the head of his squadron in the attack on the Polish lancer#, 



158 



APPENDIX TO THE LIFE OF BURNS. 



ADDRESS TO THE SONS OF BURNS 

ON 

VISITING HIS GRAVE. 

BY 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

Mid crowded obelisks and urns 

I sought the untimely grave of Burns : 

Sons of the bard my heart still mourns 

With sorrow true ; 
And more would grieve, but that it turns 

Trembling to you ! 

Through twilight shades of good and ill 

Ye now are panting up life's hill, 

And more than common strength and skill 

Must ye display, 
If ye would give the better will 

Its lawful sway. 

Hath nature strung your nerves to bear 
Intemperance with less harm, beware ! 
But if the poet's wit ye share, 

Like him can speed 
The social hour — for tenfold care 

There will be need. 

Even honest men delight will take 
To spare your failings for his sake, 
Will flatter you, — and fool and rake 

Your steps pursue ; 
And of your father's name will make 

A snare for you. 

Far from their noisy haunts retire, 
And add your voices to the quire 
That sanctify the cottage fire 

With service meet ; 
There seek the genius of your sire, 

His spirit greet. 

Or where mid " lonely heights and hows" 
He paid to nature tuneful vows ; 
Or wiped his honourable brows, 

Bedewed with toil, 
While reapers strove, or busy ploughs 

Upturned the soil. 

His judgment with benignant ray 
Shall guide, his fancy cheer, your way ; 
But ne'er to a seductive lay 

Let faith be given ; 
Nor deem that " light which leads astray 

Is light from heaven." 

Let no mean hope your souls enslave ; 
Be independent, generous, brave ; 
Your father such example gave, 

And such revere ; 
But be admonished by his grave, 

And think and fear ! 

1803. 



* This is taken verbatim from Burns' dedication of his 



TO A FRIEND 



WHO HAD DECLARED HIS INTENTION OF WRITING 
NO MORE POETRY. 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 

[ween 
Dear Charles, whilst yet thou wert a babe, I 
That genius plunged thee in that wizard tount 
Hight Castalie : and (sureties of thy faith) 
That Pity and Simplicity stood by, [nounce 
And promised for thee that thou shouldst re- 
The world's low cares and lying vanities, 
Steadfast and rooted in the heavenly muse, 
And washed and sanctified to poesy. [hand 
Yes — thou wert plunged, but with forgetful 
Held, as by Thetis erst her warrior son ; 
And with those recreant unbaptized heels 
Thou 'rt flying from thy bounden ministries — 
So sore it seems and burthensome a task [dead ? 
To weave unwithering flowers. Is thy Burns 
Thy Burns, and nature's own beloved bard, 
Who to the " Illustrious* of his native land 
So properly did look for patronage." 
Ghost of Maecenas ! hide thy blushing face ! 
They snatched him from the sickle and the 
To gauge ale firkins. [plough 

Oh ! for shame return ! 
On a bleak rock, mid- way the Aonian mount, 
There stands a lone and melancholy tree, 
Whose aged branches to the midnight blast 
Make solemn music : pluck its darkest bough 
Ere yet the unwholesome night-dew be enhaled, 
And, weeping, wreathe it round thy poet's tomb. 
Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow, 
Pick the rank henbane, and the dusky flowers 
Of night-shade, or its red and tempting fruit ; 
These, with stopped nostril and glove-guarded 
Knit in nice intertexture, so to twine [hand 
The illustrious brow of Scotch nobility ! 

1796 



ON THE ANNIVERSARY 

OF 

BURNS'S BIRTH-DAY. 

BY 

JAMES MONTGOMERY. 

What bird in beauty, flight, or song, 

Can with the bard compare, 
Who sang as sweet and soar'd as strong 

As ever child of air ? 

His plume, his note, his form could Burns, 
For whim or pleasure, change ; 

He was not one, but all by turns, 
With transmigration strange : — 



poems to the nobility and gentry of the Caledonian Hunt. 



POEMS IN MEMORY OF BURNS. 



159 



The blackbird, oracle of spring, 

When flow'd his moral lay ; 
The swallow, wheeling on the wing, 

Capriciously at play : — 

The humming-bird, from bloom to bloom 

Inhaling heavenly balm ; 
The raven in the tempest's gloom ; 

The halcyon in the calm : — 

In " auld Kirk Alio way," the owl, 

At witching time of night ; 
By " bonnie Doon," the earliest fowl 

That carolled to the light. 

He was the wren amidst the grove, 

When in his homely vein ; 
At Bannock-burn, the bird of Jove, 

With thunder in his train : — 

The woodlark, in his mournful hours ; 

The goldfinch, in his mirth ; 
The thrush, a spendthrift of his powers, 

Enrapturing heaven and earth : — 

The swan, in majesty and grace, 

Contemplative and still ; 
But roused, — no falcon in the chase 

Could, like his satire, kill : — 

The linnet in simplicity ; 

In tenderness, the dove ; 
— But, more than all beside, was he 

The nightingale, in love. 

Oh ! had he never stoop'd to shame, 

Nor lent a charm to vice, 
How had devotion loved to name 

That bird of Paradise ! 

Peace to the dead ! — In Scotia's choir 
Of minstrels, great and small, 

He sprang from his spontaneous fire, 
The Phoenix of them all ! 



ROBIN'S AWA! 

Air—' There will never be peace till Jamie comes hame.' 



THE ETTHICK SHEPHERD. 

Ae night i' the gloaming, as late I pass'd by, 
A lassie sang sweet as she milkit her kye, [fa' — 
An' this was her sang, while the tears down did 
O there's nae bard o' nature sin' Robin's awa ! 
The bards 0' our country, now sing as they may, 
The best o' their ditties but maks my heart wae ; 
For at the blithe strain there was ane beat 

them a' — ■ 
there's nae bard 0' nature sin' Robin's awa ! 

Auld Wat he is wily and pleases us fine, 
Wi' his lang-nebbit tales an' his ferlies lang- 
syne; 



Young Jack is a dreamer, Will sings like a craw v 

An' Davie an' Delta, are dowy an' slaw ; 

Trig Tarn frae the Heelands was aince a braw 
man ; 

Poor Jamie he blunders an' sings as he can ; 

There's the Clerk an' the Sodger, the News- 
man an' a', 

They but gar me greet sairer for him that's awa ! 

'Twas he that could charm wi' the wauff o' his 

tongue, 
Could rouse up the auld an' enliven the young, 
An cheer the blithe hearts in the cot an' the ha, 
O there's nae bard o' nature sin' Robin's awa ! 
Nae sangster amang us has half o' his art, 
There was nae fonder lover, an' nae kinder heart ; 
Then wae to the wight wha wad wince at a 

flaw, 
To tarnish the honours of him that's awa ! 

If he had some fauts I cou'd never them see, 
They're nae to be sung by sic gilpies as me, 
He likit us weel, an we likit him a', — ■ 

there's nae sickan callan sin' Robin's awa ! 
Whene'er I sing late at the milkin my kye, 

1 look up to heaven an' say with a sigh, [a', — 
Although he's now gane, he was king o' them 
Ah ! there's nae bard 0' nature sin' Robin's 



ON BURNS'S ANNIVERSARY. 

BY 

HUGH AINSLIE. 

We meet not here to honour one 

To gear or grandeur born, 
Nor one whose bloodiness of soul 

Hath crowns and kingdoms torn. 

No, tho' he'd honours higher far 
Than lordly things have known, 

His titles spring not from a prince, 
His honour from a throne. 

Nor needs the bard of Coila arts 

His honour to prolong ; 
No flattery to gild his fame ; 

No record but his song. 

O ! while old Scotia hath sons 

Can feel his social mirth, 
So long shall worth and honesty 

Have brothers upon earth. 

So long as lovers, with his song, 

Can spurn at shining dust, 
So long hath faithful woman's breast 

A bosom she may trust. 

And while his independent strain 

Can make one spirit glow, 
So long shall freedom have a friend, 

And tyranny a foe ! 



I GO 



APPENDIX TO THE LIFE OF BURNS. 



Here's to the social, honest man, 
Auld Scotland's boast and pride ! 

And here's to Freedom's worshippers 
Of every tongue and tribe. 

And here's to them, this night, that meet 

Out o'er the social bowl, 
To raise to Coila's darling son 

A monument of soul. 

What heart hath ever matched his flame ? 

What spirit matched his fire ? 
Peace to the prince of Scottish song, 

Lord of the bosom's lyre ! 



VERSES 
TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS. 

BY 

FITZGREEN HALLECK, OF NEW YORK. 

ON VIEWING THE REMAINS OF A ROSE BROUGHT FROM 
ALLOWAY KIRK, IN AUTUMN 1822. 

Wild rose of Alloway — my thanks ! 

Thou mind'st me of that autumn noon 
When first we met upon " the banks 

And braes of bonnie Doon." 

Liko. thine, beneath the thorn-tree's bough, 
M y sunny hour was glad and brief ; 

We've cross'd the winter sea, and thou 
Art wither' d, flower and leaf ! 

And will not thy death doom be mine, 
The doom of all things wrought of clay, 

And wither'd my life's leaf like thine, 
Wild rose of Alloway ? 

Not so his memory, for whose sak^ 
My bosom bore thee far and long ; 

His — who a humbler flower could make 
Immortal as his song ; — 

The memory of Burns — a name 

That calls, when brimmed her festal cup, 

A nation's glory and her shame, 
In silent sadness up. 

A nation's glory — be the rest 

Forgot — she's canonized his mind ; 

And it is joy to speak the best 
We may of human kind. 

I've stood beside the cottage-bed 

Where the bard-peasant first drew breath, 

A straw-thateh'd roof above his head, 
A straw-wrought couch beneath. 

And I have stood beside the pile, 
His monument — that tells to heaven 

The homage of earth's proudest isle 
To that bard- peasant given. 

There have been loftier themes than his, 
And longer scrolls, and louder lyres, 

And lays lit up with poesy's 
Purer and holier fires. 



Yet read the names that know not death — 
Few nobler ones than Burns are there, 

And few have won a greener wreath 
Than that which binds his hair. 

His is that language of the heart 

In which the answering heart would speak, 
Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, 

Or the smile light the cheek. 

And his, that music to whose tone 

The common pulse of man keeps time, 

In cot or castle's mirth or moan, 
In cold or sunny clime. 

What sweet tears dim the eyes unshed, 
What wild vows falter on the tongue, 

When " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled," 
Or " Auld Lang Syne," is sung ! 

Pure hopes that lift the soul above, 
Come with the cotter's hymn of praise, 

And dreams of j^outh, and truth, and love, 
With " Logan's " banks and braes. 

And when he breathes his master-lay 
Of Alloway's witch-haunted wall, 

All passions in our frames of clay 
Come thronging at his call. 

Imagination's world of air, 

And our own world, its gloom and glee, 
Wit, pathos, poetry are there, 

And death's sublimity. 

Praise to the bard ! his words are driven, 
Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown, 

Where'er beneath the sky of heaven 
The birds of fame have flown. 

Praise to the man ! a nation stood 

Beside his coffin with wet eyes, 
Her brave, her beautiful, her good, 

As when a loved one dies. 

And still, as on his funeral day, 

Men stand his cold-earth couch around, 

With the mute homage that we pay 
To consecrated ground. 

And consecrated ground it is, 

The last, the hallowed home of one 

Who lives upon all memories, 
Though with the buried gone. 

Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines, 
Shrines to no code or creed confined — 

The Delphian vales, the Palestines, 
The Meccas of the mind. 

Sages with wisdom's garland wreathed, 

Crown'd kings and mitred priests of power, 

And warriors with their bright swords sheathed, 
The mightiest of the hour ; 



POEMS IN MEMORY OF BURNS. 



101 



And lowlier names, whose humble home 

Is lit by fortune's dimmer star, 
Are there — o'er wave and mountain come, 

From countries near and far ; 

Pilgrims whose wandering feet have pressed 
The Switzer's snow, the Arab's sand, 

Or trod the piled leaves of the West, 
My own green forest land. 

All ask the cottage of his birth, 

Gaze on the scenes he loved and sung, 

And gather feelings not of earth 
His fields and streams among. 

They linger by the Doon's low trees, 
And pastoral Nith, and wooded Ayr, 

And round thy sepulchres, Dumfries, 
The poet's tomb is there ! 

But what to them the sculptor's art, 
His funeral columns, wreaths, and urns, 

Were there not graven on the heart 
The name of Robert Burns? 



ON BURNS. 

BY ANDREW MERCER. 

The lark that builds the lowest nest 

Soars on the highest wing ; 
She mounts aloft with dewy breast, 

And hails the opening spring. 

In ambient heaven her course is bright, 

Wild carolling on high ; 
Remote, beyond the reach of sight ; 

Her voice is melody. 

Burns ! like the lark, thy home was low, 
Like her thy song was sweet ; 

The daisy on the mountain's brow 
Was not more " neighbour meet." 

In rustic numbers warbling wild, 
Thine were the sweetest strains 

That ever in the lowly field 
Delighted Scottish swains. 

They will delight from age to age, 

And wide thy glory spread ; 
As the wise sayings of the sage 

Seem wiser when he's dead. 

Tho' here thy course was but a span, 

And early sunk in gloom, 
Thine immortality began, 

And dated from the tomb. 

Like as the bird that fable sings 

From ashes grows anew, 
And soars on still more vigorous wings, 

And far more glorious hue. 



So, Burns, until the end of time, 
Thy fame shall still abound ! 

In voice unborn, in untried clime, 
Thy song shall yet resound. 



LINES 

FOE THE DUMFRIES ANNIVERSARY, COMMEMORATIVE OF j 

ROBERT BURNS. 

BY 

MRS. G. G. RICHARDSON, OF LANGHOLME. 

Where Scotia's minstrel pour'd along 
His noontide waves of gushing song, 
Vigorous and free, as fringed sweep 
Of ocean billows o'er the deep ; — 
Where flowed his last, his requiem strains, 
And where his honoured dust remains, 
Pilgrims from many lands have come 
To view and moralize — his tomb ; 
They gaze on that pale marble show 
Of ardent life with awe and woe, — 
That seems to stand in mockery there. 
A sentinel o'er a plundered shrine ! 

A dial severed from the sun ! 

Till the soul's deeper homage done, 
Breaks forth the tributary line. 
As echo answers to the air, 
Cold, cold and rocky though she be ; 
His chiselled rest hath often rung 
With notes by deepest feelings strung ! 
And not the less the spell prevailed, 
That sculpture's triumph here hath failed. 
As well a marble sun might warm, 

As mortal art pourtray the fire, 
The glow, the intellectual charm, 

That halo'd round that living lyre. 
The soul-less form, the frigid stone, 
Say eloquently — He is gone ! — 
But blame not sculpture's bounded power, 
That reaches but life's scentless flower ! 
And oh ! for memories need we turn 
To the cold artificial urn ; 
While yet remain the sun, the sky, 
The stream that Avaked his minstrelsy ? 
The daisy, or the hare- bell blue, 
Each simplest flower that sips the dew : 
Beneath his touch a wreath would bow, 
Worthy to bind Apollo's brow. 
He struck a war-note — Valour heard, 
And made his song her gath'ring word ! 
And Love, the tyrant of his own, 
In other's breasts a purer tone, 
A holier, tenderer breath respires, 
For listening to his Doric wires. 
Go to his " Cotter's Hearth," and read 
The beauty of his nation's creed ! 
See piety, in simplest vest 
(To eye, and ear, and soul addrest,) 
Plead for the inspir'd artist, who 
Her reverend form so chastely drew ; 
No altar-piece in bigot lands, 
A deeper, holier thrill commands ! 



162 



APPENDIX TO THE LIFE OF BURNS. 



Oh ! give his errors to the dust. 

And be to perilous genius just. 

That " ark which bravely through the waves, 

Of deluge-time earth's spices saves \" 

Into what distant lands have gone 

The hearts his song e'er breath'd upon, 

Nor carried with them warmer love 

Of kindred, country, and of home ? 
By Mississippi's, Ganges' stream, 

In fancy Scotia's sons will roam 
Nith's, Devon's banks, nor idly dream ! 
The moon that lights on foreign plain 
Her exil'd soldier, on the main 
Her wand'ring sailor hears his lays, 
That bring sweet thoughts of early days •, 
(As dews to drooping leaves arrive 
Their fading freshness to revive ; ) 
Oft carolFd in that social hour, 
And patriot passion owns their power. 
For gifted was our master-hand 
To tune the hearts of every land ; 
His voice could sweeter utterance give 

To nature's universal tone ; 
To latest time his name shall live, 

For nature's harp was all his own. 
Flow verse for ever o'er his tomb ! 

No other song with his may vie ; 
But he who mark'd the daisy's bloom, 

Though plum'd to range the empyrean high, 
And lov'd the linnet's lowly lay, — 

Ne'er scorned the faintliest — shed perfume 
That nature's worshippers would pay, 

If but the incense flow'd sincere, 

And oh, such worshippers are here ! 



TO THE 

MEMORY OF ROBERT BURNS. 

BY EDWARD RUSHTON. 

Poor, wildly sweet uncultur'd flow'r, 

Thou lowliest of the Muse's bow'r, 

" Stern ruin's ploughshare, 'mang the stowre, 

Has crush'd thy stem," 
And sorrowing verse shall mark the hour, 

" Thou bonnie gem." 

'Neath the green turf, dear Nature's child, 

Sublime, pathetic, artless, wild, 

Of all thy quips and cranks despoil'd, 

Cold dost thou lie ! 
And many a youth and maiden mild 

Shall o'er thee sigh ! 

Those pow'rs that, eagle wing'd, could soar, 
That heart which ne'er was cold before, 
That tongue which caus'd the table roar, 

Are now laid low, 
And Scotia's sons shall hear no more 

Thy rapt'rous flow. 

Warm'd with " a spark o' nature's fire," 
From the rough plough thou did'st aspire 
To make a sordid world admire : 

And few like thee, 



Oh ! Burns, have swept the minstrel's lyre 
With ecstasy. 

Ere winter's icy vapours fail, 
The violet, in the uncultur'd dale, 
So sweetly scents the passing gale 

That shepherd boys, 
Led by the fragrance they inhale, 

Soon find their prize. 

So when to life's chill glens confin'd, 
Thy rich, tho' rough untutor'd mind 
Pour'd on the sense of each rude hind 

Such sonsy lays 
That to thy brow was soon assign'd 

The wreath of praise. 

Anon, with nobler daring blest, 

The wild notes throbbing in thy breast, 

Of friends, wealth, learning unpossess'd, 

Thy fervid mind 
Tow'rds fame's proud turrets boldly press'd, 

And pleas' d mankind. 

But what avail'd thy powers to please, 
When want approach'd and pale disease ; 
Could these thy infant brood appease 

That wail'd for bread ? 
Or could they, for a moment, ease 

Thy wo-worn head ? 

Applause, poor child of minstrelsy, 
Was all the world e'er gave to thee ; 
Unmov'd, by pinching penury 

They saw thee torn, 
And now, kind souls ! with sympathy, 

Thy loss they mourn. 

Oh ! how I loathe the bloated train, 
Who oft hath heard thy dulcet strain ; 
Yet, when thy frame was rack'd with pain, 

Could keep aloof, 
And eye with opulent disdain 

Thy lowly roof. 

Yes, proud Dumfries, oh ! would to Heaven 
Thou had'st from thai cold spot been driven, 
Thou might'st have found some shelt'ring haven 

On this side Tweed : 
Yet, ah ! e'en here, poor bards have striven, 

And died in need. 

True genius scorns to flatter knaves, 
Or crouch amidst a race of slaves ; 
His soul, while fierce the tempest raves, 

No tremor knows, 
And with unshaken nerve he braves 

Life's pelting woes. 

No wonder, then, that thou shouldst find 
Th' averted glance of half mankind : 
ShoukPst see the sly, slow, supple mind 

To wealth aspire, 
While scorn, neglect, and want combined 

To quench thy fire. 



POEMS IN MEMORY OF BURNS. 



103 



While wintry winds pipe loud and strong, 
The high-perch' d storm-cock pours his song ; 
So thy Eolian lyre was strung 

' Midst chilling times ; 
Yet clearly didst thou roll along 

Thy " routh of rhymes." 

And oh ! that routh of rhymes shall raise 
For thee a lasting pile of praise. 
Haply some wing, in these our days, 

Has loftier soar'd : 
But from the heart more melting lays 

Were never pour'd. 

Where Ganges rolls his yellow tide, 
Where blest Columbus' waters glide ! 
Old Scotia's sons, spread far and wide, 

Shall oft rehearse, 
With sorrow some, but all with pride, 

Thy 'witching verse. 

In early spring, thy earthly bed 

Shall be with many a wild flow'r spread ; 

The violet there her sweets shall shed, 

In humble guise, 
And there the mountain-daisy's head 

Shall duly rise. 

While darkness reigns, should, bigotry, 
With boiling blood, and bended knee, 
Scatter the weeds of infamy 

O'er thy cold clay, 
Those weeds, at light's first blush, shall be 

Soon swept away. 

And when thy scorners are no more, 
The lonely glens, and sea-beat shore, 
Where thou hast croon'd thy fancies o'er 

With soul elate, 
Oft shall the bard at eve explore, 

And mourn thy fate. 



SONNET TO THE SHADE OF BURNS. 



CHARLOTTE SMITH. 

Mute is thy wild harp now, bard sublime ! 

Who, amid Scotia's mountain solitude, 
Great nature taught to build the lofty rhyme, 

And even beneath the daily pressure rude 

Of labouring poverty, thy generous blood 

Fired with the love of freedom. Not subdued 
Wert thou by thy low fortune ; but a time, 
Like this we live in, when the abject clime 

Of echoing parasite is best approved, 
Was not for thee. Indignantly is fled 

Thy noble spirit ; and, no longer mov'd 
By all the ills o'er which thine heart has bled, 
Associate worthy of the illustrious dead, 

Enjoys with them the liberty it loved. 



VERSES 



WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF CURRIE'S LIFE OF BURNS. 



T. H. — DUNFERMLINE. 

I came, the minstrel on the hills was singing, 

The happiest swain in mountain Caledon ; 
For in him was a joy — fount ever springing 
Which none could poison, save himself ; and 
none 
Could quench, save death ! As yet without 

alloy 
It welled in rapture in the Minstrel Boy. 

I came again — Ah ! he was quickly changing ! 

No more would he upon the manna live 
Of his own heaven — but through the desert 
ranging 

For raptures which his soul alone could give, 
He lost the jewel of eternal joy : — 
He was no more the happy Minstrel Boy. 

I came again. — His heart, so free, so warm, 
Was breaking in the thrall of woe intense ; 

And his JEolian soul, which once could charm 
The tempest that swept o'er it into strains 

Of wildest jo}^, was now itself unstrung, 

And to the blast its chords in madness flung. 

I came again — The morning beams were sleeping 
Upon a grave — The gifted and the young 

Lay there — the scented mountain flowers were 
weeping 
Their tears of dew upon its sward, and sung 

The lark a requiem o'er the silent bed 

Of him — the free — the mighty soul' d — the dead ! 

Oh ! had the tithe of monumental offering, 
Which wealth and rank have on his memory 

rolled, 
Been poured upon the living, and the suffering, 
E'er yet the twelfth hour of his fate had tolled, 
How changed had been his tale, so bright, so 

brief ! 
He had not filled his grave, — nor I this leaf. 



FOE, THE 

ANNIVERSARY OF BURN- 



DAVID TEDDER, DUNDEE. 

When Januar winds were ravin' wiF, 
O'er a' the districts o' our isle ; 
There was a callant born in Kyle,_ 

An' he w r as christened Robin. 
Oh Robin was a dainty lad, ^ 
Rantin' Robin, rhyniin' Robin ; 
It made the gossips unco glad, 

To hear the cheep o' Robin. 



164 



APPENDIX TO THE LIFE OF BURNS. 



That ne'er to be forgotten morn, 
When Coila's darling son was born ; 
Auld Scotland on her stock an' horn, 

Play'd "welcome hame" to Robin. 
And Robin was the blythest loon, 
Rantin' Robin, rhymin' Robin, 
That ever sang beneath the moon — 

We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

The Muses round his cradle hung, 
The Graces wat his infant tongue, 
And independence, wi' a rung, 

Cried, " Red the gate for Robin." 



For Robin's soul-arousing tones, 
Rantin' Robin, rhymin' Robin, 
Gart tyrants tremble on their thrones — 
We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

Then let 's devote this night to mirth, 
And celebrate our poet's birth, 
While Freedom preaches in the earth, 

She'll tak her text frae Robin. 
Oh Robin's magic notes shall ring, 
Rantin' Robin, rhymin' Robin ; 
While rivers run, and flowrets spring, 

Huzza ! huzza ! for Robin. 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS. 



preface to tfje dftnlt, or Ifctlmanwcfe, (£&ttton. 

(july 1786.) 



The following trifles are not the production 
of the Poet, who, with all the advantages of 
learned art, and, perhaps, amid the elegancies 
and idleness of upper life, looks down for a 
rural theme, with an eye to Theocritus or Virgil. 
To the author of this, these, and other cele- 
brated names, their countrymen are, at least in 
their original language, a fountain shut up, 
and a book sealed. Unacquainted with the 
necessary requisites for commencing poet by 
rule, he sings the sentiments and manners he 
felt and saw in himself and his rustic compeers 
around him, in his and their native language. 
Though a rhymer from his earliest years, at 
least from the earliest impulse of the softer pas- 
sions, it was not till very lately that the 
applause, perhaps the partiality, of friendship, 
awakened his vanity so far as to make him 
think any thing of his worth showing : and 
none of the following works were composed 
with a view to the press. To amuse himself 
with the little creations of his own fancy, amid 
the toil and fatigue of a laborious life ; to tran- 
scribe the various feelings^-the loves, the griefs, 
the hopes, the fears — in his own breast ; to find 
some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a 
world, always an alien scene, a task uncouth 
to the poetical mind — these were his motives for 
courting the Muses, and in these he found poe- 
try to be its own reward. 

Now that he appears in the public character 
of an author, he does it with fear and trembling. 
So dear is fame to the rhyming tribe, that even 
he, an obscure, nameless Bard, shrinks aghast 
at the thought of being branded as — an imperti- 
nent blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on the 
world ; and, because he can make shift to jingle a 
few doggerel Scottish rhymes together, looking 



upon himself as a poet, of no small consequence, 
forsooth ! 

It is an observation of that celebrated poet, 
Shenstone, whose divine elegies do honour to 
our language, our nation, and our species, that 
" Humility has depressed many a genius to a 
hermit, but never raised one to fame !" If any 
critic catches at the word genius, the author 
tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks 
upon himself as possessed of some poetic abili- 
ties, otherwise his publishing, in the manner he 
has done, would be a manoeuvre below the worst 
character which, he hopes, his worst enemy will 
ever give him. But to the genius of a Ram- 
say, or the glorious dawnings of the poor, un- 
fortunate Fergusson, he, with equal unaffected 
sincerity, declares that, even in his highest 
pulse of vanity, he has not the most distant 
pretensions. These two justly admired Scottish 
poets he has often had in his eye in the follow- 
ing pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at 
their flame than for servile imitation. 

To his Subscribers, the Author returns his 
most sincere thanks. Not the mercenary bow 
over a counter, but the heart-throbbing grati- 
tude of the Bard, conscious how much he owes 
to benevolence and friendship for gratifying 
him, if he deserves it, in that dearest wish of 
every poetic bosom — to be distinguished. He 
begs his readers, particularly the learned* and 
the polite, who may honour him with a perusal, 
that they will make every allowance for educa- 
tion and circumstances of life ; but if, after a 
fair, candid, and impartial criticism, he shall 
stand convicted of dulness and nonsense, let him 
be done by as he would in that case do by 
others — let him be condemned, without mercy, 
to contempt and oblivion. 



a 



165 



DEDICATION 



SECOND, OR EDINBURGH, EDITION. 

OP 

THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN 

OF 

THE CALEDONIAN HUNT. 



My Lords and Gentlemen : 

A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and 
whose highest ambition is to sing in his coun- 
try's service — where shall he so properly look 
for patronage as to the illustrious names of his 
native land ; those who bear the honours and 
inherit the virtues of their ancestors? The 
Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the 
prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha — at the 
plough ; and threw her inspiring mantle over 
me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the 
rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native 
soil, in my native tongue : I tuned my wild, 
artless notes, as she inspired. She whispered 
me to come to this ancient Metropolis of Cale- 
donia, and lay my Songs under your honoured 
protection : I now obey her dictates. 
*Though much indebted to your goodness, I 
do not approach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, 
in the usual style of dedication, to thank you 
for past favours : that path is so hackneyed by 
prostituted learning, that honest rusticity is 
ashamed of it. Nor do I present this Address 
with the venal soul of a servile author, looking 
for a continuation of those favours : I was bred 
to the plough, and am independent. I come to 
claim the common Scottish name with you, my 
illustrious Countrymen ; and to tell the world 



that I glory in the title. I come to congratu- 
late my country, that the blood of her ancient 
heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and that from 
your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she 
may expect protection, wealth, and liberty. In 
the last place, I come to proffer my warmest 
wishes to the Great Fountain of Honour, the 
Monarch of the Universe, for your welfare and 
happiness. 

When you go forth to waken the echoes, in 
the ancient and favourite amusement of your 
forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party : 
and may social Joy await your return ! When 
harassed in courts or camps with the jostlings 
of bad men and bad measures, may the honest 
consciousness of injured worth attend your re- 
turn to your native seats ; and may domestic 
happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet you 
at your gates ! May corruption shrink at your 
kindling indignant glance ; and may tyranny 
in the ruler, and licentiousness in the people, 
equally find you an inexorable foe ! 

I have the honour to be, 
With the sincerest gratitude and highest respect, 
My Lords and Gentlemen, 

Your most devoted humble Servant, 

ROBERT BURNS. 

Edinburgh, ) 
ApaiL 4, 1787. ) 



1 6 



POEMS. 



In Burns's own Memoranda, written in April 
1784, lie says: — "As I am what the men of 
the world, if the}'' knew such a man, would call 
a whimsical mortal, I have various sources of 
pleasure and enjoyment, which are, in a man- 
ner, peculiar to myself, or some here and there 
such out- of- the way person. Such is the peculiar 
pleasure I take in the season of Winter, more 
than the rest of the year. This, I believe, may 
be partly owing to my misfortunes giving my 
mind a melancholy cast : but there is something- 
even in the 

" Mighty tempest, and the heavy waste, 
Abrupt, and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth !" 

which raises the mind to a serious sublimity 
favourable to everything great and noble. 
There is scarcely any earthly object gives me 
more — I do not know if I should call it pleasure 
— but something which exalts me — something 
which enraptures me — than to walk in the shel- 
tered side of a wood, or high plantation, in a 
cloudy winter-day, and hear the stormy wind 
howling among the trees, and raving over the 
plain. It is nry best season for devotion : my 
mind is wrapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him, 
who, in the pompous language of the Hebrew 
bard, ' walks on the wings of the wind.' In 
one of these seasons, just after a train of misfor- 
tunes, I composed the following :" — 

Winter. 



The wintry west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw : 
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 

And pass the heartless day. 
ii. 
" The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"* 

The joyless winter- day, 

* Dr. Young. R. B. 



Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join ; 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! 
in. 
Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme, 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy will ! 
Then all I want (O, do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign. 

[The above is, with the exception of one or 
two songs, the earliest of all the Poet's compo- 
sitions. According to Gilbert Burns, it was a 
juvenile production. It is, says Lockhart, " an 
admirably versified piece."] 



DEATH AND DYING WORDS 

OF 

IBqqx JMatlte, 

THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. 

AN UNCO MOUKNFU' TALE. 

As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, 
Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch : 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie. 
When Hughoc* he cam doytin by. 
Wi' glowrin' e'en an' lifted han's, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it ! 
He gaped wide, but naething spak — . 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

" O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear, 
An' bear them to my master dear. 

* A neibor-herd — callan, R. B. 



DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE. 



167 



" Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 
But ca' them out to park or hill, 
An' let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flock increase, and grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' .' 

" Tell him he was a master kin' 
An' ay was guicl to me and mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. 

" O, bid him save their harmless lives, 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives ! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
Wi' teats o' hay, an' rips o'corn. 

" An' may they never learn the gaets 
Of ither vile, wanrestfu' pets ! 
To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal, 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great forbears, 
For monie a year come thro' the sheers : 
So wives will gi'e them bits o' bread, 
An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. 

" My poor toop-lamb, m}^ son an' heir, 
O, bid hirn breed him up wi' care ! 
An' if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some havins in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name, 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame : 
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, 
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. 

11 An' niest my yowie, silly thing, 
Gucle keep thee frae a tether string ! 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop, 
But ay keep mind to moop an' mell 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel' ! 

c * And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath 
T lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your niither, 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

" Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail 
To tell my master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blather." 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, 
And clos'd her een amang the dead. 

[" The circumstances of the poor sheep," says 
Gilbert Burns, "were pretty much as Robert 
has described them. He had, partly by way 
of frolic, bought a ewe and two lambs from a 
neighbour, and she was tethered in a field ad- 
joining the house at Lochlea. He and I were 



going out with our teams, and our two younger 
brothers to drive for us, at mid-day, when Hugh 
Wilson, a curious-looking, awkward boy, clad 
in plaiding, came to us with much anxiety in 
his face, with the information that the ewe had 
entangled herself in the tether, and was lying 
in the ditch. Robert was much tickled with 
Hughoc's appearance and postures on the oc- 
casion. Poor Mailie was set to rights, and 
when we returned from the plough in the even- 
ing, he repeated to me her ' Death and Dying 
Words,' pretty much in the way they now 
stand." 

"The expiring animal's admonitions touching 
the education of the ' poor toop lamb, her son 
and heir, and the 'yowie silly thing' her 
daughter, are from the same peculiar vein of 
sly homely wit, embedded upon fancy, which 
he afterwards dug with a bolder hand in the 
1 Twa Dogs,' and perhaps to its utmost depth 
in his l Death and Doctor Hornbook.' It 
need scarcely be added that poor Mailie was 
a real personage, though she did not actually 
die until some time after her last words were 
written."- -Lockiiart.] 



lUtoor Jffiailu'a <£legi>. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
Our bardie's fate is at a close, 

Past a' remead ; 
The last sad cape-stane of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie "s dead ! 

It's no the loss o' warl's gear, 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear 

The mourning weed : 
He's lost a friend and neibor dear 

In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense : 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed. 
Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 

Sin' Mailie's dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 

Her living image in her yowe 

Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, 

For bits o' bread j 
An' down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 



163 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



She was nae get o' moorland tips, 

Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips ; 

For her forbears were brought in ships 

Frae yont the Tweed : 
A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross' d the clips 

Than Mailie dead.* 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape ! 
It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, 

Wi' chokin' dread ; 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 

O, a' ye bards on bonnie Doon ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 
Come, join the melancholious croon 

O Robin s reed I 
His heart will never get aboon 

His Mailie dead ! 



[" The principle of love, which is the great 
characteristic of Burns, often manifests itself 
in a thinner disguise, in the shape of humour. 
Every where, in his sunny mood, a full buoyant 
flood of mirth runs through his mind, — he rises 
to the high, and stoops to the low, and is brother 
and playmate to all nature. He has a bold and 
irresistible faculty of caricature ; this is drollery 
rather than humour. A much tenderer sport- 
fulness dwells in him than this, and comes forth 
here and there in evanescent and beautiful 
touches, as in his ' Address to the Mouse,' or 
' The Farmer's Auld Mare,' or in ' Poor 
Mailie,'' which last may be reckoned his hap- 
piest effort of this kind. In these pieces there 
is a humour as fine as that of Sterne, and yet 
altogether different, original, peculiar, — in one 
word, the humour of Burns." — Carlisle.] 



* This stanza, sa3 r s Gilbert Burns, was, at first, as follows — 

She was nae get o' runted rams, 

Wi' woo' like goats, an' legs like trams ; 

She was the flower o' Fairlee lambs, 

A famous breed : 
Now Robin, greetin'. chows the hams 
O' Mailie dead. 
The taste of Burns evidently rejected the verse, because the 
concluding lines did not harmonize with the prevailing sen- 
timent of the poem. " It were a pity," adds Gilbert, " that 
the ' Fairlee Lambs ' should lose the honour once intended 
them." 

t [The hero of this Epistle is the well-known David 
Sillar, a scholar and a poet. He was a native of Tarbolton, 
became, in 1784, a schoolmaster at Irvine, and having, in 
the course of a long life, realized considerable property, he 
was appointed one of the magistrates of that town. He 
published a volume of poems, in the Scottish dialect, some 
of which displayed considerable talent. He was an early 
friend of Burns, by whom he was introduced into the Tar- 
bolton Bachelor's Club, in May 1791. David Sillar died on 
the 2nd of May 1830, at the age of seventy.] 
{ Ramsay. 

§[" The old remembered beggar, even in my own time, like 
the baccoch, or travelling cripple of Ireland, was expected to 
merit his quarters by something beyond an exposition of his 
distresses. He was often a talkative, facetious fellow, prompt 
at repartee, and not withheld from exercising his power that 
way by any respect of persons, his patched cloak giving him 
the privilege of the ancient jester. To be a guid crack, that 



'The Elegy' is a somewhat later production 
than the 'Death and Dying Words of Poor 
Mailie.' 



C£pfetle to 33abte. 

A BROTHER POET.f 

[David Sillar, Schoolmaster and Bard.] 
January, 1784. 
I. 

While winds frae off Ben Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In namely westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift, 
That live sae bien an' snug : 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker 
To see their cursed pride. 
II. 
It's hardly in a body's pow'r 
To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 

And ken na how to wair't ; 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear, 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang 's we're hale and fier : 
" Mair spier na, nor fear na," % 

Auld age ne'er mind a feg, 
The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only but to beg.§ 

is, to possess talents for conversation, was essential to the 
trade of a ' puir body ' of the more esteemed class ; and 
Burns, who delighted in the amusement their discourses 
afforded, seems to have looked forward with gloomy firmness 
to the possibility of himself becoming, one day or other, a 
member of their itinerant society. In his poetical works, it 
is alluded to so often as, perhaps, to indicate that he consi- 
dered the consummation as not utterly impossible. Tims, 
in the fine dedication of his works to Gavin Hamilton, he 
says, 

' And when I downa yoke anaig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg.' 

Again, in his Epistle to Davie, a brother poet, he states that, 
in their closing career, 

' The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only but to beg.' 
And after having remarked that 

' To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 
When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, 
Is, doubtless, great distress;' 

the bard reckons up, with true poetical spirit, that free en- 
joyment of the beauties of nature, which might counterba- 
lance the hardship and uncertainty of the life even of a men- 
dicant. In one of his prose letters, that to Mr. Murdoch, dated 
Jan. 15th, 1783, he details this idea yet more seriously, and 
dwells upon it as not ill adapted to his habits and powers. As 
the life of a Scottish mendicant of the eighteenth century seems 
to have been contemplated without much horror by Robert 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 



JG9 



To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 

When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, 

Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then- content could make us blest ; 
Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However fortune kick the ba', 
Has ay some cause to smile : 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 



What tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out we know not where, 

But either house or hal' ? 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then, 

We'll sit and sowth a tune : 
Syne rhyme till 't, we'll time till 't, 
And sing 't when we hae done. 

v. 

It's no in titles nor in rank : 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 

To purchase peace and rest : 
It's no in makin' muckle mair ; 
It's no in books ; it's no in lear ; 

To make us truly blest ; 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 

Could make us happy lang : 
The heart ay's the part ay 
That makes us right or wrang. 

VI. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry, 

Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 



Burns, the author could hardly have erred in giving to Edie 
Ochiltree something of poetical character and personal dig- 
nity, above the more abject of his miserable calling. The 
class had, in fact, some privileges. A lodging, such as it 
was, was readily granted to them in some of the out-houses; 
and the awmous (alms) of a handful of meal (called a gow- 
pen) was scarce denied by the poorest cottager. The mendi- 
cant disposed these, according to their different quality, in 
various bags around his person, and thus carried about with 
him the principal part of his sustenance, which he literally 



Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless, and fearless 
Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming and deeming, 
It a' an idle tale ! 

VII. 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

An' s thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel' ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'U get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 

VIII. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 

And flatt'ry I detest,) 
This life has joys for you and I ; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy : 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 

The lover an' the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg,* your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me, 

To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets me, 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

IX. 

O, all ye pow'rs who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art love ! 
Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part, 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 

O hear my fervent pray'r ! 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 



received for the asking. At the houses of the gentry his 
cheer was mended by scraps of broken meat, and perhaps a 
Scottish ' twalpenny,' or English penny, which was expended 
in snuff or whiskey. In fact, these indolent peripatetics suf- 
fered much less real hardship and want of food than the 
poor peasantfrom whom they received alms."— Sir Walter 
Scott.] 

* Sillar's flame was a lass of the name of Margaret Orr, 
who had charge of the children of Mrs. Stewart of Stair. It 
was not the fortune of " Meg " to become Mrs. Sillar. 



170 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



All hail ! ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 

The sympathetic glow ! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had number' d out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie or my Jean ! 

XI. 

O, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin, rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp, 

'Till ance he's fairly het ; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, 
An' rin an unco fit : 

But lest then, the beast then, 

Should rue this hasty ride, 

I'll light now, and dight now 

His sweaty, wizen'd hide. 

[" Among the earliest of his poems," says 
Gilbert Burns, "was the Epistle to Davie. 
Robert often composed without any regular 
plan. When anything made a strong impres- 
sion on his mind, so as to rouse it to any poetic 
exertion, he would give way to the impulse, 
and embody the thought in rhyme. If he hit 
on two or three stanzas to please him, he would 
then think of proper introductory, connecting, 
and concluding stanzas ; hence the middle of a 
poem was often first produced. It was, I think, 
in the summer of 1784, when, in the interval of 
harder labour, Robert and I were weeding in 
the garden, that he repeated to me the principal 
part of this Epistle. I believe the first idea of 
Robert's becoming an author was started on 
this occasion. I was much pleased with the 
Epistle, and said to him I was of opinion it 
would bear being printed, and that it would be 
well received by people of taste ; that I thought 
it at least equal, if not superior, to many of 
Allan Ramsay's epistles, and that the merit of 
these, and much other Scottish poetry, seemed 
to consist principally in the knack of the ex- 
pression ; but here, there was a strain of inter- 
esting sentiment, and the Scotticism of the 
language scarcely seemed affected, but appeared 
to be the natural language of the poet : that, 
besides, there was certainly some novelty in a 
poet pointing out the consolations that were in 
store for him when he should go a-begging. — 
Robert seemed well pleased with my criticism." 



The peculiar stanza in which this poem is 
written was probably introduced to Burns's 
notice by Allan Ramsay ; but it was employed 
by Scottish poets of much earlier date, parti- 
cularly by Captain Alexander Montgomery, in 
his " Cherry and the Slae," written in the reign 
of James VI.] 

Burns's First Epistle to David Sillar pro- 
duced the following reply from Dainty Davie : — 

3£ptstle to Robert ISutnsi. 

i. 
While Reekie's Bards your muse commen', 
An' praise the numbers o' your pen, 
Accept this kin'ly frae a frien', 

Your Dainty Davie ; 
Wha ace o' hearts does still remain, 

Ye may believe me. 

ii. 

I ne'er was muckle gi'en to praisin', 
Or else ye might be sure o' fraisin' ; 
For trouth, I think, in solid reason, 

Your kintra reed 
Plays sweet as Robin Fergusson, 

Or Ms on Tweed. 

in. 

Your Luath, Csesar bites right sair ; 
An' when ye paint the Holy Fair, 
Ye draw it to a very hair ; 

Or when ye turn, 
An' sing the follies o' the Fair, 

How sweet ye mourn ! 

IV. 

Let Coila's plains wi' me rejoice, 

An' praise the worthy Bard whose lays 

Their worth and beauty high doth raise 

To lasting fame ; 
His works, his worth, will ever praise 

An' crown his name. 

v. 
Brave Ramsay now, and Fergusson, 
Wha hae sae lang time fill'd the Throne 
O' Poetry, may now lie down 

Quiet i' their urns, 
Since Fame, in justice, gies the crown 

To Coila's Burns. 

VI. 

Hail ! happy Bard ! ye'rc now confest, 
The King o' Singers i' the west ; 
Edina hath the same exprest : 

Wi' joy they fin' 
That ye're, when tried by Nature's test, 

Guid sterling coin. 

VII. 

Sing on, my frien' ; your fame's secur'd, 
An' still maintain the name o' Bard ; 
But yet tak tent an' keep a guard : 

For Envy's tryin/ 
To blast your fame ; mair just reward 

For the envyin'. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 



171 



But tho' the tout o' fame may please you, 
Let na the flatt'rin' gliaist o'erheeze you : 
Ne'er flyte nor fraise to gar folk roose you ; 

For men o' skill, 
When ye write weel, will always praise you 

Out o' guid will. 

IX. 

Great numbers on this earthly ba' 
As soon as death gies them the ca', 
Permitted are to slide awa', 

An' straught forgot, — 
Forbid that this should ever fa' 

To be your lot ! 
x. 
I ever had an anxious wish, 
Forgive me, Heav'n ! if 'twas amiss, 
That fame in life my name would bless, 

An' kindly save 
It from the cruel tyrant's crush 

Beyond the grave. 

XI. 

Tho' the fastest liver soonest dies, 
An' length o' days sud mak ane wise; 
Yet haste wi' speed, to glory rise 

An' spur your horse ; 
They're shortest ay wha gain the prize 
Upo' the course. 

XII. 

Sae to conclude, auld frien' an' neibor, 
Your muse forget na weel to feed her, 
Then steer thro' life wi' birr an' vigour, 

To win a horn, 
Wha's soun' shall reach ayont the Tiber 

Mang ears unborn. 



guoriti iSptette to IBabte, 

A BROTHER POET.* 
AULD NEIBOR, 

I'm three times, doubly, o'er your debtor, 
For your auld-farrant frien'ly letter ; 
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter, 

Ye speak sae fair, 
For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter 

Some less maun sair. 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, 
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

0* war'ly cares, 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld, grey hairs. 

But Davie, lad, I'm rede ye're glaikit ; 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit 5 
An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licket 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket, 

Be hain't wha like. 

* This Epistle is prefixed to the Poems of David Sillar, 



For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 
Bivin' the words to gar them clink ; 
Whyles daez't wi'love,whyles daez'twi' drink, 

Wi' jads or masons ; 
An' whyles, but aye owre late, I think 

Braw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to the Bardie clan • 
Except it be some idle plan 

0' rhymin' clink, 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin', 
Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin' ; 
But just the pouchie put the nieve in, 

An' while ought's there, 
Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin', 

An' fash nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme ! its aye a treasure, 
My chief, amaist, my only pleasure, 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure, 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, 

She's seldom lazy. 

Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
The war? may play you mony a shavie ; 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae puir, 
Na, even though limpin' wi' the spavie 

Frae door to door. 



" David Sillar was, for some time, the chosen 
companion of Burns, and seems to have con- 
fided much to him in matters of love-making. 
The bard of Mossgiel accompanied his friend on 
one of his visits to the family of Mrs. Stewart, 
of Stair, and, as some of the lassies sung well, 
he gave them one or two of his songs. Mrs. 
Stewart, happened, by chance, to see one of 
these compositions, and was so much struck 
with its grace and tenderness that she desired 
to be told when the Author visited Stair again. 
It was in this way that his acquaintance with 
that accomplished lady began : and many years 
afterwards the Poet told Miss Stewart that, 
when requested to walk into the drawing-room, 
to be introduced to her mother, he suffered more 
than he would like to suffer again. — " Indeed," 
he said, " I endured such palpitation of heart 
as I never after experienced among 

' Lords and ladies of high degree.' " 

As this introduction took place in 1784, Mrs. 
Stewart must be, hereafter, regarded as one of 
the first in Ayr-shire, above the Poet's rank in 
life, who perceived his genius and treated him 
with respect." — Allan Cunningham. 



which were published in Kilmarnock, in the year 1780* 



172 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



&tftrtg<* to tf)e IMI.* 



" O Prince ! O Chief of many thron;d Pow'rs, 
That ledth' embattled Seraphim to war!" — 

Milton. 



O thou ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim and sootie, 

Closed under hatches, 
Spairges t about the brunstane cootie, 

To scaud poor wretches ! 



PI ear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 



* This poem has been ably illustrated by Mr. Thomas 
Landseer, accompanied with explanatory notes, many of 
them excellent, and displaying much critical acumen. We 
subjoin some of these : — 

Stanzas hi. iv. — "This stanza and the following are 
not the only ones of the poem in which Burns has contrived 
to blend severe moral truths with glimpses of local scenery, 
and snatches of careless merriment. May we intreat the 
Southern reader, who has hitherto been deterred from peru 
sing the poetry of Burns, by his provincialisms, to consider 
the powerful strain of true poetry which pervades this fourth 
stanza?" 

Stanza v. — " This stanza is picturesque and full of inte- 
rest. The variety of the detail is in good keeping with that 
garrulous minuteness which is the universal privilege of 
grandmothers. Would that all reverend ' grannies ' were, 
moreover, as poetical in their relations as this lady. It is 
at this part of the Address that we begin to recognise the 
master hand with which Burns has touched the scenery of 
the Highlands, the moors, the lochs, and mountains. The 
wild and lonely places, the unearthly noises, the bewildering 
mists, the yet more deceptive ' wild fires dancing o'er the 
heath ; ' all of these are etchings, light, indeed, but touched 
with the fidelity of a keen and minute observer of nature." 

Stanzas vi. vii. viii. — " In these stanzas, he has 
touched, with a nice and accurate pencil, one of those foibles 
common to our moral nature, which require the most delicate 
handling. He intimates, with mingled archness and simpli- 
city, that the good old woman never suspected that the noises 
which she heard might be that hum of insects which she 
thought it so much resembled, above the waters of the loch, 
— or the motion of a frightened bird whirring through the 
elder bushes. This propensity to attribute natural effects to 
supernatural causes is one of the best known and least in- 
telligible pheenomena of the human mind. We are always 
rejecting the evidence of our senses, to tamper with the 
imaginary evidence supplied by analogous reasoning upon 
mere abstract principles. The good wife never dreamed of 
referring her alarms to the natural objects around her. A 
humming drone, at twilight, by the waters, a rustling in the 
leaves of the trees about her cottage— if these did not be- 
speak the presence of the Devil, what the d— 1 else could 
they indicate ? 

"Thus our poet proceeds to tell us that, beyond the same 
loch, he himself had a visible encounter with something, like, 
indeed, to a bush of rushes, waving and shaking in the wind ; 
and, after an admirable description of the emotions of fear by 
which he was oppressed, he incidentally mentions that the 
Great Unknown did, certainly, with an abrupt and hasty 
flight take away like a drake ; but even the appropriate note 
of the fluttering fowl never once awakened his suspicion 
that it might be a fowl proper, and not the foul fiend !" 

Stanza xii. — "The disruption occasioned by a thaw, 
and the noise of the fragments of ice sliding over one another, 
are happily described here. No opportunity srems more 
fitting for the intervention of the mischievous Kelpies, whom 
our northern superstitions imagine to be delighted with the 
last agonies of drowning men and despairing mariners, than 
the uproar of waters and icy masses, the tides, and the winds, 



E'en to a deil, 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 
An' hear us squeel ! 



Great is thy power, an' great thy fame ; 
Far kenn'd and noted is thy name : 
An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, 

Thou travels far : 
An', faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 



Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion, 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ;' 
Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin' 

Tirlin the kirks ; 
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin', 

Unseen thou lurks. 



all in angry collision, and the raging of the elements out- 
roaring the delirious cries of human terror. It is not twenty 
years since the piercing shrieks and supplications for help, of 
a passage boat's company, which had been landed on a sand- 
bank, at low water, in the Solway Firth, instead of on the 
Cumberland coast, and who found, as the moon rose and the 
haze dispersed, that they were in mid-channel, with a strong 
tide setting fast in upon them, were mistaken by the people, 
both on the Scotch and English shores, for the wailings of 
Kelpies ! The consequence was that the unhappy people 
(whose boat had drifted from them before their fatal error 
was discovered) were all drowned ; though nothing had been 
easier, but for the rooted superstition of their neighbours 
ashore, than to have effectually succoured them." 

Stanzas xv. xvi. — " In these stanzas, the transition is 
so startling, and yet so beautiful, that we are reminded of 
those early Italian poets who delighted themselves and their 
readers by abrupt and striking alternations from the burlesque 
to the pathetic ; from the heroic to the humorous ; and the 
Ayr-shire bard has the decided advantage of accomplishing 
the same end with less apparent effort and premeditation than 
his gifted predecessors. Is it possible to condense within 
the compass of four or five lines a more charming sketch of 
an infant world, a newly created race of beings, a state of 
existence serene, blissful, and contented; a condition of 
society unalloyed by vice or misery, want or pain ? And with 
how much effect does the delici- us repose of this picture pre- 
pare us for the fatal reverse which follows, by the introduction 
of the fell destroyer who, ' maist ruin'd a'.' — Where the 
subject is felt so deeply, it is almost difficult to deprecate the 
tone, somewhat too light, in which the poet has chosen to 
treat it." 

Stanza xix. — "If the Catalogue of all the devil's doings 
could have been continued with equal fidelity and spirit, we 
might have regretted that this Address was not prolonged. 
But Burns formed a just estimate of the length and difficulty 
of such an undertaking. The reader ought to turn optimist, 
and acknowledge that ' all is for the best.' " 

Stanza xxi. — " There is about this parting admonition 
a touch of human pity, which was evidently the spontaneous 
ebullition, perhaps the unconscious one, of a kind and sym- 
pathising nature ; for precisely such a nature was Burns's. 
The exhortation to amendment, the suggestion of a happier 
fate as the result of that amendment, and the commiseration 
expressed for the arch-enemy of man, present, in this stanza, 
a moral lesson which would not have disgraced a graver 
preacher, a holier theme, or a more solemn occasion." 

t Spairges is the best Scots word in its place I ever met 
with. An Englishman can have no idea of the ludicrous 
image it conveys. The deil is not standing flinging the 
liquid brimstone on his friends with a ladle, but we see him 
standing at a large boiling vat, with something like a golf- 
bat, striking the liquid this way and that way aslant, with all 
his might, making it fly through the whole apartment, while 
the inmates are winking and holdingup their arms to defend 
their faces. This is precisely the idea conveyed by spairg- 
ing ; flinging it in any other way would be laving or splash- 
iug.— The Ettkick Shepherd. 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 



173 



I've heard my reverend Grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray, 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way 

Wi' eldritch croon. 



When twilight did my Grannie summon, 
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman ! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin', 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin', 

Wi' heavy groan. 



Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 

The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light, 

Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright 

Ayont the lough ; 
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sough. 



The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 

Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, 

When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick — quaick- 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter' d, like a drake, 

On whistling wings. 



Let warlocks grim, an' wither' d hags, 
Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags, 
j They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues 

Owre howkit dead. 



Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain : 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure 's taen 

By witching skill ; 
An' dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gaen 

As yell's the bill. 



Thence mystic knots* mak great abuse 
On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse ; 



* [The mind of the Poet was stored with the superstitions 
contained in the ancient songs and traditions in Scotland. 
The way in which witch-knots operated on the fair sex is thus 
described in the ballad of "Willie's ladye" in the Minstrelsy 
of the Scottish Border : 

" Syne Willy's loosed the nine witch knots 
That were amang that ladye's locks ; 
And Willy's ta'en out the kaims o' care 
That were into that ladye's hair ; 
And he's ta'en down the bush o' woodbine 
Hung atween her lover and the witch carlihe. 

And he has kill'd the master kid 
That ran beneath that ladye's bed ; 



When the best wark-lume i' the house, 
By cantrip wit, 

Is instant made no worth a louse, 
Just at the bit. 



When thowes dissolve the snawy noord, 
An' float the jinglin icy~boord, 
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction ; 
An 'nighted trav'llers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 



An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 



When masons' mystic word an' grip 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to hell ! 



Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pairM, 
An' all the soul of love they shar'd, 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry sward, 

In shady bow'r : f 



Then you, ye auld, snec- drawing aog ! 

Ye came to Paradise incog., 

An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa' !) 
An' gied the infant warld a shog, 

Maist ruin'd a'. 



D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, 



And he has loosed her left foot shee (shoe), 
And latten that ladye lighter be ; 
And now he has gotten a bonny son, 
And meikle grace be him upon."] 

f This verse ran originally thus : — 

Lang syne in Eden's happy scene, 
When strappin' Adam's days were green, 
And Eve was like my bonnie Jean, 
My dearest part, 
A dancin', sweet, young, handsome quean, 
Wi' guileless heart. 



174 



THE POEMS OF BUHNS. 



Ye did present your smoutie phiz 

'Mang better folk, 

An' sklented on the man of Uzz _ 

Your spitefu' joke ? 



An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an' hall, 
While scabs an' botches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
And lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked scawl, 

Was warst ava ? 



But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an' fechtin' fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael* did you pierce, 
Down to this time, 



* Vide Milton, Book vi.— R. B. 

t [The three verses from the "Poem on Life," addressed, 
by the poet to " Colonel De Peyster," commencing 

% " Ah, Nick! ah, Nick ! it is na fair," 
would have here made a very appropriate addition to this 
poem.] 

[THE "DEIL'S ANSWER" 

TO THIS ADDRESS, BY THE POET'S FRIEND 

LAPRAIK, 

is as follows: — 
TO THE POET BURNC. 

4» Whae'er thou be, thou art na blate, 
Wha mocks a sp'rit o' ancient date, 
Wha't best is in a confin'd state, 

An' canna pass 
Beyond the bounds an' limits set 

By the first Cause. 

You Poets, when you lift your pen, 
A' but yoursels to me you sen' ! 
But, by this time, thee weel I ken', 

Thou'rt my acquaintance, 
These twenty years I did thee learn 

To blether nonsense. 

I own man's credit was nae sma', 
When he was new, an' tight, an' bra' ; 
His pow'r was great to rule o'er a' 

Things that were made ;• 
But soon his pride did let him fa', 

For a' that's said. 

Although I am a creature made, 

No pow'r o'er me old Adam had, 

Then why should'st thou wi' names upbraid, 

An' so ill use me, 
Wha now am chain'd by God's strong hand, 

An' can't abuse thee ? 

Thou ca's me Hornie, Nick, an' Cloutie, 
An' tells my cave is grim an' sootie ; 
But stop, thou'lt, may-be, be my booty ; 

I'll try my skill"; 
I'll gang as far as Fate will let me, 

An' wi' guid will. 

I'll thee entice baith day an' night; 
O' me thou need be in nae fright ; 
As Deil I'll ne'er come in thy sight ; 

Thoul't still embrace 
My motions, which will yield delight, 

When done wi' grace. 

I know thou hast a wanton turn, 
Wi' passions stout as e'er were born j 



Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme, f 



An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', 
A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', 
Some luckless h/Our will send him linkin.' 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin', 

An' cheat you yet. 



But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Ev'n for your sake ! J 



Thou lik'st the maid wi' hainches roun' 
An' waist genteel, 

Wi' e'en jet black, an hair nut brown, 
Thy heart she'll steal. 

Wha walks sae neat, throws out her toes, 
An' minches as she past thee goes : 
By such thou'rt hookit by the nose 

For a' thy skill ; 
Thou'lt ne'er me blame, I'm sae abstruse 

Thou'lt take thy will. 

Thou tells, thou ance was fear'd thysel', 
Nae wonder ; for 'tis guilt mak's hell ; 
Thy conscience check'd, wi' sic a knell, 

Did mak' thee shake, 
For naething mair than sugh o' quill 

O' duck or drake. 

Thou tells, by times I travel far, 

An' that I'm neither blate nor scaur — 

Mock not ! let never guid frien's jar 

Wi' ane anither, 
Thou'rt my full mark, baith keel an' tar, 

If not a brither. 

Pray R — b, the rhymer, just nae mair, 
An' o' your titles tak' a care ; 
Or else ye ken how ye shall fare, 

For a' your cracks, 
An' muckle-thought-o' rhyming ware 

An' catching snacks. 

An' if your mocks I more shall hear, 
I, by my cavern deep, do swear, 
Upon you vengeance I will rear ; 

Thou shalt lament 
What thou hast publish'd, far an' near, 

Me to affront. 

With irony thou spak'st wi' glee, 
Which shews thy disrespect to me, 
Bids me repent, "an' then may-be, 

I'll hae a stake ; 
I thank thee for thy wae-like e'e 

For fashion's sake. 

For o' my hopes I canna boast ; 
For sure an' certain I am lost ; 
The sure decree 'gainst me is past, 

An' canna alter I 
May-be thou'lt ken't, unto thy cost, 

If I thee halter. 

Thy chance is little mair than mine ; 
Thou mock'st at every thing divine ; 
Thy rhetorick has made thee shine, * 

To please the wicked ; 
But ere thou round the corner twine, 

I'll hae thee nicked.] 



THE FARMER'S AULD MARE MAGGIE. 



175 



" It was, I think, in the winter of 1784, as 
we were going* with carts for coals to the family 
fire (and I could yet point out the particular 
spot), that Robert first repeated to me the ' Ad- 
dress to the Deil.' The curious idea of such an 
address was suggested to him by running over 
in his mind the many ludicrous accounts and 
representations we have from various quarters 
of this august personage." — Gilbert Burns. 

" The Address to the Deil is one of the hap- 
piest of the Poet's productions. Humour and ten- 
derness are so happily intermixed that it is im- 
possible to say which preponderates. "— Currie. 

The Prince and Power of the air is a fa- 
vourite topic of rustic speculation. An old 
shepherd told me he had, when a boy, as good 
as seen him. — "I was," said he, "returning 
from school, and stopped till the twilight, 
groping trouts in a burn, when a thunder-storm 
came on. I looked up, and just before me a 
cloud came down as dark as night — the queer- 
est-shaped cloud I ever saw ; and there was 
something terrible about it, for when it was 
close to me, I saw, as plain as I see you, a dark 
form within it, thrice the size of any earthly 
man. It was the Evil One himself — there's 
nae doubt o' that." — " Samuel," I said, " did 
you hear his cloven-foot on the ground ?" — 
" No," replied he, "but I saw ane o' his horns 
— and O, what waves o' fire were rowing after 
him !" The Devil frequently makes his ap- 
pearance in our old mysteries, but he comes to 
work unmitigated mischief, and we part with 
him gladly. The "Hornie, Satan, Nick, or 
Clootie," who lives in the imaginations of the 
peasantry, is not quite such a reprobate, though 
his shape is anything but prepossessing. Nor 
is he an object of much alarm ; a knowledge of 
the scriptures and a belief in heaven are con- 
sidered sure protectors ; and a peasant will 
brave a suspicious road at midnight if he can 
repeat a psalm. — Allan Cunningham. 

"Burns even pities the very deil, without 
knowing, I am sure, that my uncle Toby had 
been beforehand there with him ! * He is the 
father of curses and lies/ said Dr. Slop, ' and 
is cursed and damned already.' ' I am sorry 
for it/ said my uncle Toby. A Poet without 
love were a physical and metaphysical impos- 
sibility." — Carlisle. 

♦ 

THE AULD FARMER'S 

NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS 

®uVti $flare Plaggte, 

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIP OF CORN TO 
HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR. 

A guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie : 
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, 

I've seen the day, 
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 



Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 
An' thy auld hide's as white 's a daisy, 
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, 

A bonny grey : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank, 
An' set weel down a shapely shank, 

As e'er tread yird • 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, 

Like ony bird. 

It's now some nine-an' -twenty year, 
Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere : 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, 

An' thou was stark. 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
But namely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, 

An' unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, 
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride : 
An' sweet and gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle Stewart I could hae bragged wide, 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble, 
An' wintle like a saumont-coble, 
That day ye was a jinker noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble, 

Far, far, behin' ! 

When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, 

An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, 

How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh. 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, an' stood abeigh, 

An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, 
We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma' droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, 

An' gar't them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazle. 



176 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Thou was a noble fittie- Ian', 

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun, 

In guid March-weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, and feclr t, an' fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, 

Wi' pith and pow'r, 
'Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, 

An' sly pet owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, 
An' threaten'd labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog a wee -bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; 
I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it ; 
Thou never lap, and stent', and breastit, 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 

Thou snoov't awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' ; 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, 

The vera warst. 

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary war? fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
That now perhaps thou's less deservin', 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin', 

For my last fou, 
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether, 

To some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



* [The haggis is a dish peculiar to Scotland, though sup- 
posed to be of French extraction. It is composed of minced 
offal of mutton, mixed with oat-meal and suet, and boiled 
in a sheep's stomach. When made in Elspa's way, with 
" a cum o' spice " (see the Gentle Shepherd) it is an agree- 
able, albeit a somewhat heavy, dish, always providing that 
no horror be felt at the idea of its preparation. The Edin- 
burgh Literary Journal, 1829, makes the following state- 
ment : — " Ab iut sixteen years ago, there resided at Mauch- 
line a Mr. Robert Morrison, cabinet-maker. He was a great 



"It was the token of a true knight in chivalry 
to be kind to his charger: the Kyle farmer 
shares in the same feeling, for he is gentle, both 
in word and deed, to his 'Auld Mare.' He 
recollects when she bore him triumphantly 
home when mellow, from markets and other 
meetings : how she ploughed the stiffest land 
and faced the steepest brae, and moreover 
brought home his bonnie bride — 

' An' sweet and gr*acefu' she did ride, 
Wi maiden air I 
Kyle- Stewart I could hae bragged wide, 
For sic a pair.' " 

Allan Cunningham. 

["Burns must have been an exceedingly 
good and kind-hearted being ; for whenever he 
has occasion to address or mention any subordi- 
nate being, however mean, even a mouse or a 
flower, then there is a gentle pathos in his lan- 
guage that awakens the finest feelings of the 
heart." — The Ettrick Shepherd.] 



€o a ?§aggfe.* 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm : 
Weel are ye wordy of a grace 

As lang 's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdies like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic labour dight, 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin', rich! 

Then horn for horn they stretch an' strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
'Till all their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guid man, maist like to rive, 

Bethankit hums. 



crony of Burns, and it was in Mr. Morrison's house that the 
poet usually spent the ' mids o' the day' on Sunday. It was 
in this house that he wrote his celebrated Address to a Hag- 
gis, after partaking liberally of that dish, as prepared by 
Mrs. Morrison." The Ettrick Shepherd has, on the con- 
trary, averred that the poem was written in the house of 
Mr. Andrew Bruce, Castle Hill, Edinburgh, after in like 
manner partaking of the dish. It was first published in the 
Scots Magazine iox January 1787- — Robjbrt Chambers.] 



TO A HAGGIS.— A WINTER NIGHT. 



177 



Is there that o'er his French ragout, 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Or fricassee wad mak' her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner, 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner ? 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 

As feckless as a wither'd rash, 

His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, 

His nieve a nit ; 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 

The trembling earth resounds his tread, 

Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 

He'll mak it whissle ; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware 

That jaups in luggies ; 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r, 

Gie her a Haggis ! * 



[The joyous nationality of this poem is but 
part of its merit. The " Haggis " forms one of 
the most savoury morsels in Scottish cookery. 
Burns, it is said, once uttered something like 
this poem in prose, when called on to say grace 
where a Haggis was on the board, and the ap- 
plause which he obtained induced hiin to work 
it into verse. I heard, when a boy, the Ad- 
dress to the Haggis recited in a boon of reapers : 
an old highland bandsman listened with great 
attention ; when these lines were repeated, — 

" Clap in his wailie nieve a blade 
He'll mak it whissle," 

he could no longer contain himself, but cried 
out, "Its the God's truth! To make a steel 
blade whistle requires a man ! There was Donald 
Bane, when sixty-six years old, and no sae 
souple as he had been, was called on to fight 
for the honour o' the broad sword, with a foreign 
braggart. ' Donald — said his chief — d'ye think 
y're yauld enough for him ?' with that he whipt 
rat his claymore — a broad bright bit o' steel it 
was — and made it whistle in the air like a 
hunting hawk ; weel ! away he gaed up the 
Lawn-market to the strife, and ye'll na hinder 
some ane frae saying ' Ah Donald's failed ; I 
doubt he'll no do ! ' When Donald heard this 
I wish ye had seen but his e'e — it glented fire- 
he lap right up into the air, and seizing a lamp- 
iron far aboon other men's reach, hung by ae 
hand for a moment, sprang proudly doAvn, and 
cried, ' She'll do yet ! ' " 

* Another version of the last stanza reads thus : — 
Ye Powers wha gie us a' that's gude, 
Still bless auld Caledonia's brood 
VVi r great John Barleycorn's heart's blude, 



The component parts of a Haggis are some- 
times inquired anxiously into by men who love 
the pleasures of the table. — " Pray, sir," said 
a man of the south, "why do you boil it in a 
sheep's bag ; and, above all, what is it made 
of?" — "Sir," answered a man of the north, 
"we boil it in a sheep's bag because such was 
the primitive way : it was invented, sir, before 
linen was thought of: and as for what it is 
made of, 1 dare not trust myself with telling — 
I can never name all the savoury items without 
tears ; and surely you would not wish me to 
expose myself in a public company ? " A 
Haggis, in the witty and whimsical " Noctes 
Ambrosianse" of Blackwood, bursts when cut 
up over plate and table, floods the apartment, 
to the horror of the Ettrick Shepherd, and the 
astonishment of Christopher North. 

Allan Cunningham.] 

It is recorded by Gait in his "Autobiogra- 
phy," that he sat next to the Duke of York 
at an anniversary dinner in honour of the Poet, 
when his Royal Highness was attracted by the 
savoury steam proceeding from a Scotch Haggis. 
It was evidently ill made ; the bag was dingy, 
— altogether an ugly, flabby, desultory, trencher- 
ful of fat things. " Pray what dish is that ? " 
inquired the Duke. "A boiled pair of bag- 
pipes ! " gravely replied Gait, who dearly relish- 
ed a joke, in his own quiet humourous way. 
The dish was immediately ordered to be re- 
moved. — C. 

& Wiillttv jptt$t.t 

" Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of the pitiless storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides. 
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness defend you, 
From seasons such as these ? " 

] Shakespeare. 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure, 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r ; 
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r 

Far south the lift, 
Dim-dark'ning through the flaky show'r, 

Or whirling drift : 
Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi' snawy wreaths up-choked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thro' the mining outlet bocked, 

Down headlong hurl. 

List'ning, the doors an' winnocks rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

0' winter war, 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing sprat tie, 

Beneath a sCaur. 



In stoups or luggies, 
And on our board, that king of f od, 
A glorious Haggis ! 
[t First pr-iatcd- i» the Second, or Edinburgh. Editic 
178/-] 

N 



178 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing, 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee ? 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, 

An' close thy e'e ? 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd, 
Lone from your savage homes exil'd, 
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil' d, 

My heart forgets, 
While pitiless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain ; 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow, solemn, stole : — 

" Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust ! 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost ! 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
Not all your rage, as now united, shows 
More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
Vengeful malice unrepenting, [bestows. 
Than heav'n - illumin'd man on brother man 
See stern oppression's iron grip, 
Or mad ambition's gory hand, 
Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 
Woe, want, and murder o'er a land ! 
Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 
Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
How pamper'd luxury, flatt'ry by her side, 
The parasite empoisoning her ear, 
With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
l/ooks o'er proud property, extended wide j 
And eyes the simple rustic hind, 

Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 
A creature of another kind, 
Some coarser substance unrefin'd, 
Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below. 
Where, where is love's fond, tender throe, 
With lordly honour's lofty brow, 
The pow'rs you proudly own ? 
Is there, beneath love's noble name, 
Can harbour, dark the selfish aim, 

To bless himself alone ! 
Mark maiden-innocence a prey 

To love-pretending snares, 
This boasted honour turns away, 
Shunning soft pity's rising sway, 
Regardless of the tears and unavailing pray'rs ! 
Perhaps, this hour, in mis'ry's squalid nest, 
She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking 
blast ! 
Oh ye ! who sunk, in beds of down, 
Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 
Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 
Ill-satisfied keen nature's jclam'rous call, 



Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to 
sleep, 
While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap ! 
Think on the dungeon's grkn confine, 
Where guilt and poor misfortune pine ! 
Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 
But shall thy legal rage pursue 
The wretch, already crushed low 
By cruel fortune's undeserved blow ? 
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss ! " 

I heard nae mair, for chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw, 
And hail'd the morning with a cheer — 

A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind — 

Through all his works abroad, 
The heart benevolent and kind 

The most resembles God. 

" The beginning of this poem gives a capital 
description of the rising of a storm. Then 
again appears the kind feeling heart for suffer- 
ing humanity." — The Ettrick Shepherd. 

11 Neither the subjects of his poems, nor his 
manner of handling them, allow us long to 
forget their author. On the basis of his human 
character he has reared a poetic one, which, with 
more or less distinctness, presents itself to view 
in almost every part of his earlier, and, in my 
estimation, his most valuable, verses. This 
poetic fabric, dug out of the quarry of genuine 
humanity, is airy and spiritual ; and though the 
materials in some parts are coarse, and the dis- 
position is often fantastic and irregular, yet the 
whole is agreeable and strikingly attractive." 
— Wordsworth. 

"The voice which the Poet hears, amid the 
winter storm, utters sentiments in unison with 
those which the Poet claims as his own in the 
introduction. He prepares us for sympathising 
in the sufferings of the human race, by the 
description of the rivulets choked with snow ; 
the cattle crowding to the shelter of some pre- 
cipitous bank, and the birds, which cheered him 
with their songs in summer, sitting chittering 
among the leafling trees." — Cunningham. 

" How touching is it, amid the glooms of 
personal misery that broods over and around 
him ; yet, amid the storm, he thinks of ' the 
cattle, the silly sheep, and the wee harmless 
burdies !' yes, the tenant of the mean lowly hut 
has the heart to pity all these. This is worth a 
whole volume of homilies on mercy ; for it is 
the voice of mercy itself. Burns lives in sym- 
pathy : his soul rushes forth into all the realms 
of being : nothing that has existence can be 
indifferent to him." — Carlisle. 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



179 



A CANTATA. 



RECITATIVO. 

When lyart leaves bestrew the yird, 

Or wavering like the bauckie-bird,* 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 



* The old Scottish name for the bat. 

f [Poosie Nansie's, " The scene of the ' Jolly Beggars,' was 
a public house in Mauchline of the lowest possible descrip- 
tion, to which beggars and vagrants resorted for lodging and 
food. It was adapted for the entertainment of such charac- 
ters only, and no other sort of persons ever entered it, ex- 
cepting, perhaps, such wags as Burns himself, when bent 
upon amusement, and desirous of seeing the lowest scenes 
which human nature can exhibit. 

" As the approach of night calls home all the creatures of 
animated nature to rest and enjoyment, so, in these good old 
times, did Saturday night, the sun-set of the week, bring to 
roost all the stray sons of poverty, bent upon compensating, 
by the festivity of one night, the contumelies, the wander- 
ings, the hunger, cold, pain, and abstinence, of the rest. On 
that evening, therefore, whole fleets of mendicants might be 
seen thronging the roads, bound for Poosie Nansie's, to 
'haud the splore,' and pouring in at all the 'town-ends' 
in Mauchline. Her oval-shaped door received them within 
its crater, as the bung-hole in the genie's cask, in the Ara- 
bian Nights'' Entertainments, received the vapour into which 
the fisherman had caused him to dissolve himself. Then 
would there be recognitions of acquaintance, and the most 
ceremonious shaking of hands imaginable ; for they were 
always ceremonious, till such time as the ice of politeness 
was thawed by the genial warmth of a few preliminary 
drams ; when, of course, there was a greater community of 
friendly feeling throughout. But not more wonders in the 
dissolution of ceremony did Poosie's Kilbagie achieve, than 
did her large pulpit-looking fire, round which they gathered, 
in respect of relaxing with equally potent heat the cripple 
limbs of the company. The miserable wretch who perished 
with the rheumatism, and walked double through the week, 
was cured in an instant, as if the demon of the disease had 
fled from his bones on coming within the influence of a spell. 
The 'Po-or ou-ld bli-nd man,' who had howled forth the 
terrible circumstances of his condition, vexing the ears of the 
lieges, for six long days, suddenly opened his eyes to the 
blessings before him, as if he had only awoke from a long 
sleep. The 'poor sailor lad,' too, who had lost an arm with 
Rodney, on the glorious 1 2th of August, 1782, seemed sud- 
denly to forget all the effects of the engagement, and, in the 
twinkling of a handspike, the long deceased limb sprang 
from the jacket, into all its pristinehealth and vigour. More 
astonishing resurrections than even that took place. Limbs 
accustomed to 'limp wi' the spavie,' recovered their vigour 
and proportion. Legs grew down from trunks formerly de- 
truncated, and arms sprang from shoulders erst apparently 
stumps. Immense blotches that, in week days, excited the 
commiseration of the charitable, in the character of plague 
spots upon the skin, at once disappeared, ' and, like the 
baseless fabric of a vision, left not a wreck behind.' The 
man ' with a brown leg and blue one,' who had 'had the 
black scurvy in Jamaica, and come home a poor helpless ob- 
ject,' became in a moment the soundest and liveliest man in 
the company ; and the wretch who trembled through the 
week between two crutches, as if every part of his body were 
taking leave of the other, now shivering with the ague, and 
at other times agonized by the cramp, threw by his wooden 
friends and was 'himself again.' In short, the transforma- 
tions and cures accomplished at Poosie Nansie's fire-side 
M'ere miraculous and manifold. Suffice it to say that the 
blind saw, the deaf heard, the dumb spoke, (nay, 'ranted 
and sang,') the lame walked — and all dra?ik. In the latter 
department, there was not a single inefficient member. 

" No sooner were the window-shutters of night all fairly 
closed in, and every thing snug, than the festivities of the 
evening commenced. Tea was paraded by the females of the 
company, and drunk from higgles-, caups, and tinnies, all of 
them vessels not easily broken. Fowls and pieces of meat 
were sometimes produced from secret wallets, and bacon 
ham was no unusual dish ; all of which were hastily prepared 



When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 
In hoary cranreuch drest ; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 
O' randie, gangrel bodies, 
In Poosie Nansie' st held the splore, 
To drink their orra duddies : 
Wi' quaffing and laughing, 
They ranted and they sang j 



by frying — for they had no delicacy of taste in cooking. To 
these were added savoury messes, consisting of cold meat, 
eggs, hares, and other articles of food the most incongruous 
in association, seasoned highly with salt, pepper, onions, and 
occasionally garlic. As soon as the feast was pretty well 
over — for it never could be said to be altogether done — the 
fiercer debaucheries began, and the hostess was in perpetual 
demand for supplies of more liquor. Nansie did not retail 
spirits herself, but procured what was wanted from a neigh- 
bouring shop, where she was allowed a small emolument for 
her custom, which she contrived to increase not a little by 
cheating her guests of an enormous commission (in kind) for 
her trouble. Kilbagie was then sold so low as one penny per 
gill ; of course it was quite possible to get completely intoxi- 
cated for four pence. Over this stuff they were wont to 
carouse till midnight, when the ' mirth and fun ' generally 
grew so ' fast and furious ' that nothing could contain them, 
and their joy could only find vent in the confusion of a dance 
or a squabble. If the former amicable method chanced to 
be adopted, the floor was cleared in an instant for action. 
The whole of Nansie's furniture was promiscuously huddled 
into a corner, and to it they set, men, women, and children, 
like a parcel of infuriated Bacchanalians, tossing their limbs 
wildly about, and using gesticulations, and setting into atti- 
tudes that no language can paint. After tiring of this exer- 
cise, they would again sit down to deep debauch, and drink 
till morning light, about which time all that had survived 
the soporific effects of the liquor were commonly engaged in 
a Polymachia, or battle general ; which exertion was for the 
most part quite as effectual in laying the company low as 
the Kilbagie. They seemed to fight themselves out, in 
short ; and one by one dropped from the scene, till not a 
combatant was left. All were on the floor, dead, flat, and 
peaceable. Sunday morning, which, rising in Scotland, finds 
all nature reduced to a state of perfect calm, usually found 
the inmates of Poosie Nansie in the same circumstances. 
All was quiet ; but it was the quiet of desolation. The whole 
apartment seemed strewn with the ruins of the human race, 
a heterogeneous chaos of carcasses, heads, arms, women, 
children, wooden legs, and other fragments of humanity, 
together with the no less disabled pieces of Nansie's furni- 
ture, that were in every respect analagous to the strange 
beings who used them on the preceding evening. 

" Through the course of Sunday, it was observed that the 
inmates of Nansie's mansion were wonderfully quiet and 
orderly. If the weather was good, many put off the day by 
sitting upon turf seats at the door, smoking and talking ; 
while the children lay half naked upon the green, amusing 
themselves with every species of feat and play, like Nereids 
sporting on the azure wave. In proportion as the debauch 
or battle of the preceding evening had been fierce and fatal, 
the conversations of Sunday were harmonious, and the har- 
mony universal. Whatever were the injuries received in the 
fray, none of them were remembered. It seemed to be then 
the general wish that an amnesty should be agreed upon, 
and no revenge taken for former aggressions. At the close 
of night, however, the splore Was again commenced with 
considerable briskness. But the festivities of this evening 
never reached within many degrees of their Saturday night 
jollifications, ' in intenseness of enjoyment or obstreperous - 
ness of mirth, partly for the sake of decorum, partly on 
account of low finances, and principally because their spirits, 
which, suppressed through the week, burst out into the 
most violent expressions upon Saturday-night, were so far 
exhausted by the first overflow that little material remained 
to be expended upon the second. On Monday morning, it 
was a rich sight to see the crapulous wretches take their 
departure from Mauchline, with empty wailets, sore heads, 
and sneaking aspects — so completely spent in every respect 
by the excesses they had committed, that their wretched 
appearance looked a thousand times more wretched ; and 
what had formerly seemed only ruins of humanity was new 
the wreck of ruins." — Chambers. 



180 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle rang. 

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm — 

She blinket on her sodger : 
An' ay he gied the tozie drab 
The tither skelpin' kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab 
Just like an aumos dish.* 

Ilk smack still, did crack still, 

Just like a cadger's whup, 
Then staggering and swaggering 
He roar'd this ditty up — 

AIR. 

Tune — Soldier's Joy. 

I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
This here Avas for a wench, and that other in a 
trench, [the drum. 

When welcoming the French at the sound of 
Lai de daudle, &c. 



* " Burns here likens a lady's mouth, rather irreverently, to 
an ' aumos dish ;' and, perhaps, few readers of the poems of 
that immortal bard are aware of what he means by the ex- 
pression. The 'aumos dish,' or 'beggar's dish,' as it was 
more frequently called, was a wooden vessel, half platter, 
half bowl, with which every mendicant was formerly pro- 
vided, as a regular and proper part of his professional accou- 
trements. The aumos dish was a piece of furniture attached 
to the profession from a very early period. In the time of 
our Queen Mary, when the Protestants of the Netherlands 
first began to resist the tyranny of Philip II., the Count De 
Berlaimont contemptuously told the Princess of Parma that 
she had nothing to fear from such a race of beggars — using 
the French word gueux. The Protestants seized upon, and 
rejoiced in, the title — Les Gueux ! At a great dinner, held 
for the purpose of expressing their sentiments, the Marquis 
of Utrecht, who acted as president, descended from the 
chair, and, re-appearing with a beggar's wallet upon his back, 
and a beggar's wooden cup in his hand, drank the general 
health in that vessel, which was immediately passed round 
the company, all of whom did the same. When these pa- 
triots, afterwards, by a strange enthusiasm, assumed the garb 
of beggars, the wooden dish was part of the properties— to use 
the theatrical phrase— with which they supported the cha- 
racter. The vessel, which thus flourished in the sixteenth 
century, was generally used by the Scottish mendicants and 
tinkers till near the close of the eighteenth, when the old 
honest system of mendicancy itself came to a close. The fol- 
lowing curious account of it is from the pen of a Peebles-shire 
shepherd, who is old enough to remember its general use. 

" ' The Beggar's dish was used by two sets of persons, — 
the itinerant and professed beggars, and the wandering tribes 
of gypsies. There was no difference in the shape and size of 
either ; but the latter class had theirs often clasped with 
strong hooks here and there, or perhaps bound round the 
middle with a neat yellow hoop. As far as I can recollect, it 
varied in size from a pint and a-half to two Scots pints of 
measure ; but in my father's house at Ettrick hall, I remem- 
ber one that would have holden, I think, between three and 
four pints, and it generally went by the appellation of 'the 
beggar's dish.' I never saw any other plates of their shape 
or form ; they increased gradually in width from the bottom 
to the middle, and for about two inches more contracted 
hastily towards the brim, the edge of which was turned very 
thin, so thin that they very often had rents in several places 
of their upper edge, and these cracks the tinkers held toge- 
j ther with clear or yellow tin, or wire hooks, as noticed above. 
The beggar's dish was used for two purposes, to receive their 
aumos, and to carry broth, milk, porridge, &c, out to the 
road side, where the men and beggars' children staid till the 



My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath' d 
his last, [Abram ; f 

When the bloody die was cast on the heights of 

I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game 
was play'd, Tdrum. 

And the MoroJ low was laid at the sound of the 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating 

batt'ries, § 
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot j| to 

head me, 
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

And now tho' I must beg with a wooden arm 

and leg, 
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, 
I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and 

my callet, 
As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a dram. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the 

winter shocks, [home, 

Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a 



return of the wives from the farm-house, with what beverage 
they could collect either by entreaty or pilfery ; and for car- 
rying victuals the beggar's dish was well adapted, for, by its 
contracting so near the brim, it prevented from spilling what 
the good housewife had poured into it, and also kept the food 
warm and comfortable till it reached the principal horde : 
this case, however, was only applicable to the tinkers. The 
professional beggar presented himself and his wants all at 
once. I think I see him, as I have often done, leaning over 
a long pike staff, as it was called, and saying ' Gudewife, I 
maun hae my aumos.' ' What d'ye take?' was then asked. 
In a hoarse, slow tone, it was then answered, ' Meal, or ony 
thing ye like.' The meal rusky was then sought, when the 
beggar from below his left arm drew out his beggar dish — 
held it out, and into it the gudewife put some handfuls of 
meal ; but the quantity was adjusted as the beggar stood 
high or low in the gudewife's esteem — as he was of good or 
bad report — as he was known or was a stranger in the place 
— or as he was known to have much or little need. He then 
poured it into a small sack, or meal pock, as it was called, 
which was slung over his right shoulder, and hung on his left 
side, below his left arm, and in above it thrust his dish, 
unless the gudewife gave him also kale or milk ; this was also 
poured into his dish ; then if there were many servants, &c, 
in the house at the time, the beggar generally went to the 
door, or went out where he could get a seat till he had eaten 
up his aumos ; when this was done, and his pocks all equally 
balanced about him, he returned to the kitchen, thanked the 
gudewife for her kindness, wished all the family well, with 
peace and plenty among them ; then leaning on a long white 
sturdy kent, well shod with iron, on the foot, and which 
grated among the stones aye as he set it down, slowly retired 
from the hospitable door.' " — Chambers. 

f The battle field in front of Quebec, where General 
Wolfe fell in the arms of victory, 1/59. 

% [The capture of Havannah, the capital of the Island of 
Cuba, by the British, in 1762, is the event here alluded to. 
The Moro, a strong castle defending the place, having been 
gallantly taken by storm, the city and island surrendered. 
Fourteen sail of the line, and four frigates were taken or de- 
stroyed ; and an immense booty, amounting to three millions 
sterling, fell into the captors' hands.] 

§ [The destruction of the Spanish floating batteries, dur- 
ing the famous siege of Gibraltar, 1782, on which occasion 
the gallant Captain Curtis rendered the most signal service.] 

II George Augustus Elliot, created Lord Heathfield, for Kis 
memorable defence of Gibraltar, during a siege of three 
years. He died in 1790. 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



181 



When the tother bag I sell, and the tother 
bottle tell, [dram. 

I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of a 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk 

Aboon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rattons backward leuk, 

And seek the benmost bore ; 

A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, 

He skir'ld out Encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid the loud uproar. 

AIR. 

Tune — Soldier Laddie. 

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, 
And still my delight is in proper young men ; 
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering dram was his trade ; 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, 
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church ; 
He ventur'd the soul, and I risk'd the body, 
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, 
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair ; 
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, 
My heart it rejoic'd at a sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &e. 

And now I have liv'd — I know not how long, 
And still I can join in a cup or a song ; [steady, 
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass 
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk, 

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; 
They mind't na wha the chorus teuk, 

Between themselves they were sae busy : 
At length wi' drink and courting dizzy, 

He stoiter'd up an' made a face ; 
Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzie, 

Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace. 



AIR. 

Tune. — Auld Sir Symon. 
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, 

Sir Knave is a fool in a session ; 
He's there but a 'prentice I trow, 

But I am a fool by profession. 

My grannie she bought me a beuk, 
And I held awa to the school; 

I fear I my talent misteuk, 

But what will ye hae of a fool ? 

For drink I would venture my neck, 
A hizzie's the half o' my craft, 

But what could ye other expect, 
Of ane that's avowedly daft ? 

I ance was ty'd up like a stirk, 
For civilly swearing and quaffing ! 

I ance was abus'd in the kirk, 
For touzling a lass i' my daffin. 

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 
Let naebody name wi' a jeer : 

There's ev'n, I'm tauld, i' the Court 
A Tumbler ca'd the Premier. 

Observ'd ye yon reverend lad 
Mak' faces to tickle the mob ? 

He rails at our mountebank squad — 
It's rivalship just i' the job. 

And now my conclusion I'll tell, 
For faith I'm confoundedly dry ; 

The chiel that's a fool for himsel', 
Gude L — d ! he's far dafter than Z. 

RECITATIVO. 

Then neist outspak a raucle carlin, 
Wha ken't, fu' weel to cleek the sterling, 
For monie a pursie she had hookit, 
And had in monie a well been doukit. 
Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie ! 
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman. 

AIR. 

Tune — O an ye were dead, gudeman. 

A Highland lad my love was born, 
The Lalland laws he held in scorn : 
But he still was faithfu' tc his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 

CHORUS. 

Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman J 
Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman ! 
There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman. 

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
An' guid claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, ke 



182 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; 
For a Lalland face he feared nane. 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

They banish' d him beyond the sea, 
But, ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

But, oh ! they catch'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them every one, 
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
Nae comfort but a hearty can, 
When I think on John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle, 

Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle, 

Her strappan limb and gaucy middle, 

(He reach'd nae higher,) 
Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, 

An' blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e, 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three. 
Then in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo, 
Set off wi' Allegretto glee 

His giga solo. 

AIR. 

Tune. — Whistle o'er the lave (ft. 
Let me ryke up to dight that tear, 
And go wi' me and be my dear, 
And then your ev'ry care and fear 
May whistle ower the lave o't. 

CHORUS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade, 
And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd, 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was whistle owre the lave o't. 

At kirns and weddings we'se be there, 
And O ! sae nicely 's we will fare ; 
We'll bouse about till Daddie Care 
Sings whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c, 

Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, 
And sun oursels about the dyke, 
And at our leisure, when ye like, 
We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms., 
And while I kittle hair on thairms, 
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms, 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 



RECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy caird, 

As weel as poor gut-scraper ; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard, 

And draws a roosty rapier — 

He swoor by a' was swearing worth, 

To speet him like a pliver, 
Unless he wad from that time forth 

Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee 

Upon his hunkers bended, 
And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, 

And sae the quarrel ended. 

But tho' his little heart did grieve 
When round the tinkler press'd her, 

He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, 
When thus the caird address'd her : 

AIR. 

Tune. — Clout the caudron. 

My bonny lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station : 
I've travell'd round all Christian ground, 

In this my occupation. 
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd 

In many a noble squadron : 
But vain they search'd, when off I march'd 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I've ta'en the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and cap'rin', 
And tak' a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron. 
And by that stoup, my faith and houp, 

An' by that dear Kilbagie,* 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my craigie. 

An' by that stoup, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

The caird prevail' d — th' unblushing fair 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partly wi' love, o'ercome sae sair, 

An' partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino, with an air 

That show'd a man of spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair, 

An' made the bottle clunk 

To their health that night. 

But urchin Cupid shot a shaft, 

That play'd a dame a shavie, 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, 

Behint the chicken cavie. 



* [A peculiar sort of whiskey, so called from Kilbagie 
distillery in Clackmannanshire. It was a great favourite 
with Poosie Nansie's Clubs.] 



=3© 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



183 



Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,* 
Tho' limping wi' the spavie, 

He hirpPd up, and lap like daft, 
And shor'd them Dainty Davie 

O' boot that night. 

He was a care-defying blade 

As ever Bacchus listed, 
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had nae wish but — to be glad, 

Nor want but — when he thirsted ; 
He hated nought but — to be sad, 

And thus the muse suggested 

His sang that night. 



Tune. — For a' that, an' a' that. 

I am a bard of no regard, 
Wi' gentle folks, an' a' that : 

But Homer-like, the glowran byke, 
Frae town to town I draw that. 

CHOHUS. 

For a' that, an' a' that, 

An' twice as muckle's a' that ; 

I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', 
I've wife eneugh for a' that. 

I never drank the Muses' stank, 

Castalia's burn, an' a' that ; 
But there it streams, and richly reams, 

My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 
Their humble slave, an' a' that ; 

But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that r &c. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 
Wi' mutual love, an' a' that : 

But for how lang the flee may stang, 
Let inclination law that. 

For a' that. 

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, 
They've ta'en me in, an' a' that ; 

But clear your decks, and here's the sex ! 
I like the jads for a' that. 

CHORUS. 

For a' that, an' a' that, 

An' twice as muckle's a' that ; 

My dearest bluid, to do them guid, 
They're welcome till't for a' that. 

RECITATIVO. 

So sang the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
Shook wi' a thunder of applause, 
Re-echo' d from each mouth ; 



* [Homer is universally allowed to be the oldest ballad- 
linger on record.] 



They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds, 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, 

To quench their lowan drouth. 
Then owre again, the jovial thrang, 

The poet did request, 
To loose his pack an' wale a sang, 
A ballad o' the best ; 
He, rising, rejoicing, 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, an' found them 
Impatient for the chorus 



Tune. — Jolly Mortals, fill your Glasses. 

See ! the smoking bowl before us, 

Mark our jovial ragged ring ! 
Round and round take up the chorus, 

And in raptures let us sing. 



A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please the priest. 

What is title ? what is treasure ? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter how or where ! 

A fig, &c. 

With the ready trick and fable, 

Round we wander all the day ; 
And at night, in barn or stable, 

Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, &c. 

Does the train-attended carriage 

Thro' the country lighter rove ? 
Does the sober bed of marriage 

Witness brighter scenes of love ? 
A fig, &c. 

Life is all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes ; 
Let them cant about decorum 

Who have characters to lose. 

A fig, &c. 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets ! 

Here's to all the wandering train ! 
Here's our ragged brats and callets ! 

One and all cry out — Amen ! 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please the priest. 

[This remarkable poem was written in the 
year 1785, but not published by ihe poet. It 
first saw the light in a small volume, printed 



184 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



in 1801, at Glasgow, under the title of " Poems 
ascribed to Robert Burns, the Ayr-shire Bard." 
It is founded on the Poet's observation of an 
actual scene which one night met his eye, when, 
in company with his friends John Richmond, 
and James Smith, he dropped accidentally, at 
a late hour, into a very humble inn, in Mauch- 
line, the landlady of which was a Mrs. Gib- 
son, — more familiarly named Poosie Nancy. 
After witnessing much jollity amongst a com- 
pany, who by day appeared abroad as mise- 
rable beggars, the three young men came 
away ; Burns professing to have been greatly 
delighted with the scene, but particularly with 
the gleesome behaviour of an old maimed 
soldier. In the course of a few days, he re- 
cited a part of the poem to Richmond, who 
has stated that, to the best of his recol- 
lection, it contained, in its original complete 
form, songs by a sweep and a sailor, which 
do not now appear. The landlady of the 
house was mother to Racer Jess, alluded to 
in the Holy Fair, and her house was at the 
left hand side of the opening of the Cowgate, 
mentioned in the same poem, and opposite to 
the church. 

"The original manuscript was long in the 
hands of John Richmond of Mauchline, and he 
remembers taking the song of 'Sir Wisdom's 
a fool when he's fou," with him to Edin- 
burgh, in 1786 ; it was given by the poet 
himself to Mr. Woodburn, factor to the laird 
of Craigengillan. It afterwards came into the 
possession of Thomas Stewart, of Greenock, 
bookseller, by whom a fac~ simile of it was 
published. Mr. Stewart died in November, 
1824, and the MS. then became the property 
of Mr. Lumsden, of Glasgow. The song of 
'For a' that, an' a' that,' sung by the bard, 
is inserted, with some slight modifications, in 
Johnson's Musical Museum. 

" The change-house of Poosie Nansie, where 
the scene is laid, stood in Mauchline, and was 
the favourite resort of lame sailors, maimed 
soldiers, wandering tinkers, travelling ballad- 
singers, and all such loose companions as hang 
about the skirts of society. Smith, the 'slee 
and pawkie thief of the Epistle, accompanied 
Burns into Nansie's howff one night, and saw 
the scene, which the Poet has rendered im- 
mortal.— Allan Cunningham." 

" The Jolly Beggars, for humorous descrip- 
tion and nice discrimination of character, is infe- 
rior to no poem of the same length in the whole 
range of English poetry. The scene, indeed, is 
laid in the very lowest department of low life, 
the actors being a set of strolling vagrants, met 
to carouse and barter their rags and plunder for 
liquor in a hedge ale-house. Yet, even in de- 
scribing the movements of such a group, the 
native taste of the Poet has never suffered his 
pen to slide into anything coarse or disgusting. 
The extravagant glee and outrageous frolic of 



the beggars are ridiculously contrasted with 
their maimed limbs, rags and crutches ; the 
sordid and squalid circumstances of their appear- 
ance are judiciously thrown into the shade. 

" Nor is the art of the Poet less conspicuous 
in the individual figures than in the general 
mass. The festive vagrants are distinguished 
from each other by personal appearance and 
character, as much as any fortuitous assembly 
in the higher orders of life. The group, it must 
be observed, is of Scottish character : yet the 
distinctions are too well marked to escape even 
the southron. The most prominent persons are 
a maimed soldier and his female companion, a 
hackneyed follower of the camp ; a stroller, late 
the consort of a Highland ketterer or sturdy 
beggar, — ' but weary fa' the waefu' woodie !' 
Being now at liberty, she becomes an object of 
rivalry between a ' pigmy scraper with his fid- 
dle' and a strolling tinker. The latter, a despe- 
rate bandit, like most of his profession, terrifies 
the musician out of the field, and is preferred by 
the damsel, of course. A wandering ballad- 
singer, with a brace of doxies, is last introduced 
upon the stage. Each of these mendicants sing a 
song in character; and such a collection of 
humorous lyrics, connected with vivid poetical 
description, is not, perhaps, to be parallelled in 
the English language. The concluding ditty, 
chaunted by the ballad-singer at the request of 
the company, whose l mirth and fun have now 
grown fast and furious,' and set them above all 
sublunary terrors of jails, and whipping-posts, 
is certainly far superior to any thing in the 
Beggar's Opera, where alone we could expect 
to find its parallel ! 

" In one or two passages of the Jolly Beggars, 
the muse has slightly trespassed on decora m, 
where, in the language of Scottish song, 

' High kilted was she, 
As she gaecl owre the lea,' 

Something, however, is to be allowed to the 
nature of the subject, and something to the edu- 
cation of the poet : and if from veneration to 
the names of Swift and Dryden, we tolerate the 
grossness of the one, and the indelicacy of the 
other, the respect due to that of Burns may 
surely claim indulgence for a few light strokes 
of broad humour." — Sir Walter Scott.] 

" Such a motley group of vagrants as Burns 
has so happily described may yet be found in 
many districts of Scotland. There are houses of 
rendezvous where the maimed, supplicating sol- 
dier — the travelling, ballad-singing fiddler — the 
sturdy wench, with hands ever ready to steal 
the pittance which is not bestowed — the rough, 
black-bearded tinker, with his soldering-irons 
and pike-staff— and other children of real or 
pretended misfortune, assemble on a Saturday 
night to pawn their stolen clothes, dispose of 
their begged meal, and on their produce to hold 
merriment and revelry." — Cromek. 



DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 



185 



"One of that sturdy class of mendicants, so 
well painted by both poet and annotator, is still 
remembered in Nithsdale by the name of ' Auld 
Penpont.' This provincial worthy was a fel- 
low of infinite drollery and rustic talent : he 
had a grave speech for the serious — could sing 
a psalm or pray upon occasion with the devout ; 
but when he met with the young and the 
thoughtless, he was another man. He told wild 
stories, chanted wilder songs, and sometimes 
laid his wallets aside and performed a sort of 
rustic interlude, called ' Auld Glenae,' with 
no little spirit and feeling."— Cunningham. 



23eatlj an* doctor f^ovnboofc. 

A TRUE STORY.* 

Some books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penn'd : 
Ev'n ministers, they ha'e been kenn'd, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid, at times, f to vend, 

And nail't wi' Scripture. 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befel, 
Is just as true 's the Deil's in h-11 

Or Dublin city : 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

's a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill had made me canty, 

I was na fou, but just had plenty ; 

I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches ; 
An' liillocks, stanes, and bushes, kenn'd ay 

Frae ghaists an' witches. 

The rising moon began to glow'r 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre : 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 



* [In a note to the copy of his works presented to Dr. 
Geddes, the Poet says, " the hero of the poem is John Wil- 
son, schoolmaster, in Tarbolton. This gentleman, Dr. 
Hornbook, is professionally a brother of the sovereign order 
of the ferula, but by intuition and inspiration, he is at once 
apothecary, surgeon, and physician. " — R. B. 

" Death and Dr. Hornbook, though not published in the 
Kilmarnock edition, was produced early in the year 1785. 
The schoolmaster of Tarbolton parish, to eke out the scanty 
subsistence allowed to that useful class of men, set up a shop 
of grocery goods. Having accidentally fallen in with some 
medical books, and become most hobby-horsically attached 
to the study of medicine, he had added the sale of a few me- 
dicines to his little trade. He had got a shop-bill printed, 
at the bottom of which, overlooking his own incapacity, he 
had advertised that advice would be given, in common* dis- 
orders, at the shop, gratis. Robert was at a mason-meeting 
in Tarbolton, when the Dominie made too ostentatious a 
display of his medical skill. As he parted in the evening 
from this mixture of pedantry and physic, at the place where 
he describes his meeting with Death, one of those floating 
ide.TS of apparitions mentioned in his letter to Dr. Moore, 
crossed his mind ; this set him to work for the rest of his 
way home. These circumstances he related when he repeated 



I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 
I cou'd na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin' down on Willie's mill,j 
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker : 
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 

I took a bicker. 

I there wi' something did forgather, 
! That put me in an eerie swither ; 
| An' awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 
Clear-dangling, hang ; 
A three taed leister on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame it had ava ; 

And then, its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma', 

As cheeks o' branks. 

" Guid-e'en," quo' I ; " Friend ! hae ye been 
When ither folk are busy sawin' ?"§ [mawin', 
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', 

But naething spak ; 
At length, says I, " Friend, whare ye gaun, 

Will ye go back ?" 

It spak right howe, — " My name is Death, 
But be na fley'd." — Quoth I, " Guid faith, 
Ye're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

But tent me, billie ; 
I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 

See, there's a gully !" 

" Guidman," quo' he, " put up your whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle 

To be mislear'd, 
I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard." 



the verses to me the next afternoon, as I was holding the 
plough, and he was lettingthe water off the field beside me." 
Gilbert Burns. 

[On his way home, it is said, the Poet found a neighbour 
lying tipsy by the road-side : the idea of Death flashed on his 
fancy, and, seating himself on the parapet of a bridge, he 
composed the Puem, fell asleep, and, when awakened by the 
morning sun, he recollected it all, and wrote it down on 
reaching Mossgiel. This took place in the seed-season of 
1785, and an epidemical disorder was then raging in the 
country. Wilson soon afterwards quitted Tarbolton, and 
repairing to Glasgow engaged in mercantile pursuits, and 
achieved a moderate independence. He is much respected 
for his religious feelings and his private worth.]. 

f [Var. Great lies and nonsense baith — MS.] 

t [Tarbolton Mill, situated on the rivulet Faile, about two 
hundred yards to the east of the village, on the road to Moss- 
giel ; then occupied by William Muir, an intimate friend of 
the Burns family — hence called Willie's mill. " Mr. William 
Muir, Tarbolton Mill," appears amongst the subscribers to 
the Edinburgh edition of the poems, in which the above 
piece first appeared.] 

§ [This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785. — R. B.] 



186 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



" Weel, weel \" says I, " a bargain be't ; 
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; 
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 

Come, gies your news ; 
This while* ye hae been mony a gate, 

At mony a house." 

" Ay, ay !" quo' he, an shook his head, 
" It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
Sin' I began to nick the thread, 

An' choke the breath : 
Folk maun do something for their bread, 

An' sae maun Death, 

" Sax thousand years are near hand fled 
Sin' I was to the butchering bred, 
An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, 

To stap or scar me ; 
Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade, 

An' faith, he'll waur me. 

"Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, 
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! 
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchanf 

An' ither chaps, 
The weans haud out their fingers laughin' 

And pouk my hips. 

" See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart j 
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 

And cursed skill, 
Has made them baith no worth a , 

Damn'd haet they'll kill. 

"'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen 

I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain ; 

But-deil-ma-care, 
It just play'd dirl on the bane, 

But did nae mair. 

" Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortify'd the part, 
That when I looked to my dart, 

It was sae blunt, 
Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

Of a kail-runt. 

" I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
I near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry, 
But yet the bauld Apothecary 

Withstood the shock ; 
I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

O' hard whin rock. 

" Ev'n them he canna get attended, 
Although their face he ne'er had kenn'd it, 
Just in a kail-blade, and send it, 

As soon's he smells 't, 
Baith their disease, and what will mend it, 

At once he tells 't. 



* [An epidemical fever was then racing in that country, R. B.] 
f [Buchan'a Domestic Medicine.] R. B. 



<£= 



" And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles 

He's sure to hae : 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

As A B C. 

"Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees; 
True sal-marinum o' the seas ; 
The farina of beans and pease, 

He has't in plenty ; 
Aqua-fortis, what you please, 

He can content ye. 

" Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 

Urinus spiritus of capons ; 

Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

Distill'd per se ; 
Sal-alkali o' midge-tail clippings, 

And mony mae." 

" Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole J now," 
Quo' I, " If that thae news be true ! 
His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 

Sae white and bonnie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; 

They'll ruin Johnnie !" 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, 
And says, " Ye need na yoke the pleugh, 
Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

Tak ye nae fear : 
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh 

In twa-three year. 

" Whare I kilPd ane a fair strae death, 
By loss o' blood or want of breath, 
This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a scope i' their last claith, 

By drap an' pill. 

" An honest wabster to his trade, 

Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, 

Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

When it was sair ; 
The wife slade cannie to her bed, 

But ne'er spak mair. ' 

" A countra laird had ta'en the batts, 
Or some curmurring in his guts, 
His only son for Hornbook sets, 

An' pays him well. 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, 

Was laird himseP. 

" A bonnie lass, ye kenn'd her name,§ 
Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame : 
She trusts herseP, to hide the shame, 

In Hornbook's care ; 
Horn sent her afF to her lang hame, 

To hide it there. 



% [The grave-digger.] R. B. 
§^ [She was an inn-keeper's daughter.] 



DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 



187 



" That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way ; 
Thus goes he on from day to day, 
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An's weel paid for't ; 
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

Wi' his damn'd dirt : 

" But, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't ; 
I'll nail the self-conceited sot, 

As dead's a herrin' : 
Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat, I 

He gets his fairin' !" 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak' the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 

Which rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas' d myseP, 

And sae did Death. 



["At Glasgow I heard that the hero of this 
exquisite satire was living ; Hamilton managed 
to introduce me to him — we talked of almost 
all subjects save the poems of Burns. Dr. 
Hornbook is above the middle size, stout made, 
and inclining to corpulency. His complexion 
is swarthy, his eye black and expressive : he 
wears a brown wig and dresses in black. There 
is little or nothing of the pedant about him : I 
think a man who had never read the poem 
would scarcely discover any. Burns, I am 
told, had no personal enmity to Wilson." 

Cromek.] 

[" When Burns wrote his story of ' Death 
and Dr. Hornbook,' he had very rarely been 
intoxicated, or perhaps much exhilarated by 
liquor. Yet how happily does he lead his reader 
into that track of sensations ! and with what 
lively humour does he describe the disorder of 
his senses and the confusion of his understand- 
ing, put to test by his deliberate attempt to 
count the horns of the moon ! — 

' But whether she had three or four 
He couldna tell.' 

Behold a sudden apparition which disperses this 
disorder, and in a moment chills him into pos- 
session of himself ! Coming upon no more im- 
portant mission than the grisly phantom was 
charged with, what mode of introduction could 
have been more efficient or appropriate ? " 

Wordsworth.] 

[" In the neighbourhood of Tarbolton is 

situated the farm of Lochlea, where the Poet 

* Burns composed or completed this poem in Dumfries- 
shire, about August 1789> with reference to a case then pend- 
ing in the church courts of his native district. Dr. William 
M'Gill, one of the two ministers conjoined in the parochial 
charge of Ayr, had published, in 1786, A Practical Essay 
on the Death of Jesus Christ, in two parts, containing, 1, 
the History, 2. the Doctrine of his Death, which was sup- 
posed to inculcate principles of both Arian and Socinian 
character, and provoked many severe censures from the 
more rigid party of the church. M'Gill remained silent 



lived, as a humble denizen of his father's house- 
hold, from the seventeenth to the twenty-fourth 
year of his age. This, of course, was the 
clachan to which at that period he resorted for 
the pleasures of society. He formed here, in 
1780, a club of young men, who met monthly, 
for mutual improvement and entertainment, 
and of which he and his brother poet, David 
Sillar, were the leading members : the utmost 
extent of expenditure on any night was three- 
pence. Here, also, was a lodge of freemasons, 
which he delighted to attend, and to whom he 
wrote a farewell, incorporated in his poems. 
The lodge still exists, and possesses among its 
records many letters from Burns, some written 
long after he was locally dissevered from the 
association, but still breathing an intense inter- 
est in its concerns. It was after attending a 
meeting of this lodge that he wrote his poem 
entitled 'Death and Doctor Hornbook,' the 
object of which. was to burlesque the school- 
master, who had offended him that night in the 
course of argument. 

" Hornbook is said to have been a man of 
ability and education superior to his situation, 
and his services as a dispenser of medicines must 
have been useful, as there was then no profes- 
sional man in the village, nor within many miles 
of it. He afterwards left the place, in conse- 
quence of a dispute about salary with the heri- 
tors, and settled in Glasgow, where he rose to 
be session-clerk of the Gorbals, and is still 
(1838) alive. He has often been heard over 
his bowl of punch in the Salt-market to bless 
the day on which he provoked the castigation 
of Burns. He was for a long while much 
missed at Tarbolton, there not being another 
vender of salts and senna-leaves in the whole 
country round, nor any medical advice, what- 
ever. There are now three regular doctors in 
Tarbolton." — Chambers.] 



A SATII 



Harm.* 



A BALLAD TUNE. — PUSH ABOUT THE BRISK BOWL. 



Orthodox, orthodox, f 
Wha believe in John Knox, 

Let me sound an alarm to your conscience, 
There's a heretic blast 
Has been blawn i' the wast, 

That what is not sense must be nonsense. 



under the attacks of his opponents, till Dr. William Peebles 
of Newton-upon-Ayr, a neighbour, and hitherto a friend, in 
preaching a centenary sermon on the Revolution, November 
5, 1788, denounced the Essay as heretical, and the author 
as one who ' ' with one hand received the privileges of the 
church, while, with the other, he was endeavouring to plunge 
the keenest poignard into her heart." M'Gill published a 
defence, which led, in April 1789, to the introduction of the 



t Var. Brother Scots, brother Scots. — MS. 



188 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Doctor Mac,* Doctor Mac, 

Ye should stretch on a rack, 
To strike evil doers j: wi' terror ; 

To join faith and sense 

Upon ony pretence, 
Is heretic, damnable error. 
in. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr,! 

It was mad, I declare, 
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 

Provost John § is still deaf 

To the church's relief, 
And orator Bob|| is its ruin. 

IV. 

D'rymple mild,H D'rymple mild, 
Tho' your heart's like a child, 

And your life like the new driven snaw, 
Yet that winna save ye, 
Auld Satan must have ye, 

For preaching that three's ane an' twa. 
v. 
Rumble John,** Rumble John, 
Mount the steps wi' a groan, 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
Then lug out your ladle, 
Deal brimstone like adle, 

And roar ev'ry note of the damn'd. 

VI. 

Simper James, +f Simper James, 
Leave the fair Killie dames, 

There's a holier chace in your view ; 
I'll lay on your head, 
That the pack ye' 11 soon lead, 

For puppies like you there's but few. 

VII. 

Singet Sawney,]:]: Singet Sawney, 
Are ye herding the penny, 
Unconscious what evil §§ await? 



case into the presbyterial court of Ayr, and subsequently 
into that of the Synod of Glasgow and Ayr. Meanwhile, 
the public out of doors was agitating the question with the 
keenest interest, and the strife of the liberal and zealous 
parties in the church had reached a painful extreme. It was 
now that Burns took up the pen in behalf of M'Gill, whom, 
it is probable, he sincerely looked on as a worthy and en- 
lightened person suffering an unworthy persecution. The 
war raged, till, in April 1790, the case came on for trial be- 
fore the synod, when M'Gill stopped further procedure, by 
giving in a document expressive of his deep regret for the 
disquiet he had occasioned, explaining the challenged pas- 
sages of his book, and declaring his adherence to the stand- 
ards of the church on the points of doctrine in question. 
Dr. M'Gill died March 30, 1807, at the age of seventy-six, 
and in the forty-sixth year of his ministry. — Murray's Lite- 
rary History of Galloway. 

* Dr. M'Gill. 

t Var. Wicked writers. 

% [When Dr. M'Gill's case came before the Synod, the 
magistrates of Ayr published an advertisement in the news- 
papers, bearing a warm testimony in favour of the Doctor's 
character, and their appreciation of his services as a Pastor] 

^ [John Ballantine, Esq., provost of Ayr, the same indi- 
vidual to whom the Twa Brigs is dedicated.] 

!! [Mr. Robert Aiken, write.' in Ayr, to whom the Cotter's 
Saturday Night is inscribed. He exerted his powerful 
oratorical talents as agent for Dr. M'Gill in the presbytery 
and synod.] 

f The Rev. Dr. William Dalrymple, senior minister of the 
Collegiate church of Ayr — a man of extraordinary meekness 
and worth. It is related of him, that one day meeting an 



Wi' a jump, yell, and howl, 
Alarm every soul, 
For the foul thief || || is just at your gate. 

VIII. 

Daddy Auld,5[H Daddy Auld, 

There's a tod in the fauld, 
A tod meikle waur than the clerk ; *** 

Though ye can do little skaith,tff 

Ye'll be in at the death, 
And if ye canna bite, ye can bark. 

IX. 

Davie Bluster, J]:;]; Davie Bluster, 

If for a saunt ye do muster, 
The corps is no nice of recruits ; 

Yet to worth let's be just, 

Royal blood ye might boast, 
If the ass was the king of the brutes. 
x. 

Jamie Goose, §§§ Jamie Goose, |j || || 

Ye ha'e made but toom roose, 
In hunting the wicked lieutenant ; 

But the doctor's your mark, 

For the L — d's haly ark ; 
He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang pin in't. 

XI. 

Poet Willie, W Poet Willie, 

Gi'e the Doctor a volley, 
Wi' your " liberty's chain " and your wit ; 

O'er Pegasus' side 

Ye ne'er laid a stride, 
Ye but smelt, man, the place where he **** 

XII. 

Andro Gouk,tftf Andro Gouk, 

Ye may slander the book, 
And the book nane the waur, let me tell ye ; 

Tho' ye're rich, and look big, 

Yet lay by hat and wig, 
And ye'll ha'e a calf's head o' sma' value. 



almost naked beggar in the country, he took off his coat and 
waistcoat — gave the latter to the poor man, then put on his 
coat, buttoned it up, and walked home. He died in 1814, 
after having fulfilled his pastoral duties for sixty-eight years. 

** The Rev. John Russell, celebrated in the Holy Fair. 

ft The Rev. James M'Kinla, the hero of the Ordination. 

X% The Rev. Alexander Moodie, of Riccarton, one of the 
heroes of the Twa Herds. 

§§ Var. Danger. 

Illl Var. Fcr Hannibal's. MS. 

ff The Rev. Mr. Auld, of Mauchline. 

*** The clerk was Mr. Gavin Hamilton, whose defence 
against the charges preferred by Mr. Auld had occasioned 
much trouble to this clergyman. 

fft Var. Douglas, Heron, and Co. 

Has e'en laid you fu' low. — MS. 

XXX Mr. Grant, Ochiltree. 

§i§ Var. Billie.— MS. 

|| || || Mr. Young, of Cumnock. 

«f^Hf The Rev. Dr. Peebles of Newton-upon-Ayr. He had 
excited some ridicule by a line in a poem on the Centenary 
of the Revolution : 

" And bound in Liberty's endearing chain." 

The poetry of this gentleman is said to have been indifferent. 
He translated the Davideis of Cowley, which some of his 
brethren, not exactly understanding what was meant, took 
the liberty of calling Dr. Peeble's Daft Jdeas. 

**** Var. Ye only stood by where he . — MS. 

tttt Dr. Andrew Mitchell, Monkton. He was so rich as to 
be able to. keep his carriage. Extreme love of money, and a 
strange confusion of ideas, characterised this presbyter. In 



THE KIRK'S ALARM. 



189 



XIII. 

Ban* Steenie,* Barr Steenie, 

What mean ye, what mean ye ? 
If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter, 

Ye may ha'e some pretence 

To havins and sense, 
Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 

XIV. 

Irvine side,f Irvine side, 

Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
O' manhood but sma' is your share, 

Ye've the figure, 'tis true, 

Even your faes will allow, 
And your friends they daur grant you nae mair. 
xv. 

Muirland Jock, J Muirland Jock, 

When the L — d makes a rock 
To crush Common Sense for her sins, 

If ill manners were wit, 

There's no mortal so fit 
To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

XVI. 

Holy WiU,§ Holy Will, 
There was wit i' your skull, 

When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor ; 
The timmer is scant, 
When ye're ta'en for a saunt, 

Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. 

XVII. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, 

Seize your sp'ritual guns, 
Ammunition you never can need ; 

|| Your hearts are the stuff, 

Will be powther enough, 
And your skulls are a storehouse o' lead. 

XVIII. 

Poet Bums, Poet Burns, 

Wi' your priest-skelping turns, 
Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 

Your muse is a gipsie, 

E'en tho' she were tipsie, 
She could ca' us nae waur than we are. 



[In the second version the Poet adds the 

following POSTSCRIPT. 

Afton's Laird, Afton's Laird,5[ 
When your pen can be spar'd 

A copy o' this I bequeath, 



his prayer for the royal family, he would express himself 
thus: — "Bless the King — his Majesty the Queen — her Ma- 
jesty the Prince of Wales." The word chemistry he pro- 
nounced in three different ways — hemistry, shemistry, and 
tchemistry — but never, by any chance, in the right way. 
Notwithstanding the antipathy he could scarcely help feeling 
towards Burns, one of the Poet's comic verses" would make 
him laugh heartily, and confess that, " after all, he was a 
droll fellow."] 

* Rev. Stephen Young, Barr. 

t Rev. Mr. George Smith, Galston. This gentleman is 
praised as friendly to common sense in the Holy Fair. The 
offence which was taken at that praise probably embittered 
the poet against him. In another version he is styled 
'" Cessnockside." 

+ Mr. John Shepherd, Muirkirk. The statistical account 
of Muirkirk contributed by this gentleman to Sir John Sin- 
clair's work is v«y agreeably written He had, however, 
*n unfortunate habit of saving rude things, which he ir.is- 



On the same sicker score 
I mention' d before, 
To that trust auld worthy Clackleeth.**] 

[The history of the kirk's alarm is curious : 
— " Macgill and Dalrymple, the two ministers 
of the town of Ayr, had long been suspected 
of entertaining heterodox opinions on several 
points, particularly the doctrine of Original 
Sin and the Trinity ; and the former at length 
published an essay, which was considered as 
demanding the notice of the church courts. 
More than a year was spent in the discussions 
which arose out of this : and at last, Dr. Mac- 
gill was fain to acknowledge his errors, and 
promise that he would take an early oppor- 
tunity of apologizing for them to his congre- 
gation from the pulpit, which promise, how- 
ever, he never performed. The gentry of the 
country took, for the most part, the side of 
Macgill, who was a man of cold unpopular 
manners, but of unreproached moral character, 
and possessed of some accomplishments, though 
certainly not of distinguished talents. The 
bulk of the lower orders espoused, with far more 
fervid zeal, the cause of those who conducted 
the prosecution against this erring doctor. 
Gavin Hamilton, and all persons of his stamp, 
were, of course, on the side of Macgill — Auld 
and the Mauchline elders, with his enemies. 
Robert Aiken, a writer in Ayr, a man of re- 
markable talents, particularly in public speak- 
ing, had the principal management of Macgill's 
cause before the Presbytery, and the Synod. 
He was an intimate friend of Hamilton, and 
through him had about this time formed an ac- 
quaintance which soon ripened into a warm 
friendship with Burns. Burns was, therefore, 
from the beginning, a zealous, as in the end he 
was, perhaps, the most effective, partizan of the 
side on which Aiken had staked so much of his 
reputation." — Lockhart.] 

The eloquence of Aiken and the wit of 
Hamilton were deeply felt and resented by the 
partizans of the Old Light. The hue and cry 
against the latter drew these words of condo- 
lence from Burns: — " You have erred — you 
have committed the blasphemous heresies of 
squaring religion by the rules of common sense, 

took for wit, and thus laid himself open to the satire of the 
Poet. In the second version this verse commences thus : — 
Muiriand George, Muirland George, 
Whom the L — d made a scourge, 
To claw Common Sense for her sins. 
§ The poor elder in Mauchline, William Fisher, whom 
Burns has so often scourged. 

I! Var. With real battle powder, 

Be sure double load her, 
And the bullet s Divinity lead. 
\ John Logan, Esq. of Afton. 

** In the second version of "The Kirk's Alarm" which 
the Poet sent to Major Logan, the only material variation 
which he introduces is the repetition of the half of the first 
and the whole of the last line of each stanza, thus, after 
Stanza xvm. : 

Poet Burns 
She cou'd ca' us nae waur than we are. 



;;- ,:..;-.::-"-- " 



190 



THE POEMS OE BURNS. 



and attempting to give a consistent character 
to Almighty God, and a rational account of his 
proceedings with the sons of men." 

[" Mr. "Hamilton lived in what is still called 
the castleof Mauchline— a half-fortified old 
mansion riftr the church, forming the only re- 
mains of the ancient priory. He was the son 
of a gentleman who had practised the same 
profession in the same place, and was, in every 
respect, a most estimable member of society — 
generous, affable, and humane. Unfortunately, 
his religious practice did not square with the 
notions of the then minister of Mauchline, the 
< Daddy Auld' of Burns' Poem, who, in 1785, 
is found in the session-records to have sum- 
moned him for rebuke, on the four following 
charges : — 1 . Unnecessary absence from church, 
for five consecutive Sundays ; 2. Setting out 
on a journey to Carrick on a Sunday ; 3. Ha- 
bitual, if not total, neglect of family worship ; 
4. Writing an abusive letter to the session in 
reference to some of their former proceedings 
respecting him. Strange though this prosecu- 
tion may seem, it was strictly accordant with 
the right assumed by clergymen at that period 
to inquire into the private habits of parishion- 
ers." — Chambers.] 

" Polemical divinity," says the Poet at this 
period to Dr. Moore, "was putting the country 
half-mad, and I, ambitious of shining in con- 
versation parties on Sundays, at funerals, &c, 
used to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat 
and indiscretion that I raised the hue and cry 
of heresy against me, which has not ceased to 
this hour." . 4, 

%i)z Ctoa ^ertfel : 

OR, 

THE HOLY TULZIE.* 

Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor, 

But fool with fool is barbarous civil war. — P >i>e. 

0' a' ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed on pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae the fox, 

Or worrying tykej^ 
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks, 

About the dykes ? 
The twa best herds in a' the wast, 
That e'er ga'e gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twentyf simmers past, 

O ! dool to tell, 
Ha'e had a bitter black out-cast 

Atween themsel. 



* [This satirical ballad first appeared in the Glasgow col- 
lection of" those pieces which had either been rejected by the 
fastidious taste of Dr. Currie, or had escaped his notice. It 
has been collated with a copy in his own hand-writing.] 

t Var. Fifty.— MS. 

% Var. — Fountain-head. — MS. 

§ Russell is described as a "large, robust, dark com- 
plexioned man, imperturbably grave, tierce of temper, and 
of a stern expression of countenance." He preached with 
much vehemence and at the height of a tremendous voice, 
which, in certain states of the atmosphere, caught the ear at 



O, Moodie, man, and wordy Russell, 
How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
Ye'll see how New-Light herds will whistle, 

And think it fine : 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle 

Sin' I ha'e min\ 

O, sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit, 
Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, f 
Ye wdia were ne'er by lairds respeckit, 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit, 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' Moodie's flock could rank, 
Sae hale and hearty every shank ? 
Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank, 

He let them taste. 
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, % they drank, — 

O sic a feast ! 

The thummart, wil'-cat, brock, and tod, 
Weel kenn'd his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smelt their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in, 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

And sell their skin. 

What herd like Russell § tell'd his tale, 
His voice was heard thro' muir and dale, 
He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, 

O'er a' the height, 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 

Or nobly fling- 1| the gospel club, 

And New-light herds could nicely drub, 

Or pay their skin ; 
Could shake them owre the burning dub, 

Or heave them in. 

Sic twa — O ! do I live to see't, 
Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
An' names, like "villain," "hypocrite," 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While New-Light herds, IF wi laughin' spite, 

Say neither's liein' ! 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 

There's Duncan,** deep, and Peebles, shaul,t| 

But chiefly thou, apostle %X Auld,§§ 

We trust in thee, 
That thou wilt work them, het and cauld, 

Till they agree. || || 



the distance of more than a mile. He subsequently became 
minister at Stirling, where he died at an advanced age. 

il Var.— Swing.— MS. 

*j[ Var. — Enemies. 

** Dr. Robert Duncan, Minister of Dundonald. Excepting 
in his limbs, which were short, he bore a strong personal re- 
semblance to Charles James Fox. 

ft Rev. William Peebles, of Newton-upon-Ayr; See notes 
to Holy Fair and Kirk's Alarm. 

XX Rev. William Auld, Minister of Mauchline. 

§§ Var. — "And chiefly gird thee, 'postleAuld! " — MS. 

U!l Var.— "To gar them gree."— MS. 



THE TWA HERDS. 



191 



Consider, sirs, how we're beset ; 
There's scarce a new herd that we get 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set 

I winna name ; 
I hope frae heav'n* to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 

Dalrymple f has been lang our fae, 
M'GillJ has wrought us meikle wae, 
And that curs' d rascal ca'd M'Quhae,§ 

And baith the Shaws,|| 
That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld Wodrow ^ lang has hatch'd mischief, 
We thought aye ** death wad bring relief, 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef ; 

I meikle dread him. 

And mony a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turn-coats amang oursel, 

There's Smith for ane, 
I doubt he's but a grey-nick quill, 

And that ye' 11 fin'. 

O ! a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills, 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, 

Come, join your counsel and your skills 

To cowe the lairds, 
And get the brutes the powers themsels 

To choose their herds. 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And Learning in a woody dance, 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Be banish'd o'er the sea to France : 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and Balrymple's eloquence, 
M 'Gill's close nervous excellence, 
M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, 

And guid M'Math, 
Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance, 

May a' pack aff. 



"The first of my poetic offspring that saw 
the light," says Burns to Dr. Moore, "was a 



* Var.— " I trust in Heav'n."— MS. 

t Rev. Dr. Dalrymple, one of the ministers of Ayr. He 
died in 1814, having enjoyed his charge for the uncommon 
period of sixty-eight years. 

J Rev. William M'Gill, one of the ministers of Ayr, and 
the colleague of Dr. Dalrymple. 

§ Minister of St. Quivox, an enlightened man and elegant 
preacher. He has been succeeded in the parish by his son. 

|| Dr. Andrew Shaw of Craigie, and Dr. David Shaw of 
Coylton. Dr. Andrew was a man of excellent abilities, but 
extremely diffident — a fine speaker and an accomplished 
scholar. " Dr. David, in personal respects, was a prodigy. 
He was ninety-one years of age before he required an assist- 
ant. At that period of life he read without the use of glasses, 
wrote a neat small hand, and had not a furrow in his cheek 
or a wrinkle in Ms brow. He was moderator of the General 
Assembly in 1775. He had a fine old clergymanlike kind of 
wit. In the house of a man of rank, where he once spent the 



burlesque lamentation on a quarrel between 
two reverend Calvinists, both of them dramatis 
persona in my ' Holy Fair.' I had a notion 
myself that the piece had some merit ; but, to 
prevent the worst, I gave a copy^of it to a 
friend who was very fond of such Things, and 
told him I could not guess who Avas the author 
of it, but that I thought it pretty clever. With 
a certain description of the clergy, as well as 
laity, it met with a roar of applause." 

[The twa herds were — Moodie, Minister of 
Riccarton, and Russell, assistant to the Minis- 
ter of Kilmarnock, who afterwards had a harmo- 
nious call to Stirling. " They were apostles of 
the Old Light, but this did not hinder contro- 
versy, and whilst indulging in a discussion on 
Effectual Calling, on their way home from the 
Monday sermon of a Sacrament, they quarrelled 
by the way, and, as some assert, proceeded to 
blows. The first intimation which the world 
of Kyle had of this ' bitter black outcast ' was 
from Russell himself, who was seen approach- 
ing the house of Barleith at full gallop. — 'Wha 
can this be, riding in sic a daft-like manner ? ' 
exclaimed one. — ' It's awfu' like our ain minis- 
ter, honest man;' said another. — * That can 
never be,' said John Parker, a decorous man 
and an elder — ' and yet it's him. Na, I'll no 
believe my ain een ! ' The doubts of this elder 
were cut short by the minister himself halting, 
and explaining the cause of his gallopping. On 
inquiring long afterwards of a person, who was 
present with Parker, what Russell said, he re- 
plied that he heard him say something about 
the unsound doctrine of Moodie ; how that hot 
words ensued, and he was obliged to give his 
brother's horse a crack across the nose to put it 
and its rider back. — 'But ye wadna believe me 
now, if I were to tell you that I think he missed 
the horse, and hit the minister. Black Russell 
was na sparing ! ' 

" At the time when Burns was beginning to 
exercise his powers as a poet, theological con- 
troversy raged amongst the clergy and laity of 
his najfcve country. The prominent parts re- 
lated to the doctrines of original sin and the 
Trinity ; a scarcely subordinate one referred to 
the right of patronage. Burns took the mode- 
rate and liberal side, and seems to have de- 



night, an alarm took place after midnight, which brought all 
the members of the family from their dormitories. The 
doctor encountered a countess in her chemise, which occa- 
sioned some mutual confusion. At breakfast, nezt morning, 
a lady asked him what he thought when he met the countess 
in the lobby. " Oh, my lady," said he, " I was in a trance." 
Trance, in Scotland, signifies; a passage or vestibule, as well 
as a swoon. This amiable man died, April 26, 1810, in the 
ninety-second year of his age, and sixty-first of his ministry. 
— R. Chambers. 

^ There were three brothers of this name, descended from 
the church historian, and all ministers — one at Eastwood, 
their ancestor's charge, the second at Stevenston, and the 
third, Dr. Peter Wodrow, at Tarbolton. Dr. Peter is the 
person named in the poem. The assistant and successor 
mentioned in the verse was the Rev. Mr. M'Math, to whom 
the poet addressed one of his epistles. 

** Var.— "Trusted."— MS. 



192 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



lighted in doing all he could to torment the 
zealous party, who were designated the Auld 
Light. They appear to have afterwards quar- 
relled about a question of parish boundaries ; 
and when the point was debated in the Presby- 
tery of Irvine, in presence of a great multitude 
of the people (including Burns), they lost tem- 
per entirely, and 'abused each other,' says Mr. 
Lockhart, ' with a fiery vehemence of personal 
invective such as has been long banished from 
all popular assemblies, wherein the laws of 
courtesy are enforced by those of a certain 
unwritten code/ 

"These satiric sallies were not unavenged. 
Burns was called unbeliever, profane scoffer, 
and ungodly rhymer — epithets of influence in 
those days : and it was moreover represented 
that the Bachelors' Club of Mauchline, where 
the poet presided, met for other than moral 
purposes. Their language was reported as 
loose, their toasts indecorous, and one of the 
elders, it is said, having caught up two or three 
wild stanzas, scattered by Burns at one of those 
mirthful meetings, kept repeating them wher- 
ever he went, saying, at the end of every verse, 
'Oh, what a wild lad ! A lost sheep — a lost 
sheep!'" — Allan Cunningham.] 



ifoli) OTtttte^ draper.* 

Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel', 

Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell, 
A' for thy glory, 

And no for ony guid or ill 

They've done afore thee ! 

1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night, 
That I am here, afore thy sight, 

For gifts an' grace, 
A burnin' an' a shinin' light 

To a' this place. 



* Kennedy gives the following account of the origin of " Holy 
Willie's Prayer:"— Gavin Hamilton, Esq;, Clerk of Ayr, the 
Poet's friend and benefactor,was accosted one Sunday morn- 
ing by a mendicant, who begged alms of him. Not recol- 
lecting that it was the sabbath, Hamilton set the man to 
work in his garden, which lay on the public road, and the 
poor fellow was discovered by the people on their way to the 
kirk, and they immediately stoned him from the ground. 
For this offence, Mr. Hamilton was not permitted to have a 
child christened, which his wife bore him soon afterwards, 
unt ; l he applied to the synod. His most officious opponent 
was William Fisher, one of the elders of the Church : and to 
revenge the insult to his friend, Burns made him the subject 
of this humorous ballad. 

It was no doubt to this satire that the subjoinel jeu 
V esprit refers. 



' In the n 



i of the Nine, Amen 



" We, Robert Burns, by virtue of a warrant from naiure, 
bearing date the twenty-fifth day of January, anno domini, 
one thousand seven hundred and fifty-nine, poet laureiteand 
bard in chief, in and over the districts and countries of Kyle, 
Cunningham, and Carrick, of old extent, 10 our trusty and 
Well beloved William Chalmers and John Mc Adam, students 



What was I, or my generation, 
That I should get sic exaltation ? 
I, wha deserve sic just damnation, 

For broken laws, 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation, 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plung'd me into hell, 
To gnash ray gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin' lake, 
Whare damned devils roar and yell, 

Chain' d to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample ; 

To show thy grace is great and ample ; 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an example, 

To a' thy flock. 

[O L — d, thou kens what zeal I bear, 
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear, 
And singing there, and dancing here, 

Wi' great and srua' ; 
For I am keepit by thy fear, 

Free frae them a'.] 

But yet, O L — d ! confess I must, 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust ; 
And sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust, 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

DehTd in sin. 

TO L — d ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg — 

Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 

O may it ne'er be a livin' plague 

To my dishonour, 
And I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her.] 

Besides, I farther maun avow, 

Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow — 

But, L — d, that Friday I was fou', 



and practitioners in the ancient and mysterious science of 
confounding right and wrong. 
" Right trusty, 

" Be it known unto you, that whereas, in the course of our 
care and watchings over the order and police of all and 
sundry the manufacturers, retainers and venders of poesy ; 
bards, poets, poetasters, rhymers, jinglers, songsters, ballad- 
sineeis, &c. &c. male and female — we have discovered a cer- 
tain nefarious, abominable and wicked song, or ballad, a copy 
\\ hereof we have here inclosed; our will, therefore, is, that ye 
pitch upon and appoint the most execrable individual of that 
most execrable species, known by the appellation, phrase, 
and nickname of the Deil's Yeld Novvte ; and after having 
caused him to kindle a fire at the cross of Ayr, ye shall, at 
noontide of the day, put into the said wretch's merciless 
hands, the said copy of the said nefarious and wicked song, 
to be consumed by fire in the presence of all beholders, in 
abhorrence of, and terrorem tn, all such compositions and 
composers. And this in no vise leave ye undone, but have 
it executed in every point as this our mandate bears, before 
the twenty-fourth' current, when in person we hope to ap- 
plaud your faithfulness and zeal. 

"Given at Mauchline, this twentieth day of November. 
anno domini one thousand stven hundred and eighty six. 
" God save the Bard!" 



HOLY WILLIE'S PKAYEB. 



193 



When I came near her, 
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 

Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn 
Beset thy servant e'en and morn, 
Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted ; 
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne, 

Until thou lift it. 

L — d, bless thy chosen in this place, 

For here thou hast a chosen race : 

But G — d confound their stubborn face, 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace 

And public shame. 

L — d, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts, 
He drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes, 
Yet has sae mony takin' arts, 

Wi' great and sma', 
Frae G — d's ain priests the people's hearts 

He steals awa'.* 

An' whan we chasten' d him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' laughin' at us ; — 
Curse thou his basket and his store, 

Kail and potatoes, f 

L — d, hear my earnest cry and pray'r, 

Against the presbyt'ry of Ayr ; 

Thy strong right hand, L — d, mak' it bare 

Upo' their heads, 
L — d, weigh it down, and dinna spare, 

For their misdeeds. 

O L — d my G — d, that glib-tongu'd Aiken,]: 

My very heart and saul are quakin', 

To think how we stood groanin', shakin', 

And swat wi' dread, 
While Auld wi' hinging lip gaed snakin', 

And hid his head. 

L — d, in the day of vengeance try him, 
L — d, visit them wha did employ him, 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their pray'r ; 
But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, 

And dinna spare. 



* [" It is amusing to observe how soon even really Bucolic 
bards learn the tricks of their trade : Burns knew already 
what lustre a compliment gains from being set in sarcasm, 
when he made Willie call for special notice to 

" Gawn Hamilton's deserts." 

Lockhaet.j 
t [In 1787, a new offence in the eyes of the Kirk-synod was 
committed by Mr. Hamilton. He had, on a Sunday morn- 
ing, ordered a servant to take in some potatoes which hap- 
pened to have been left out in the garden after being dug. 
This came to the ears of the minister, and Mr. Hamilton was 
summoned to answer for the offence. Some ludicrous details 
occur in the session-records. It is there alleged that two 
and a half rows of potatoes were dug on the morning in 
question, by Mr. Hamilton's express order, and carried home 
hy his daughter: nay, so keen had the spirit of persecution 
j been, that the rows had been formally measured, and found 



But, L — d, remember me and mine, 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excell'd by nane, 
An' a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen ! 



3£pttapl) on f?oli) Millie. 

Hebe Holy Willie's sair worn clay 

Taks up its last abode ; 
His saul has ta'en some other way, 

I fear, the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is, as sure 's a gun, 

Poor, silly body, see him ; 
Nae wonder he's as black 's the grim, — 

Observe wha's standing wi' him ! 

Your brunstane devilship, I see, 
Has got him there before ye ; 

But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, 
Till ance ye've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye hae nane ! 
Justice, alas ! has gi'en him o'er, 

And mercy's day is gane. 

But hear me, sir, deil as ye are, 
Look something to your credit ; 

A coof like him wad stain your name, 
If it were kent ye did it. 

[" 'Holy Willie's Prayer' is a piece of satire 
more exquisitely severe than any which Burns 
ever afterwards wrote." — SirWalterScott.J 

[The " Holy Willie " of this sarcastic but too 
daring poem, was one W 7 illiam Fisher, a farmer 
near Mauchline, and leading Elder of the Rev. 
Mr. Auld's Session. He was a great pretender 
to sanctity, austere of speech, and punctilious 
about outward observances. Yet he was by no 
means rigid as far as regarded himself: he scru- 
pled not to "get fou," when whiskey flowed at 
the expense of others : he was more particular 
too in the examination of female transgressors 
than some of his brethren thought was seemly ; 
and when he left Mauchline for an eldership in 
a neighbouring parish, it was discovered he had 

to be each eleven feet long ; so that twenty-seven feet and a 
half altogether had been dug. The Presbytery, or Synod, 
treated this prosecution in the same way as the former, and 
Burns did not overlook it in his poems. He alludes to it in 
Holy Willie's Prayer, when he makes that individual implore 
a curse upon Mr. Hamilton's 

• basket and his store, 

Kail and potatoes — " 

Chambers.] 
t " Nor is his other patron, Aiken, introduced with inferior 
skill, as having merited Willie's most fervent execration by 
his ' glib-tongued ' defence of the heterodox doctor of Ayr : 
' L — d, visit them wha did employ him, 5 
"Burns owed a compliment to this gentleman "s elocution- 
ary talents. ' I never knew that there was any merit in mj 
noems,' said he, ' until Mr. Aiken read them into . ep-ite.' " 
Lockhakt. 



194 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



made too free with the money of the poor. His 
end was any thing but godly : he drank more 
than was proper during one of his visits to 
Mauchline, and was found dead in a ditch on 
his way to his own house. 

It is related, by John Richmond of Mauch- 
line, that when he was a clerk in Gavin Ham- 
ilton's office, Burns came in one morning and 
said, " I have just been making a poem, and if 
you will write it, John, I'll repeat it." He 
accordingly, to Richmond's surprise, repeated 
" Holy Willie's Prayer :" Hamilton came in, 
read it, and ran laughing with it to Robert 
Aiken — and the latter was delighted. — A. C] 



C^e ifofimtofg. 

IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE 
SURVEYOR OF TAXES. 

Sir, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list, 
O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith, 
To which I'm clear to gi'e my aith. 

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
I ha'e four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pettle. 
My lan'-afore's* a gude auld has-been 7 
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his day 's been. 
My lan'-ahin'sf a weel gaun fillie, 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,! 
An' your auld burro' mony a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime — 
But ance, whan in my wooing pride, 
I, like a blockhead boost to ride, 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 
(L — d pardon a' my sins, an' that too !) 
I play'd my fillie sic a shavie, 
She's a' bedevil' d wi' the spavie. 
My fur ahin's§ a wordy beast, 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd. 
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, 
A d — n'd red-wud Kilburnie bias tie ! 
Forbye a cowte, o' cowte's the wale, 
As ever ran afore a tail : 
If he be spar'd to be a beast, 
He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least. — 

Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, 
Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; 
An auld wheel-barrow, mair for token, 
Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken ; 

I made a poker o' the spin'le, 

An' my auld mither brunt the trin'le. 

For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Run-de'ils for rantin' an' for noise ; 

* The foremost-horse on the left-hand in the plough. R. B. 
t The hindmost-horse on the left-hand in the plough. R. B. 
t Kilmarnock. R. B. 
f) The hindmost horse on the right-hand in the plough. R.B, 

II "What is Effectual Calling?" A leading question in 



A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other. 
Wee Davoc hauds the nowte in fothen 
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly, 
An' aften labour them completely ; 
An' ay on Sundays duly, nightly, 
I on the question targe them tightly, 
Till, faith, wee Davoc's turn'd sae gleg s 
Tho' scarcely langer than my leg, 
He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, jj 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. — 

I've nane in female servan' station, 
(L — d keep me ay frae a' temptation !) 
I ha'e nae wife, and that my bliss is, 
An' ye ha'e laid nae tax on misses ; 
An' then, if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
I ken the devils darena touch me. 
Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mair than I wanted. 
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess,5F 
She stares the daddy in her face, 
Enough of ought ye like but grace ; 
But her, my bonnie sweet wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already, 
An' gin ye tax her or her mither, 
B' the L — d ! ye'se get them a' thegither. 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of licence out I'm takin' ; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare, 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair ; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. 
The kirk and you may tak' you that, 
It puts but little in your pat ; 
Sae dinna put me in your buke, 
Nor for my ten white shillings luke. 

This list wi' my ain hand I've wrote it, 
The day and date as under noted ; 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subs-cripsi huic Robert Burns. 

Mossgiel, February 22, 1786. 

"The * Inventory' was written in answer to 
a mandate sent by Mr. Aiken of Ayr, the sur- 
veyor of the windows, carriages, &c, for the 
district, to each farmer, ordering him to send a 
signed list of his horses, servants, wheel -car- 
riages, &c, and to state whether he was a married 
man or a bachelor, and also the number of his 
children. The poem is chiefly remarkable for the 
information it gives concerning the farm, the 
household, and the habits of Burns. Mossgiel 
lies about a mile distant from Mauchline ; the 
cultivation has not prevailed against the cold 
clay-bottom, which, with untimely rains, brought 



the shorter catechism of the Westminster Assembly of Di- 
vines — generally used in Scotland. 

^f A child born to the Poet by a young woman of the name 
of Elizabeth Paton, servant to the Poet's mother at Mossgiel. 
She grew up extremely like her father, and became the v\ i e 
of Mr. John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet in Linlithgow- 
shire, and died there, December 8, 1817, 



THE HOLY FAIR. 



195 



ruin to the Poet's labours : it is more suitable for 
grazing than cropping, and at this period pro- 
duces excellent cheese. 

" Mauchline is a parish town of above a 
thousand inhabitants ; in ancient times, it was 
the seat of a priory belonging to Melrose, but 
now differs in no respect from a common agricul- 
tural village. It is situated upon a slope ascend- 
ing from the margin of the Ayr, from which it 
is about two miles distant. One might at first 
suppose that a rustic population, like that of 
Mauchline, would form but a poor field for the 
descriptive and practical genius of Burns. It 
is wondrous, however, how variously original 
many of the inhabitants of the most ordinary 
Scottish villages will contrive to be. In a small 
town the character of every man is well known ; 
so that every thing he says or does appears to 
his fellows as characteristic." — Chambers. 



$toam % '& drawer. 

Gude pity me, because I'm little, 
For though I am an elf o' mettle, 
And can, like ony wabsters' shuttle, 

Jink there or here ; 
Yet scarce as lang 's a guid kail whittle, 

I'm unco queer. 

And now thou kens our wofu' case, 
For Geordie's Jurr* we're in disgrace, 
Because we stang'd her through the place, 

And hurt her spleuchan' 
For which we daurna show our face 

Within the clachan. 

And now we're dern'd in glens and hollows, 
And hunted, as was William Wallace, 
Wi' constables, those blackguard fallows, 

And sogers baith ; 
But Gude preserve us frae the gallows, 

That shamefu' death ! 

Auld grim black-bearded Geordie's sel', 
O shake him o'er the mouth o' hell, 
There let him hing, and roar, and yell, 

Wi' hideous din, 
And if he offers to rebel, 

Just heave him in. 

* [" Jurr" is in the west of Scotland a colloquial term 
for "journeyman," and is often applied to designate a 
servant of either sex. 

The circumstances here alluded to were as follows : — A 
certain Mauchline innkeeper, named George, had a female 
servant who had been too indulgent to one of her master's 
male customers. This brought her into such odium in the 
village that a number of reckless young persons, among 
whom Adam A , an ill- made little fellow, was a ring- 
leader, violently ' rade the stang ' upon her ; that is, placed 
her astride upon a rantletree, or other wooden pole, and in 
this woeful plight unfeelingly carried the poor girl through 
the town, by which means she sustained much personal 
skaith as well as scorn. The girl's master and mistress 
highly resented this lawless outrage, and raised an action at 

law against the principals, which occasioned Adam A to 

abscond. While skulking under hiding, Burns met him, 
and, knowing his situation, said, " Adam, puir fallow, ye wad 
need somebody to pray for you ; " to which Adam rejoined, 



When death comes in, wi' glimmering blink, 
And tips auld drucken Nanse f the wink, 
May Hornie gie her doup a clink 

Ahint his yett, 
Aud fill her up wi' brimstone drink 

Red, reeking, het. 

There's Jockie and the hav'rel Jenny, } 
Some devils seize them in a hurry, 
And waff them in th' infernal wherry 

Straught through the lake, 
And gi'e their hides a noble curry, 

Wi' oil of aik. 

As for the Jurr, poor worthless body, 
She's got mischief enough already ; 
Wi' stanged hips, and buttocks bluidy, 

She's suffered sair ; 
But may she wintle in a woodie, 

If she wh — e mair. 



€i)t $>olv dfatt\ 



A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty observation ; 
And secret hung, with poison'd crust, 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mask that like the gorget show'd, 

Dye-varying on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

Hypocrisy a-la-mode. 



Upon || a simmer Sunday morn, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn, 

An' snuff the caller air. 
The rising sun owre Galston ^ muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin' ; 
The hares were hirplin' down the furs, 

The lav'rocks they were chantin' 
Fu' sweet that day. 
ii. 
As lightsomely I glow'r'd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin' up the way ; 



" Just do't yoursel', Burns, I know no one so fit." The 
above poem was the result : it bears unquestionable marks of 
the characteristic genius of Burns, although we cannot but 
regret his wielding his satiric pen in such a cause.] 

f Geordie's wife. 

t Geordie's son and daughter. 

§ Holy Fair is a common phrase in the west of Scotland 
for a Sacramental occasion. — R. B. 

["These annual celebrations," says Heron, " had much 
in them of those old popish festivals, in which superstition, 
traffic, and amusement, used to be strangely intermingled." 
Encouraged by the ' roar of applause ' which greeted these 
pieces, thus orally promulgated and recommended, Burns 
produced in succession various satires wherein the same set 
of persons were lashed ; as The Ordination ; The Kirk's 
Alarm, &c. &c. ; and last, and best undoubtedly, The Holy 
Fair." — Lockhae.t.] 

|| Var. 'Twas on.— MS. 

^f The adjoining parish to Mauchline. 

OS 



196 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart lining ; 
The third, that gaed a-wee a -back, 

Was in the fashion shining 

Fu' gay that day. 
in. 
The twa appear'd like sisters twin, 

In feature, form, an' claes ; 
Their visage, wither'd, lang, an' thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes : 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, 

As light as ony lambie, 
An' wi ; a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 

IV. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, " Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me ; 
I'm surs I've seen that bonnie face, 

But yet I canna name ye." 
Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak, 
An' taks me by the hands, 
" Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en* the feck, 
Of a' the ten commands 

A screed some day.f 
v. 
" My name is Fun— your cronie dear, 
The nearest friend ye hae ; 
An' this is Superstition here, 

An' that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to Mauchline holy fair, 

To spend an hour in daffin' : 
Gin ye' 11 go there, yon runkl'd pair, 
We will get famous laughin' 

At them this day." 

VI. 

Quoth I, " W^ith a' my heart, I'll do't ; 

I'll get my Sunday's sark on, 
An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin' ! " J 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time, 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 

Wi' monie a wearie body, 

In droves that day. 

VII. 

Here farmers gash, in ridin' graith j 

Gaed hoddin' by their cotters ; 
There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith, 

Are springin' owre the gutters ; 

* Vak Broke.— MS. 

t By night or day.— MS. 

X Var. Quoth I, I'll get my tither coat, 
An' on my Sunday's sark, 
An' meet ye in the yard without, 
At op'ning o' the wark. — MS. 

vS Var. The Elder.— MS. 

[" Black bonnet" a colloquial appellation, bestowed on the 
Church-elders or deacons, who in landward parishes in the 
olilentime generally wore black bonnets, on Sundays, when 
they officiated at ' the plate ' in making the usual collection 
for the poor. — Motherwell.] 

|| Var. Bet B r there.— MS. 

[The following notice of Racer Jess appeared in the news- 
papers of February, 1818: — " Died at Mauchline a few weeks 
since, Janet Gibson, consigned to immortality by Burns in 
hia ' Holy Fair,' under the turf appellation of Racer Jess.' 



The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang ? 

An' farls, bak'd wi' butter, 

Fu' crump that day. 

VIII. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glow'r black bonnet § throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gath'rin', 
Some carrying dails, some chairs an' stools, 

An' some are busy bleth'rin' 

Right loud that day. 

IX. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
There, Racer Jess,] J and twa-three wh-res, 

Are blinkin' at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tittlin' jades, 

Wi' heaving breast an' bare neck, 
An' there a batch o' wabster lads,H 

Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock, 
For fun this day. 
x. 
Here, some are thinkin' on their sins, 

An' some upo' their claes ; ** 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen ff swatch, 

Wi' screw'd-up, grace-proud Jj faces; 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang winkin' on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 

XI. 

O happy is that man an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes clinkin' down beside him ! 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back, 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

An's loof upon her bosom, 

Unkenn'd that day. 

XII. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation : 
For Moodie §§ speels the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. || || 

She was the daughter of ' Poosie Nansie,' who figures in 
' The Jolly Beggars.' She was remarkable for her pedes- 
trian powers, and sometimes ran long distances for a wager."] 

% Var. Brawls.— MS. ** Var. An' ithers on.— MS. 

tt Var. An elect.— 1st. Edit. 

t+ Var. Wi' mercy-beggin.' — MS. 

§§ Var Sawnies. — [Moodie was the minister of Riccarton, 
and one of the heroes of The Twa Herds. He was a never- 
failing assistant at the Mauchline sacraments. His personal 
appearance and style of oratory were exactly such as described 
by the poet. He dwelt chiefly on the terrors of the law. 
On one occasion, he told the audience that they would find 
the text in John viii. 44, but it was so applicable to their 
case, that there was no need of his reading it to them. The 
verse begins, " Ye are of your father the Devil."] 

Ill] [" Originally printed ' salvation ' in tnc first edition of 
the author's poems, but altered as above in the second, at 



THE HOLY FAIR. 



197 [I 



Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 
'Mang sons o' God present him, 

The vera sight o' Hoodie's face, 
To 's ain het hame * had sent him 
Wi' fright that day. 

XIII. 

Hear now he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin' an' wi' thumpin' ! 
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He's stampin' an' he's jumpin' ! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout, 

His eldritch squeel and gestures, 
Oh, how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plasters, 
On sic a day ! 

XIV. 

But, hark ! the tent has chang'd its voice ! 

There's peace and rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise, 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smith -f opens out his cauld harangues 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' an the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 
xv. 
What signifies his barren shine, 

Of moral pow'rs and reason ? J 
His English style, an' gesture fine, 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day. 

XVI. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
For Peebles,^ frae the water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' God, 

An' meek an' mim has view'd it, 
While Common-Sense || has ta'en the road, 

An' aff, an' up the Cowgate,H 

Fast, fast, that day. 

the suggestion of Dr. Blair, who expressed a very high 
opinion of this Poem."] 

* Var. To H— 11 wi' speed.— MS. 

t Var. Geordie begins.— MS. Mr. (afterwards Dr.) 
George Smith, minister of Galston — the same whom the 
poet introduces, in a different feeling, under the appellation 
of Irvine-side, in The Kirk's Alarm. Burns meant on this 
occasion to compliment him on his rational mode of preach- 
ing, but the reverend divine regarded the stanza as satirical. 

t Var. It's no nae Gospel truth divine 

To cant o' sense an' reason. — MS. 

§ The Rev. Mr. (afterwards Dr.) William Peebles, minister 
of Newton-upon-Ayr, and the moving hand in the prosecu- 
tion of Dr. M'Gill, on which account he is introduced into 
The Kirk's Alarm. He was in great favour at Ayr among 
the orthodox party, though much inferior in ability to the 
heterodox ministers of that ancient burgh. Robert Hamil- 
ton, a crack-pated pauper, who lived long in Ayr, and amus- 
ed every body by his droll sayings, one day thus addressed a 
citizen, in the hearing of one of these heretical gentlemen : 
— " I dreamt yestreen I was dead, and at the door o' heaven ; 
and whan I knockit at the door, Peter said, * Wha's there ? ' 
• It's me, Mr. Robert Hamilton.' Whare d'ye come frae ?' 



XVII. 

Wee Miller,** neist the guard relieves, 

An' orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But, faith ! the birkie wants a manse, 

So, cannily he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafflins-ways o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 

XVIII. 

Now but an' ben, the change-house fills, 

Wi' yill-caup commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes and gills, 

And there the pint-stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' logic, an' wi' scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end, 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 

XIX. 

Leeze me on drink ! it gi'es us mair 

Than either school or college : 
It kindles wit, it waukens lair, 

It pangs us fou o' knowledge. 
Be 't whiskey gill, or penny wheep, 

Or ony stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinking deep, 

To kittle up our notion 

By night or day. 
xx. 
The lads an' lasses, blythely bent, 

To mind baith saul an' body, 
Sit round the table, weel content, 

An' steer a Lout the toddy, ft 
On this ants dress, an' that ane's leuk, 

They're making observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin' assignations 

To meet some day. 

XXI. 

But now the L — d's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin', 
An' echoes back return the shouts ; 

Black Russell H is na spairin' : 



' Frae the toon o' Ayr.' ' Get awa wi' ye ! Ye canna get in 
here. There has nane been admitted frae that toon this twa 
hunner year.' Whan I gang back, I'll say I'm come frae 
Prestwick, or the Newton." Meaning, in the latter case, 
that he would have the benefit of the reputation of Mr. 
Peebles's ministrations. 

|| Dr. Mackenzie, then of Mauchline, afterwards of Irvine, 
had recently conducted some village controversy under the 
title of Common Sense. Some local commentators are cf 
opinion that he, and not the personified abstraction, is meant. 

If A street so called which faces the tent in Mauchline. — 
R. B. The same street in which Jean Armour lived. 

** The Rev. Mr. Miller, afterwards minister of Kilmaurs. 
He was of remarkably low stature, but enormous girth. 
Burns believed him at the time to lean at heart to the mode- 
rate party. This stanza, virtually the most depreciatory in 
the whole poem, is said to have retarded Miller's advance- 
ment. 

tt Var. — The lads an' lasses blythely bent, 
Their lowan drowth to quench ; 
Sit round the table, weel content, 
An' steer about the punch. (.'J — MS. 

tt Var. — Kilmarnock 

[The Rev. John Russell, at this time minister ot tii s 



198 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



His piercing words, like Higlilan' swords, 
Divide the joints an' marrow ; 

His talk o' Hell, whare devils dwell ; 
Our vera "sauls does harrow"* 

Wi' fright that day. 



A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'd fu' o' lowin' brunstane, 
Wha's ragin' flame, an' scorchin' heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane ! 
The half asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin', 
When presently it does appear 

'Twas but some neibor snorin' 

Asleep that day. 



'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell, 

How monie stories past, 
An' how they crowded to the yill, 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups,f 

Amang the furms an' benches : 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches, 

An' dawds that day. 



In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne J draws her kebbuck an' her knife ; 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gi'es them 't like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day. 



chapel of ease, Kilmarnock, afterwards minister of Stirling 
—one of the heroes of The Two, Herds. A correspondent 
says, " He was the most tremendous man I ever saw : Black 
Hugh Macpherson was a beauty in comparison. His voice 
was like thunder, and his sentiments were such as must 
have shocked any class of hearers in the least more refined 
than those whom he usually addressed."] 

[" Russel came from Moray; he obtained the school of 
Cromarty, was no favourite with the scholars, and was one of 
those who mistake severity for duty. He was a large, robust, 
dark-complexioned man, imperturbably grave, fierce of tem- 
per, and had a stern expression of countenance. It is said 
that a lady, who had been one of his pupils, actually fainted 
when she heard him, many years afterwards, speak of trans- 
gressions from the pulpit, One of his boys, who usually 
carried the key of the school in his pocket, happened to lose 
it one day, and got such a flogging that, when he grew up to 
be a man, in all cases of mental perturbation and misery, he 
groped in his pocket, as he did on that fatal morning for the 
key. He became popular as a preacher ; his manner was 
strong and energetic ; the severity of his temper was a sort of 
genius to him while he described, which he loved to do, the 
tortures of the wicked in a future state. He printed some of 
his sermons : they are of a controversial nature, and written 
in a bold, rough style, and fitter to be listened to than read. 
He set himself against sabbath-breaking ; and used to take 
his stand at one of the streets leading from the town, and 
turn transgressors back by the shoulders. 

" It was not an unwelcome call to some of the citizens, 
which took Russell from Cromarty to a chapel of ease in 
Kilmarnock. A native of Cromarty, who happened to be at 
4hat time in the west of Scotland, walked to Mauchline, to 



Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie his braw claithing ! 
O wives, be mindfu' ance yoursel 

How bonnie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day ! 



Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin' tow, 

Begins to jow and croon ; § 
Some swagger hame, the best they dow, 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 



How monie hearts this day converts 

O' sinners and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane, 

As saffc as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine ; 

There's some are fou o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin 

May end in houghmagandie 

Some ither day. 



[This is a most extraordinary poem, and was 
received both with admiration and terror. Di- 
vines vented their anathemas on the poet in all 
their private and public meetings, and were 



hear his old schoolmaster preach at the Sacrament : this was 
about 1792, There was an excellent sermon to be heard from 
the tent, and excellent drink to be had in a neighbouring 
ale-house, and between the two the people seemed much 
divided. A young clergyman was preaching, and Russell was 
nigh him : at every fresh movement of the people, or un- 
godly burst of sound from the ale-house, the latter would 
raise himself on tiptoe — look sternly towards the change- 
house, and then at his younger brother in the pulpit : at last 
his own time to preach arrived— he sprang into the tent — 
closed the bible — and, without psalm or prayer, or other pre- 
liminary matter, burst out at once into a passionate and 
eloquent address upon the folly and sin which a portion of 
the people were committing. The sound in the ale-house 
ceased — the inmates came out and listened to the denun- 
ciation, which some of them remembered with a shudder in 
after-life. He lived to a great age, and was always a daunt- 
less and intrepid man : when seventy years old or so, he saw 
a Cromarty man beaten down in the streets of Stirling: 
Russell elbowed the crowd aside, plucked the sufferer, like a 
brand, from the burning, saying, 'Waes me, that your 
father's son should behave like a blackguard in the town 
where I am a minister.' He grew temperate in his sermons 
as he grew old, and became a great favourite with the more 
grave and staid portion of his people." — Communicated to 
Allan Cunningham by Hugh Millar, of Cromarty. .] 

* Shakespeare's Hamlet, R. B. 

t Var. — " How yill gaed round in jugs an' caups." — MS. 

t Vak.— "Then." 

$ Vas. — "Then Robin Gib, wi' weary jow, 

Begins to clink an' croon." — MS. 



THE HOLY FAIR. 



199 



terrified to preach before him. It is no doubt 
a reckless piece of satire, but it is a clever one, 
and one that must have cut to the bone. It is 
a masterpiece of the kind, for in it satire keeps 
its own place, and is made subservient to the 
poetry of Barns. No partisan of any sect could 
insinuate that malice had formed its principal 
inspiration, or that its chief attraction lay in 
the boldness with which individuals, accustomed 
to respect and veneration, were held up to ridi- 
cule. It was acknowledged, even amidst the 
sternest breathings of wrath, that national man- 
ners were once more in the hands of a national 
poet. .That could not be denied by those who 
shook their heads most gravely over the indis- 
cretions of particular passages, or even by those 
who justly regretted a too prevailing tone of 
levity in the treatment of a subject essentially 
solemn. It is devoutly to be wished that he 
had taken up the subject in a different light : 
how many pure and holy feelings had then pre- 
sented themselves to the bard of the Cotter's 
Saturday Night. And to him who drew so 
powerfully from the feelings of a sensitive 
heart, what a field was opened ! It is, how- 
ever, an admirable piece, and I would recom- 
mend every reader to peruse the eleventh 
stanza as the best description that ever was 
given ; " unkenn'd that day " surpasses all. — 
The Ettrick Shepherd.] 

[The names in the text are supplied from a 
copy of the first edition, in which they were 
written by the poet himself; and the variations 
are from a copy in his own handwriting. The 
scene is laid in the churchyard of Mauchline : 
the clergyman of the parish, with his assistants, 
are exhibited on the stage, while the lay mem- 
bers of the congregation, swelled by auxiliary 
weavers from Kilmarnock, compose the nume- 
rous persons of the under-plot of the piece. 

Fergusson, in his Hallow Fair of Edin- 
burgh, I believe, furnished a hint of the title 
and plan of the Holy Fair. The farcical scene 
the poet there describes was often a favourite 
field of his observation, and most of the inci- 
dents he mentions had actually passed before 
his eyes. — Gilbert Burns.] 

[The opening of the poem bears a nearer 
resemblance to Fergusson's Leith Races than 
to his Hallow Fair. In Leith Races, the 
Edinburgh bard is conducted to the festive 
scene by an imaginary being, whom he names 
Mirth, exactly as Burns is conducted to the 
Holy Fair by Fun ; but the poetical painting 
of the Ayrshire bard far distances that of his 
predecessor. The following three stanzas of 
Fergusson, however, are excellent : — 

" In July month, ae bonnie morn, 

When nature's rokelay green 
Was spread o'er ilka rig o' corn, 

To charm our roving een ; - 
Glow'rin' about I saw a quean, 

The fairest 'neath the lift; 



Her een were o' the siller sheen, 
Her 6kin like snawy drift, 

Sae white that day. 
******* 
" 'And wha are ye, my winsome dear, 
That taks the gate sae early ? 
Whare do ye win ? gin ane may spear, 

For I right meikle ferley, 
That sic braw buskit laughin' lass, 

Their bonnie blinks should gie, 
And loup like Hebe owre the grass, 
As wanton and as free, 

Frae dool this day.' 
" ' I dwell among the caller springs, 
That weet the land o' cakes, 
And often tune my canty strings, 

At bridals and late wakes ; 
They ca' me Mirth : I ne'er was kenn'd, 

To grumble or look sour : 

But blithe wad be a lift to lend, 

Gif ye wad see my power 

And pith this day.' "J 

[The transactions described in this poem are 
those which attended a rural celebration of the 
communion in Scotland till a very recent period, 
if not till the present day. But it is important 
to notice that the rite* itself, and even the 
place where it was administered, form no part 
of the picture. Burns limits himself to the 
assemblage, partly composed of parishioners, 
and partly of strangers, which always takes 
place on such occasions, in some open space 
near the church, where a succession of clergy- 
men, usually from the neighbouring parishes, 
give, from a tent or moveable pulpit, a succes- 
sion of services, while a lesser body are attend- 
ing the more solemn service withis* doors. 

That this scene is not exaggerated, in any 
particular, is rendered very certain, by the fol- 
lowing passage from a pamphlet published in 
the year of the poet's birth, under the title of 
A Letter from a Blacksmith to the Ministers 
and Elders of the Church of Scotland. " In 
Scotland, they run from kirk to kirk, and flock 
to see a sacrament, and make the same use of 
it that the papists do of their pilgrimages and 
processions ; that is, indulge themselves in 
drunkenness, folly, and idleness. Most of the 
servants, when they agree to serve their mas- 
ters, in the western parts of the kingdom, make 
a special provision that they shall have liberty 
to go to a certain number of fairs, or to an 
equal number of sacraments ; and as they con- 
sider a sacrament, or an occasion (as they call 
the administration of the Lord's Supper), in a 
neighbouring parish, in the same light in which 
they do a fair, so they behave at it much in the 
same manner. I defy Italy, in spite of all its 
superstition, to produce a scene better fitted to 
raise pity and regret in a religious, humane, 
and understanding heart, or to afford an ampler 
field for ridicule to the careless and profane, 
than what they call a field-preaching upon one 
of those occasions. At the time of the adminis- 
tration of the Lord's Supper upon the Thursday, 



THE POEMS OF BURNS 



Saturday, and Monday, we ha^se preaching in 
the fields near the church. At first, you find a 
great number of men and women lying together 
upon the grass ; here the] 1- are sleeping and 
snoring, some with their faces towards heaven, 
others with their faces turned downwards, or 
covered, with their bonnets : there you find a 
knot of young fellows and girls making assign- 
ations to go home together in the evening, or 
to meet in some ale-house ; in another place, 
you see a pious circle sitting round an ale- 
barrel, many of which stand ready upon carts 
for the refreshment of the saints. The heat of 
the summer season, the fatigue of travelling, 
and the greatness of the crowd, naturally dis- 
pose them to drink ; which inclines some of 
them to sleep, works up the enthusiasm of 
others, and contributes not a little to produce 
those miraculous conversions that sometimes 
happen at these occasions ; in a word, in this 
sacred assembly, there is an odd mixture of 
religion, sleep, drinking, courtship, and a con- 
fusion of sexes, ages, and characters. When ! 
you get a little nearer the speaker, so as to be 
within the reach of the sound, though not of 
the sense of the words (for that can only reach 
a small circle), you will find some weeping, 
and others laughing — some pressing to get 
nearer the tent or tub in which the parson is 
sweating, bawling, jumping, and beating the 
desk ; others fainting with the stifling heat, 
or wrestling to extricate themselves from the 
crowd : one seems very devout and serious, 
and the next moment is scolding and cursing 
his neighbour for squeezing or treading on him ; 
in an instant after, his countenance is composed 
to the religious gloom, and he is groaning, 
sighing, and weeping for his sins ; — in a word, 
there is such an absurd mixture of the serious 
and comic that, were we convened for any 
other purpose than that of worshipping the 
God and Governor of Nature, the scene would 
exceed all power of face." Happily, the above 
description is no longer applicable to Scotland. 
The satiric pen of the poet has effected miracles 
in the way of reformation.] 

[" There are traits of infinite merit in ' Scotch 
Drink,' ' The Holy Fair,' < The Hallow E'en,' 
&c. ; in all of which it is very remarkable that 
the Poet rises occasionally into a strain of 
beautiful description of of lofty sentiment, far 



above the pitch of his original conception."-— 
Jeffrey.] 

[David Sillar, the Scottish Poet, thus bears 
testimony to the accuracy of Burns's descrip- 
tion of " The Holy Fair :"— . 

<( When ye paint the ' Holy Fair,' 
Ye draw it to a very hair." 



* Kilmarnock was then a town of between three and four 
thousand inhabitants, most of whom were engaged in the 
manufacture of carpets and other coarse woollen goods, or in 
the preparation of leather. 

t A tavern near the church kept by a person of this name. 

X Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the ad- 
mission o> the" late reverend and worthy Mr. .Lindsay to the 
Laigh Kirk. R. B. 

[This note by Burns is far from sufficient to explain his 
allusion to a modern reader. — Mr. Lindsay, ordained to the 
Laigh Kirk in 1764, was the first moderate clergyman known 
in the place. He was supposed to have obtained the appoint- 
ment through the interest of his wife, whose maiden name 
was Margaret Lauder, who had been housekeeper to the Earl 



%\)t (©rtsinatum. 



' For sense they little owe to frugal heav'n — 
To please the mob they hide the little giv'n.' 



Kilmarnock wabsters fldge an' claw, 

An' pour your creeshie nations ; 
An' ye wha' leather rax an' draw, 

Of a' denominations,* 
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a', 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then afF to Begbie'sf in a raw, 

An' pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 
ii. 
Curst Common-Sense, that imp o' hell, 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ; J 
But Oliphant aft made her yell, 

An' Russell sair misca'd her ; 
This day Mackinlay taks the flail, 

And lie's the boy will blaud her ! 
He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 

An' set the bairns to daud her 

Wi' dirt this day. 
in. 
Mak haste an' turn king David owre, 

An' lilt wi' holy clangor ; 
O' double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl up the Bangor : 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, 

Xae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

And gloriously she'll whang her 

Wi' pith this day, 

IV. 

Come, let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it afF wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham§ leugh at his dad, 

Which made Canaan a nigger ; 



of Glencairn, patron of the kirk : — hence the scoffing ballad 
to which the poet refers. The general meaning of the stanza 
is, that Common Sense, in other words, Armiuian doctrine, 
was introduced into the church of Kilmarnock by Mr, 
Lindsay ; that Oliphant and Russell, two zealous Calvinists, 
had often attacked her ; but that now Mr. Mackinlay, the new 
entrant, was likely to effect her complete extrusion. We pbtaic 
a notion of the general feeling of Kilmarnock, respecting the 
moderate doctrine, from the fact that Mr. Lindsay's induc- 
tion had to be effected by the use of force, and that his 
friends of the Presbytery were on that occasion 60 peltea as 
to be obliged to fly from the town. 

Robert Chambers.] 
§ Genesis ix. 22. 



THE ORDINATION. 



201 



Or Phineas* drove the murdering blade, 


Or, nae reflection on your lear, 


Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour; 


Ye may commence a shaver ; 


Or Zipporah,t the scauldin' jade, 


Or to the Netherton H repair, 


Was like a bluidy tiger { 


And turn a carpet-weaver 


I' th' inn that day. 


AfF-hand this day. 


v. 
There, try his mettle on the creed 


Mutrie,** and you were just a match, 


And bind him down wi' caution, 


We never had sic twa drones : 


That stipend is a carnal weed 


Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 


He taks but for the fashion ; 


Just like a winkin' baudrons : 


And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, 


And ay' he catch'd the tither wretch, 


And punish each transgression ; ^ 


To fry them in his caudrons : 


Especial, rams that cross the breed, 


But now his honour maun detach, 


Gie them sufficient threshin', 


Wi' a' his brimstane squadrons, 


Spare them nae day. 

VI. 

Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, 


Fast, fast ff this day. 

XI. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 


An' toss thy horns fu' canty ; 


She's swingein' through the city ; 
Hark, how the nine- tail' d cat she plays ! 


Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale, 


Because thy pasture's scanty ; 


1 vow its unco pretty : 


For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 


There, Learning, with his Greekish face, 


Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 


Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 


An' runts o' grace the pick and wale, 


And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 


No gi'en by way o' dainty, 


To mak to Jamie Beattie H 


But ilka day. 


Her plaint this day. 


VII. 


XII. 


Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep, 


But there's Morality himseP, 


To think upon our Zion ; 


Embracing all opinions ; 


And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 


Hear, how he gies the tither yell, 


Like baby-clouts a-dryin' ; 


Between his twa companions ; 


Come,, screw the pegs, wi' tunefu' cheep, 


See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 


Ami o'er the thairms be tryin' ; 


As ane were peel in' onions ! 


Oh, lare ! to see our elbucks wheep, 


Now there — they're packed aff to hell, 


An' a' like lamb-tails flyin' 

Fu' fast this day ! 


And banish' d our dominions, 


Henceforth this day 


VIII. 


XIII. 


Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' aim, 


0, happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 


Has shor'd the* Kirk's undoin', 


Come bouse about the porter ! 


As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn, 


Morality's demure decoys §§ 


Has proven to its ruin : 


Shall here nae mair find quarter : 


Our patron, honest man ! Glencairn, 


Mackinlay, Russell, are the boys, 


He saw mischief was brewin' ; 


That Heresy can torture : || || 


And, like a godly elect bairn, 


They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, 


He's wal'd us out a true ane, 


And cowe her measure shorter 


And sound this daj T . 


By th' head some day. 


Now, Robinson, || harangue nae mair, 


Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, 


But steek your gab for ever : 


And here's, for a conclusion, 


Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 


To every New Light 1T1F mother's son. 


For there they'll think you clever : 


From this time forth, Confusion : 


* Numbers xxv. 8. f Exodus iv. 25- 


The holy flock to tent an' feed, 


X Var. 


An' punish each transgression ; 


Come wale a text, a proper verse, 


&e. 


An' touch it aff wi' vigour, 


|| The colleague of the newly ordained clergyman — a 


How Ham leugh' at his father's , 


moderate. 


Which made Canaan a nigger ; 


% A part of the town of Kilmarnock. 


Or Phineas did for buttocks pierce 


** The deceased Clergyman whom Mr. Mackinlay suc- 


Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour ; 


ceeded. 


Or Zipporah, wi' scauldin' hearse, 


ft Var. Fu' fast.— MS. 


Was like a bluidy tiger 


Xt The well-known Author of the Essay on Truth. 


I' th' inn that dav. 


|§ Var. Delusive joys. — MS. 


$ Var. 


|| || Var. Will clap him in the torture.— MS. 


There, try his mettle on the creed, 


Tffl " New Light " is a cant phrase, in the West of Scot- 


Wi' form'la an' confession, 


land, for those religious opinions which Dr. Taylor of Nor- 


An' lay your hands upon his head, 


wich has defended so strenuously. — R. B. 



An' seal his high coynmission, 



^@ 



If mair they deave us with their din, 

Or patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, 

We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



[This boisterous satire was written on the 
admission of the Rev. Mr. Mackinlay as one of 
the ministers of the Laigh or Parochial Kirk 
of Kilmarnock — an event which took place on 
the 6th of April, 1786. As Mr. Mackinlay 
was highly orthodox, and succeeded a moderate, 
the occasion was one of some triumph to the 
Auld Lights ; hence the bitter ironical strain of 
the poem. Mr. Mackinlay still (1838) survives, 
being now in the 82d year of his age, and still 
officiates in the pulpit of which Burns so much 
grudged him the possession. On the 6th of 
April, 1836, when he completed the fiftieth year 
of his ministry, the chief inhabitants of Kil- 
marnock assembled to the number of two hun- 
dred, and treated him to a public dinner : at 
that time only three or four of those who had 
met him at his first celebration of the commu- 
nion survived, and the venerable gentleman 
was stated to be now associated with his seventh 
colleague. It is not to be doubted that he has 
long forgiven this satire, and learned to regard 
it, as the general public must now only in the 
light of a literary curiosity." — Chambers.] 

[Death has been dealing — to use the lan- 
guage of the old bard — with all the clergymen 
of the west whom the poet lampooned or praised, 
save one, and that one is Mackinlaj^, one of the 
characters in the " Ordination." He is a good 
and venerable man : was the friend of Auld, 
minister of Mauchline, and it was his practice, 
when he called at his reverend brother's house, 
to shake hands, kneel down, and unite in asking 
a blessing from above on their ministry, and on 
the flocks committed to their charge. There is 
something apostolical or primitive in this. — A. C] 



Clje Calf. 

TO THE REV. MR. JAMES STEVEN. 

On his text, Malachi iv. 2.— "And they shall go forth, 
and grow up, like calves of the stall." 

Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Though Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance ; there's yourseP just now, 

God knows, an unco Calf ! 

And should some patron be so kind 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find, 

Ye're still as great a stirk. 

But, if the lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot, 
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly power, 

You e'er should be a Stot ! 



Tho', when some kind, connubial dear, 

Your but-and-ben adorns, 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And in your lug, most reverend James, 

To hear you roar and rowte, 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 

To rank amang the nowte. 

And when ye're numbered wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head — 

" Here lies a famous bullock ! " 



["The origin of 'The Calf is singular. 
The preacher was the Rev. James Steven, 
afterwards one of the Scottish Clergy in Lon- 
don, and ultimately minister of Kilwinning, in 
Ayrshire. It was his fate at this time to preach 
in the church at Mauchline, from the text which 
introduces the poem. From a memorandum by 
Burns himself, it would appear that there had 
been a wager with his friend Gavin Hamilton 
as to his producing a poem within a certain 
time, and that he gained it by producing The 
Calf. ' The Poet,' says Gilbert, ' had been 
with Mr. Hamilton in the morning (Sunday), 
who being confined with the gout, could not 
accompany him, but said jocularly to him, when 
he was going to church (in allusion to the in- 
junction of some parents to their children), that 
he must be sure to bring him a note of the 
sermon at mid-day ; this address to the Reve- 
rend Gentleman on his text was also produced. 
Burns, who appears to have been but little 
edified, remembering his promise to Mr. Ha- 
milton, composed a rhyming satire on the minis- 
ter from his own text, and repeated the same 
when he returned to dinner. The verses are 
clever, but certainly too severe. The Poet had 
no personal dislike to his victim — and desired 
his lampoon might be looked upon merely as 
a poetic sally. The appellation of 'The Calf 
however, seems to have stuck to the preacher : 
— for in one of the letters to Burns from his 
younger brother, who died in London, the 
following passage occurs, dated 21st March, 
1790 : — " We were at Covent Garden chapel 
this forenoon to hear the ' Calf ' preach : he is 
grown very fat, and is as boisterous as ever."] 



[Among the Poems of David Sillar are the 
following Verses, occasioned by a "Reply to 
Burns' Calf, by an unco Calf," with this motto : — 

" A preachin' Ca'f — a Poet wearin' cloots, 
Are surely ferlies 'mang the nat'ral brutes. 

" Were father Adam now to rise, 

An' view us face to face, 
I'm sure he'd scarce believe his eyes, 

That he begat our race. 



=@ 



EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. 



203 



Tho' in his days mischief there was, 
Men still were human creatures ; 

An' for his children they did pass, 
Tho' changed i' their natures. 

Balaam, 'twas strange, an ass he heard, 

Foretellin' him o' danger ; 
But surely cloots upon a Bard, 

An' preachin' calves, are stranger. 

For Gude's sake, Sirs, your flytin' cease, 

Misca' na ane anither ; 
Lest calves an' stirks, by keepin' peace 

Disgrace you a' thegither. 

But if ye winna cease to rair, 

To rout, to girn, an' gape, 
Ye're hafflins beasts ; in naething mair, 

Ye difTer but the shape. 

Gie satire vice ; let men alone, 

Tho' diff'rent in opinion ; 
Wha's right we canna always ken ; 

Man's mind is his dominion. 

I'm sorry, Sirs, I hae't to say, 

Our passions are sae strong, 
As mak' us tine the beaten way, 

An' rin sae aften wrong. 

But, Sirs, mair sorry I am still, 

When, without provocation, 
A brother's character we'd kill, 

Or bring him to vexation. 

Then for the future let's be mute, 

Reverin' those above us ; 
Wi' such as we, let's not dispute, 

An' syne our frien's will love us. 

Sae rout or no, just tak your will, 

I tell you to your face, 
The actions which befit a bull 

Affront the human race."] 



Cpts'tle to Barnes §$miii).* 



' Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul ! 
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society ! 
I owe thee much! " — Blair. 



Dear Smith, the sleest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 

Owre human hearts ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts. 



* [The individual, to whom this admirable epistle is ad- 
dressed, was a merchant in Mauchline during the Poet's 
sojourn in the west : not succeeding there, he established a 
calico-printing manufactory at Avon, near Linlithgow ; and 
While there we find Burns, in April, 1788, informing him of ha- 
ving married " a certain clean - limbed, handsome, bewitching 
young hussey" of his acquaintance, and desiring him to 
«ond one of his best printed shawls, as he had a wish that 



For me, I swear by sun an' moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair of shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. 

That auld capricious carlin, nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit stature, 
She's turn'd you aff, a human creature 

On her first plan ; 
And in her freaks, on every feature 

She's wrote, ' The Man.' 

Just now I've ta'en the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancy yerkit up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what's comin' ? 

Some rhyme a neibor's name to lash ; 

Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash ; 

Some rhyme to court the countra clash, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ; 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 

Has fated me the russet coat, 

An' damn'd my fortune to the groat ; 

But in requit, 
Has blest me wi' a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's ta'en a sklent, 
To try my fate in guid, black prent ; 
But still, the mair I'm that way bent, 

Something cries " Hoolie ! 
I rede you, honest man, tak tent ! 

Ye'll shaw your folly. 

" There's ither poets much your betters, 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, 

A' future ages ; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 

Their unknown pages." 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang, 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang. 



the first present he made her should be the work of one, 
whose friendship he counted on as a life-rent lease. He 
accompanied Burns to Poosie Nansie's, and saw the scene 
which is the subject of "The Jolly Beggars.'" This 
friendship was not to last ; his lot, like that of the Poet, was 
chequered and hard. Smith failed in his speculations, left 
his native land, and found, what Burns narrowly escaped, a 
grave in the West Indies. — Ed.] 



204 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



I'll wander on, with tentless heed 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 

Bat why o' death begin a tale? 

Just now we're living sound and hale, 

Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave care owre side ! 
And large, before enjoyment's gale, 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far 's I understand, 
Is a' enchanted fairy-land, 
Where pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd, 
See, crazy, weary, joyless eild, 

Wi' wrinkl'd face, 
Comes hostin', hirplin', owre the field, 

Wi' creepin' pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin', 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin' ; 
An' fareweel cheerfii' tankards foamin', 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel, dear deluding woman ! 

The joy of joys ! 

O Life ! how pleasant is thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 
Cold-pausing caution's lesson scorning, 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, 

To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves ; 
And tho' the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 
For which they never toil'd nor swat ; 
They drink the sweet and eat the fat, 

But care or pain ; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim some fortune chase ; 
Keen hope does ev'ry sinew brace ; 
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, 

And seize the prey : 
Then cannie, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan', 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin' ; 
To right or left, eternal swervin', 



They zig-zag on ; 
'Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin', 
They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bkter toil an' straining — 
But truce with peevish, poor complaining ! 
Is fortune's fickle Luna waning ? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining, 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door, 

And kneel, " Ye Pow'rs ! " and warm implore, 

" Tho' I should wander terra o'er, 

In all her climes, 
Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

Ay rowth o' rhymes. 

" Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds, 
Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards, 

And maids of honour ! 
And yill an' whiskey gie to cairds, 

Until they sconner. 

" A title, Dempster merits it ; 

A garter gie to AVillie Pitt ; 

Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, 

In cent, per cent. 
But gie me real, sterling wit, 

And I'm content. 

" While ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail, 

Wi' cheerfu' face, 
As lang's the muses dinna fail 

To say the grace." 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk beneath misfortune's blows 

As weel 's I may ; 
Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, 

I rhyme away. 

O ye douce folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
Compar'd wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool ! 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool, 

Your lives, a dyke ! 

Nae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces, 
In your unletter'd, nameless faces ! 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
But, gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise ; 

Nae ferly tho' ye do despise 

The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, 

The rattling squad : 
[ see you upward cast your eyes — 

■ — Ye ken the road. — 



THE VISION.— DUAN FIRST. 



205 



Whilst I — but I shall haud me there — 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quit my sang, 
Content wi' you to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



[" Where can we find a more exhilarating enu- 
meration of the enjoyments of youth, contrasted 
with their successive extinction as age advances, 
than in the epistle to James Smith ?" 

Professor Walker.] 

[The following happy and appropriate re- 
marks are from the pen of "The Man of Feel- 
ing :" — " The power of genius is not less ad- 
mirable in tracing the manners than in painting 
the passions, or in drawing the scenery of 
nature. That intuitive glance with which a 
writer like Shakspeare discerns the character of 
men, with which he catches the many changing 
hues of life, forms a sort of problem in the 
science of mind, of which it is easier to see the 
truth than to assign the cause. Though I am 
far from meaning to compare our rustic bard to 
Shakspeare, yet whoever will read (this and) 
his (other) lighter and more humorous poems, 
his ' Twa Dogs' — his ' Dedication to Gavin 
Hamilton' — his Epistles to a ' Young Friend' — 
and ' To "William Simpson,' will perceive with 
what uncommon penetration and sagacity this 
Heaven-taught Ploughman, from his humble 
and unlettered station, has looked upon men 
and manners." — Henry M'Kenzie.] 

%fy Virion. 

DUAN FIRST. * 

The sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roaring play,f 
An' hunger'd maukin ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare she has been. 

The thresher's weary flingin'-tree 
The lee-lang day had tir'd me ; 
And when the day had clos'd his e'e. 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the spence,J right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 
There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and eye'd the spewing reek, 
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 



* Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a 
digressive poem. See his " Cath-Loda," vol. ii. of M'Pher- 
son's translation. R. B. 

f [Curling is a wintry game peculiar to the southern coun- 
ties of Scotland. When the ice is sufficiently strong on the 
lochs, a number of individuals, each provided with a large 
stone of the shape of an oblate spheroid, smoothed at the 
bottom, range themselves on two sides, and being furnished 
with handles, play against each other. The game resembles 
bowls, but is much more animated, and keenly enjoyed. It 
is well characterized by the Poet as a roaring play.] 



The auld clay biggin' ; 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 

About the riggin'. 
All in this mottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

An' done naething, 
But stringin' blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, ha/ led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank an' clerkit 

My cash-account : 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 

Is a' th' amount. 
I started, mutt'ring, Blockhead ! coof ! 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith, 
That I, henceforth , would be rhyme-proof 

Till my last breath — ■ 

When, click ! the string the sneck did draw . 
And, jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
An' by my ingle-lowe I saw, 

Now bleezin' bright, 
A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 
Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-form' d, was crusht ; 
I glow'r'd as eerie 's I'd been dusht 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, 

And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows, 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token : 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken. 

A ' hair-brain'd, sentimental trace' 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with honour. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
'Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonnie Jean 

Could only peer it , 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

X [The parlour of the farm-house of Mossgiel— the only 
apartment besides the kitchen. This room still exists in the 
state in which it was when the Poet described it as the scene 
of his vision of Coila. Though in every respect humble, and 
partly occupied by fixed beds, it does not appear uncomfort- 
able. Every consideration, however, sinks beneath the one 
intense feeling that here, within these four walls, warmed at 
this little fire-place, and lighted by this little window [it has 
but one], lived one of the most extraordinary men ; and here 
wrote some of the most celebrated poems of mj^p times ! 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonish' d view, 

A well known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost : 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, 

The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods ; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient borough rear'd her head :* 

Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a race 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

And polish'd grace. | 

By stately tow'r or palace fair, 

Or ruins pendent in the air, 

Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, 

With features stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 

To see a race X heroic wheel, 

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Southron foes 

His Country's Saviour,^ mark him well! 
Bold Richard ton's || heroic swell ; 
The chief on Sarklf who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a scepter'd Pictish shade** 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 

* [Ayr, whose charter dates from the beginning of the thir- 
teenth century.] 

t [With this stanza the first Duan in the Kilmarnock edi- 
tion of the Poet's works terminates. The subsequent stanzas 
were added in the Edinburgh edition.] 

X The Wallaces. R. B. 

§ Sir William Wallace. R, B. 

|| Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal 
preserver of Scottish independence. R. B, 

% Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, 
under Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the 
banks of Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was 
principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour 
of the gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after 
the action. R. B. 

** Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of 
Kyle is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, 
pear the family seat of the Montgomery of Coils-field, 



I mark'd a martial race, portray'd 

In colours strong ; 

Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismayed 

They strode along. 

Thro' many a wild romantic grove, ff 
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove,]:!' 
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love,) 

In musing mood, 
An aged judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned sire and son I saw,§§ 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore, 
This, all its source and end to draw ; 

That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave ward|||| I well could spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye : 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on, 
Where many a patriot name on high 

And hero shone. 



DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,- 
I view'd the heav'nly seeming fair ; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder sister's air 

She did me greet. 

" All hail ! my own inspired bard ! 
In me thy native Muse regard ; 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. . 

" Know, the great genius of this land 
Has many a light, aerial band, 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand, 

Their labours ply. 

where his burial-place is still shown. R. B. [The spot pointed 
out by tradition as the burial-place of* Coilus is a small 
mount marked by a few trees. It was opened May 29, 1837, 
when two sepulchral urns were found, attesting that tradition 
has been at least correct in describing the spot as a burial- 
place, though whose ashes these were, whether Coilus's, or 
whether such a personage as Coilus ever existed, it would be 
difficult to say.] 

tt Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Jns'ice-Clerk 
(Sir Thomas Miller of Glenlee, afterwards President of the 
Court of Session). R. B. 

tt Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and present Profes- 
sor, Stewart. R. B. 

$§ [The Rev. Dr. Matthew Stewart, the celebrated mathe- 
matician, and his son, Mr. Dugald Stewart, the elegant expo- 
sitor of the Scottish school of metaphysics, are here meant ; 
their villa of Catrine being situated on the Ayr.] 

|| || Colonel Fullarton. R. B. 



THE VISION.— DUAN SECOND. 



207 



" They Scotia's race among them share ; 
Some fire the soldier on to dare : 
Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart : 
Some teach the bard, a darling care, 

The tuneful art. 

" 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
They, ardent, kindling spirits, pour ; 
Or, 'mid the venal senate's roar, 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest patriot-lore, 

And grace the hand. 

" And when the bard, or hoary sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
They bind the wild, poetic rage 

In energy, 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye.* 

" Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; 
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His ; Minstrel lays ;' 
Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

The sceptic's bays. 

" To lower orders are assign' d 
The humbler ranks of human-kind, 
The rustic bard, the laboring hind, 

The artisan ; 
All choose, as various they're inclin'd 

The various man. 

" When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
The threat'ning storm some, strongly, rein ; 
Some teach to meliorate the plain, 

With tillage-skill ; 
And some instruct the shepherd- train, 

Blythe o'er the hill. 

" Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 
Some soothe the lab'rer's weary toil, 

For humble gains, 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

" Some, bounded to a district- space, 
Explore at large man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic bard : 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 



* [In the first edition this stanza does not appear.] 

t [The idea of this visionary being is acknowledged by 

Burns himself to have been taken from the Scotia of Mr. 

Alexander Ross, a Mearns poet, author of a pastoral of some 

merit, entitled The Fortunate Shepherdess.] 

X [The Loudoun branch of the Campbells is here meant. 

Mossgiel and much of the neighbouring ground was then the 

property of the Earl of Loudoun. 



" Of these am I — Coila my name,f 

And this district as mine I claim, 

Where once the Campbells,! chiefs of fame, 

Held ruling pow'r ", 
I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 

Thy natal hour. 

" With future hope, I oft would gaze, 
Fond, on thy little early ways, 
Thy rudely caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at the simple, artless lays, 

Of other times. 

" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the north his fleecy store 

Drove through the sky, 
I saw grim nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 

" Or when the deep green-mantl'd earth 
Warm cherish' d ev'ry flow'ret's birth, 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
I saw thee eye the general mirth 

With boundless love. 

" When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
Call'd forth the reaper's rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their evening joys, 

And lonely stalk, 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

u When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' ador'd Name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 

To soothe thy flame. § 

" I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 
Wild, send thee pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, 

By passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from Heaven. 

" I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends ; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

Become thy friends. 



§ [This and the four preceding stanzas display in a remark- 
able degree a high tone of feeling, a power and energy of ex- 
pression, particularly and strongly characteristic of the mind 
and voice of the Poet. Of strains like the above, solemn and 
subKme, with that rapt and inspired melancholy in which 
the Poet lifts his eye ' above this visible diurnal sphere,' the 
poems entitled, 'Despondency,' the 'Lament,' ' Winter, a 
dirge' and the Invocation to ' Ruin,' afford us no less 
striking examples." — Heney Mac Kbnzie.] 



208 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



" Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
To paint with Thomson's landscape-glow ; 
Or wake the bosom -melting throe, 

With Shenstone's art ; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

" Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade, 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

Adown the glade. 

" Then never murmur nor repine ; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine : 
And, trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

"Nor kings' regard, 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine — 

A rustic Bard. 

" To give my counsels all in one, 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan j 
Preserve the dignity of man, 

With soul erect ; 
And trust, the Universal Plan 

Will all protect. 

" And wear thou this," — she solemn said, 
And bound the holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



[This is one of the most artificial Poems of 
Burns's composition. It is in many places, 
however, highly poetical, and the appreciation 
of his own character is peculiarly striking." 

Hogg.] 

[" In the ' Vision' there are some vigorous 
and striking lines." — Jeffrey.] 

[Much of the man is in all Burns's produc- 
tions ; in the history of this poem we may read 
some of the vicissitudes of his love and friend- 
ship. In the original manuscript, the verse 
which descends into particulars about Coila, 
claimed for her a leg as straight, and tight, and 
tapering as that of Jean Armour; the destruc- 
tion of the marriage lines brought a blight on 
his affection — he dethroned her in his Kilmar- 
nock edition, and raised up another in her 
stead : — 

Down flowed her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen, 
And such a leg ! my Bess, I ween, 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 



* Halloween is thought to be a night when witches, devils, 
and other mischief-making beings are all abroad on their 
baneful, midnight errands ; particularly those aerial people, 
the Fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand anniver- 
sary. R. it. 



Old affection triumphed by the time the 
Edinburgh edition was printed, and Jean was 
with pomp restored. Having extended his 
friendships after the first edition, he enlarged 
the robe of Coila, and emblazoned it with the 
history of the Wallaces who fought and were 
victorious at Stirling and Sark. He also ad- 
mitted others of a later day to the honours of 
the mantle ; and gave Coila more than she 
could well bear. — Allan Cunningham.] 

[Miss Rachael Dunlop, one of the daughters 
of Mrs. Dunlop, and who afterwards married 
Robert Glasgow, Esq., appears to have trans- 
ferred the Coila of the Vision to canvas ; for 
we find Burns, in February 1788, writing to 
that lady as follows : — 

"lam highly flattered by the news you tell 
me of Coila. I may say to the fair painter 
who does me so much honour, as Dr. Beattie 
says to Ross the poet, of his Muse Scota, from 
which, by the bye, I took the idea of Coila ; 
('Tis a poem of Beattie's, in the Scottish dia- 
lect, which perhaps you have never seen) : — 

1 Ye shake your head, but o' my fegs, 
Ye've set auld Scota on her legs ; 
Lang had she lien wi' buffe and flegs, 

Rombaz'd and dizzie; 
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs — 

Waes me, poor hizzie !' 

In the Sketch on New Year's day, he says, 

' Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day.' " — Ed.] ' 



fcallofown.* 



The following poem will, by many readers, 
be well enough understood ; but, for the sake 
of those who are unacquainted with the man- 
ners and traditions of the country where the 
scene is cast, notes are added, to give some ac- 
count of the principal charms and spells of that 
night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in 
the west of Scotland. The passion of prying 
into futurity makes a striking part of the his- 
tory of human nature in its rude state, in all 
ages and nations; and it maybe some enter- 
tainment to a philosophic mind, if any such 
should honour the author with a perusal, to see 
the remains of it among the more unenlightened 
in our own. — Burns. 



' Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art."t 

Goldsmith. 



t Var. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annais of the poor. 

Gray's Elegy. MS. 
[The Variations are fr»;n MS- in Burns's hand- ■writing.] 



HALLOWEEN. 



209 



Upon that night, when fairies light 

On Cassilis Downans* dance, 
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or for Colean the route is ta'en, 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
There, up the cove,f to stray an' rove, 

Amang the rocks an' streams 

To sport that night. 

IT. 

Amang the bonnie, winding banks 

Where Doon rins, ' wimplin', clear, 
Where Bruce J ance rul'd the martial ranks, 

An' shook his Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, 

An' baud their Halloween 

Fu' blythe that night. 
in. 
The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : 
The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' 

Whiles fast at night. 



Then, first and foremost, thro' the kail, 

Their stocks § maun a' be sought ance ; 
They steek their een, an' graip an' wale, 

For muckle anes an' straught anes, 
Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, 

An' wander' d through the bow-kail, 
An' pou't, for want o' better shift, 

A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't that night. 
v. 
Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; 
The vera wee-things, todlin', rin, 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
An' gif the custoc's sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; 



* Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neigh- 
bourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis. — R.B. 

t A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of 
Colean ; which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed in coun- 
try story for being a favourite haunt of fairies. — R. B. 

$ The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert 
Bruce, the great deliverer of his country, were Earls of 
Carrick.— R. B. 

§ The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a stock, 
or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes 
shut, and pull the first they meet wiih : its being big or little, 
straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the 
grand object of all their spells — the husband or whe. If any 
yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, or fortune, and 
the taste of thecustoc, that is, the heart of the stem, is in- 
dicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the 
stems, or, to give them their ordinary appellator), the r.mts, 
are placed somewhere above the head of the door; and the 



Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

WT cannie care, they've placed them 
To lie that night. 
VI. 

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a' 

To pou their stalks o' corn :|| 
But Kab slips out, an' jinks about, 

Behint the muckle thorn : 
He grippet Nelly hard an' fast ; 

Loud skirl' d a' the lasses ; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost, 

When kuittlin' in the fause-houseH 
Wi' him that night. 

VII. 

The auld guidwife's weel-hoorded nits** 

Are round an' round divided, 
An' monie lads' an' lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa wi' saucy pride, 

And jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

VIII. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e ; 

Wha 't was she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock, an' this is me, 

She says in to hersel' : 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part ; 
'Till, fun ! he started up the lum, 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 



Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie ; 
An' Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie ; 
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, an' swoor, by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 

To be that night. 



Nell had the fause-house in her min', 
She pits hersel' an' Rob in ; 



Christian names of the people whom chance brings into the 
hou e, are, according to the priority of placing the runts, 
the names in question. — R. B. 

]| They go to the barn-yard and pull each, at three several 
times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top- 
pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in 
question will come to the marriage-bed any thing but a maid, 
— R. B. 

^ When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, 
or wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, &c,, makes 
a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side 
which is fairest exposed to the wind : this he calls a faus<-. 
house. — R. B. 

** Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the 
lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the 
fire, and, accordingly as they burn quietly together, or start 
from beside on another, the course and issue of the court- 
ship will be. — R. B 



210 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



In loving breeze they sweetly join, 
"Till white in ase they're sobbin' ; 

Nell's heart was dancin' at the view, 
She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't : 

Rob, stowlins, prie'd her bonnie mou', 
Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 

XI. 

But Merran sat behint their backs 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea'es them gashin' at their cracks, 

An' slips out by hersel' : 
She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 

An' to the kiln she goes then, 
An' darklins graipit for the bauks, 

And in the blue -clue* throws then, 

Right fear't that night. 

XII. 

An' aye she win't, an' aye she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin' ; 
'Till something held within the pat, 

Guid L — d ! but she was quaukin' ! 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel', 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin' 

To spier that night. 

XIII. 

Wee Jenny to her grannie says, 

" AVill ye go wi' me, grannie ? 
I'll eat the applef at the glass, 

I gat frae uncle Johnnie :" 
She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a hint, 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin', 
She notic't na, an aizle brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro' that night. 



"Ye little skelpie-limmer's face ! 

How daur you tiy sic sportin', 
As seek the foul thief onie place, 

For him to spae your fortune ? 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
For mony a ane has gotten a fright, 

An' liv'd an' di'd deleeret 

On sic a night, 

xv. 
" Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor, — 
I mind't as weel 's yestreen, 

* Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly 
observe these directions : — Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, 
and darkling, throw into the pot a clue of blue yarn ; wind it 
in. a new clue off the old one ; and, towards the latter end, 
something will hold the thread; demand " Wha hauds?" 
i.e.who holds ? An answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, 
by naming the christian and surname of your future spouse. 
— R. B. 

t Take a candle, and go alone to a looking glass ; eat an 
apple before it, and, some traditions say, you should comb 
your hair all the time ; the face of your conjugal companion, 



I was a gilpey then, I'm sure 

I was nae post fyfteen ; 
The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 

An' stuff was unco green ; 
An' ay a rantin' kirn we gat, 

An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 

XVI. 

"Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 

A clever, sturdy fallow : 
He's sin' gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

That liv'd in Achmacalla : 
He gat hemp-seed,;]; I mind it weel, 

An' he made unco light o't ; 
But monie a day was by himsel', 

He was sae sairly frighted 

That vera night." 

XVII. 

Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck ,• 

For it was a' but nonsense. 
The auld guidman raught down the pock, 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him, 

An' try 't that night. 



He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin ; 
The graip he for a harrow taks, 

An' haurls at his curpin ; 
An' every now an' then he says, 

" Hemp-seed, I saw thee, 
An' her that is to be my lass, 

Come after me, an' draw thee 

As fast this night." 



He whistl'd up Lord Lennox' march, 

To keep his courage cheery j 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie :' 
'Till presently he hears a squeak, 

An' then a grane an' gruntle ; 
He by his shouther gae a keek, 

An' tumbl'd wi' a Avintle 

Out-owre that night. 
xx. 
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 



to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your 
shoulder. — It. B. 

t Steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed, 
harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after 
you. Kepeat now and then, " Hemp-seed I saw thee, hemp- 
seed I saw thee ; and him (or her) that is to be my true love, 
come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, 
and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the 
attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, ' Come after 
me, and shaw thee,' that is, show thyself; in which case it 
simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, • Come 
after me, and harrow thee.' — R. B. 



HALLOWEEN. 



211 



An* young an' auld came rinnin' out, 

To hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
'Till, stop ! she trotted thro' them a' ; 

An' wha was it but grumphie 

Asteer that night ! 

XXI. 

Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen, 

To win three wechts o' naething ; * 
But for to meet the deil her lane, 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits, 

An' twa red-cheekit apples, 
To watch, while for the barn she sets, 

In hopes to see Tam Kipples 

That vera night. 

XXII. 

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 

An' owre the threshold ventures ; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca' 

Syne bauldly in she enters : 
A ratton rattled up the wa', 

An' she cried, L — d, preserve her ! 
An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a', 

An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, 

Fu' fast that night. 

XXIII. 

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice ; 

They hecht him some fine braw ane ; 
It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice, f 

Was timmer-propt for thraw in' ; 
He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak, 

For some black, grousome c-arlin ; 
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, 

'Till skin in blypes cam haurlin' 

Aff's niev.es that night. 

XXIV. 

A wanton widow Leezie w T as, 

As canty as a kittlen ; 
But, och ! that night, amang the shaws, 

She got a fearfu' settlin' ! 
She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn,! 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night. 



* This charm must likewise be performed, unperceived, 
and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, taking 
them off the hinges, if possible ; for there is danger that the 
being about to appear may shut the doors, and do you some 
mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing 
the corn, which, in our country dialect, we call a wecht ; and 
go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the 
wind. Repeat it three times ; and the third time an appa- 
rition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door, and 
out at the other, having both the figure in question, and 
the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or 
station in life. — It. B. 

t Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a bean- 
stack, and fathom it three times round. The last fathom 
of the last time, you will catch in your arms the appearance 
of your future conjugal yoke-fellow. — R. B. 

t You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a 



Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; 
Whiles round a rocky scaur it strays ; 

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter' d to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night. 



Amang the brachens, on the brae, 

Between her an' the moon, 
The deil, or else an outler quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ! 

Near Lav'rock-height she jumpit ; 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night. 

XXVII. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The luggies three § are ranged, 
And ev'ry time great care is ta'en, 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin' Mar's-year did desire, 
Because he gat the toom-dish thrice, 

He heav'd them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 



Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary ; 
An' unco' tales, an' funny jokes, 

Their sports were cheap an' cheery ; 
Till butter' d so'ns,|| wi' fragrant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin' ; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, 

They parted aff careerin' 

Fu' blythe that night. 



The ancient festival of Halloween is now 
sinking into disuse : in days of yore it was 
generally observed by the bulk of the Scottish 
population. Nor did it remain unsung till the 
days of Burns. A poem called " Halloween," 



south running spring or rivulet, where " three lairds' lands 
meet," and dip your left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in sight of 
a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake : 
and, some time near midnight, an apparition, having the 
exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and 
turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it. — R. B. 

§ Take three dishes ; put clean water in one, foul water in 
another, leave the third empty : blindfold a person, and lead 
him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged ; he (or she) 
dips the left hand : if by chance in the clean water, the 
future husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony a 
maid ; if in the foul, a widow ; if in the empty dish, it fore- 
tels, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated 
three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes ia 
altered.— 11. B. 

|| Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always 
the Halloween supper. — R. B. 

P 2 



■■::-;; 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



from the muse of John Mayne, appeared in 
Ruddiman's Magazine for November, 1780 ; — 
some of the verses are striking and curious, 
and seem to have been known to the uoet of 
Ayr-shire : — 

" Of a' the festivals we hear 
Frae Han'sel-Munday till new-year, 
There's few in Scotland held mair dear 

For mirth, I ween, 
Or yet can boast o' better cheer, 
Than Halloween. 

" Plac'd at their head the guidwife sits, 
And deals round apples, pears and nits, 
Syne tells her guests how at sic bits 

Where she has been, 
Bogles hae gart fowk tyne their wits 

On Halloween. 

" Griev'd she recounts how wi' mischance 
Puir poussie's forced a' night to prance 
Wi' fairies, wha in thousands dance 

Upon the green, 
Or sail wi' witches owre to France 
On Halloween. 

" And when they've trimm'd ilk heaped plate, 
And a' things are laid out o' gate, 
To ken their matrimonial mate 

The youngsters keen 
Search a' the dark decrees o' fate 

On Halloween. 

" A' things prepar'd in order due, 
Gosh guides ! what fearfu' pranks ensue ! 
Some i' the kiln-pat thraw a clew, 

At whilk bedeen 
Their sweethearts by the far-end pu', 

At Halloween. 

" I (hers, wi' some uncanny gift, 
In ane auld barn a riddle lift, 
Where thrice, pretending corn to sift, 

Wi' charms between, 
Their jo appears, as white as drift, 

At Halloween." 

" The scene where the Halloween of Burns is 
laid is on the romantic coast of Ayr-shire : the 
cove of Colean gave shelter to Bruce and his 
intrepid followers when he planned the storm- 
ing of Turnberry Castle. 

"Of the fairies who, on sprightly coursers, 
rode on Cassilis-Downans, we have from 
Burns but a brief account ; — the tale of Tarn- 
lane lets us more into the secret of their mid- 
night doings — tradition adds a few particulars. 
They were not a mischievous race : they loved 
romantic hills and lonely valleys — they were 
fond of music and of children — their dress is 
invariably described as green — their heads bare, 
and their hair long and of a golden hue. The 
horses on which they rode were from fairy 
land, had small bells at their manes, long tails, 
md were of a cream-colour ! The musical in- 
struments of these spiritual people were corn- 
;.ipes and bog-reeds — but they could extract 
divine harmony out of an ordinary whistle. 
They loved bread baked of new meal : milk, 
warm from the cow, and honey dropt from the 



comb. They had the power of blessing of ot 
cursing families and flocks, and never over- 
looked an ill deed nor forgot a favour. It is 
generally admitted that they left our land about 
seventy years ago : their mournings and moan- 
ings among the hills on the Hallowmass night 
of their departure — according to the assertion 
of an old shepherd — were melancholy to hear." 
— Allan Cunningham. 

" The Halloween is a most striking and 
picturesque description of local customs and 
scenery." — Hazlit. 

"It exhibits a highly humourous and mas- 
terly description of some of the most remark- 
able superstitions of the Scottish peasantry, and 
the incidents are selected, and the characters 
disseminated, with great felicity." — Mother- 
well. 

" The most of the ceremonies appropriate to 
Halloween, including all those of an adven- 
turous character, are now disused. Meetings 
of young people still take place on that even- 
ing, both in country and town, but their frolics 
are usually limited to ducking for apples in tubs 
of water (a ceremony overlooked by Burns), 
the lottery of the dishes, and pulling cabbage- 
stalks. The other ceremonies are discounte- 
nanced as more superstitious than is desirable, 
and as somewhat dangerous. So lately as 1802, 
the following incident took place in Edinburgh, 
on All Hallow Eve: — A girl, named Isabel 
Carr, servant to Mr. Matthewson, type-founder, 
being determined to go through the rite of 
sowing hemp-seed, went for that purpose into 
her master's foundry, about ten o'clock at 
night, having a light in her hand, which she 
placed on one of the tables while she performed 
her incantations. She walked through the shop 
several times, pronouncing aloud the words 
used on such occasions — and so anxious was she 
to see something, as she termed it, that (having 
seen nothing) she gathered up the hempseed to 
sow it a second time. In the course of this 
second sowing, according to her own account, 
a tall meagre figure presented itself to her ima- 
gination ! She shrieked aloud, and ran imme- 
diately into the house. After relating what 
she had seen, she went to bed, placing the 
Bible under her head ! She rose next morning, 
and went through the labours of the day in 
apparent good health ; but, in the evening, 
seemed somewhat timid. She went to bed with- 
out any symptoms of fear. Next morning, she 
was called, but did not answer. A daughter 
of Mr. Matthewson then rose, went to her, 
and found that she was very sick, and that she 
had been so during part of the night. Tea was 
ordered for her, but, before it could be prepared, 
she was seized with a stupor ; the pulse became 
sunk, the breathing difficult, and the hands 
swollen and blackish. A medical gentleman 
was instantly called : he said it was an attack 
of apoplexy, which she could not survive more 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 



213 



than ten minutes ; and in rather less than that 
time she expired. The surgeon was clearly of 
opinion that the impression made on her ima- 
gination by the fancied apparition was the 
cause of this fatal catastrophe." — Robert 
Chambers. 

iHan teas maftt to jHoum. 

A DIRGE. 
I. 

When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning, as I wandered forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man whose aged step 

Seem'd wearjr, worn with care ; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 

And hoary was his hair, 
ii. 
" Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou ?" 

Began the rev'rend sage ; 
" Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ? " 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of man. 

in. 
" The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride : 
I've seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return, 
And ev'ry time has added proofs 

That man was made to mourn. 

IV. 

" O man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which, tenfold force gives nature's law, 

That man was made to mourn, 
v. 
" Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right : 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn ; 
Then age and want — oh ! ill-match' d pair ! — 

Show man was made to mourn. 

VI. 

" A few seem favourites of fate, 

In pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land 

Are wretched and forlorn ! 
! Thro' weary life this lesson learn — 

That man was made to mourn. 



" Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heav'n-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

VIII. 

" See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

IX. 

" If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave — 

By Nature's law design'd — ■ 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty, or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn ? 
x. 
" Yet, let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast ; 
This partial view of human-kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

XI. 

" O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend- 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! " 



[ a Several of the poems were produced for the 
purpose of bringing forward some favourite 
sentiment of the author. He used to remark to 
me that he could not well * conceive a more 
mortifying picture of human life than a man 
seeking work. In casting about in his mind 
how this sentiment might be brought forward, 
the elegy, ' Man was made to mourn,' w r as 
composed." — Gilbert Burns.] 

[An old Scottish ballad had some share in 
giving life and language to these emotions. — 
"I had an old grand-uncle," says the poet to 
Mrs. Dunlop, " with whom my mother lived a 
while in her girlish years. The good old man 
was long blind ere he died, during which time 
his highest enjoyment was to sit down and cry, 



@= 



214 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



while ray mother would sing the simple old 
song of ' The Life and Age of Man.' " From 
the Poet's venerable mother, Mr. Cromek pro- 
cured a copy of this composition ; it commences 
thus : — 

" Upon the sixteen hunderd year 

Of God, and fifty-three, 
Frae Christ was born, who bought us dear, 

As writings testifie ; 
On January the sixteenth day, 

As I did lie alone, 
With many a sigh and sob did say, 

Ah ! man was made to moan ! " 

The pious minstrel then proceeds to compare 
the life of man to the seasons : — 

" Then in comes March that noble arch, 

With wholesome spring and air ; 
The child doth spring to years fifteen, 

With visage fine and fair. 
So do the flow'rs, with soft'ning show'rs, 

Ay spring up as we see ; 
Yet ne'crtheless, remember this — 

That one day we must die. 

' ' Then brave April doth sweetly smile, 

The flow'rs do fair appear, 
The child is then become a man 

To the age of tv.enty year ; 
If he be kind and well inclin'd 

And brought up at a school, 
Then men may know if he foreshow 

A wise man or a fool. 

" Then cometh May gallant and gay 

When fragrant flow'rs do thrive, 
The child is then become a man 

Of age twenty and five : 
And for his life doth seek a wife 

His life and years to spend ; 
Ch.ist from above sent peace and love 

And grace unto the end. 

" Then cometh June with pleasant tune, 

When fields with flow'rs are clad, 
And Phoebus bright is at his height — 

All creatures then are glad ; 
Then he appears of thretty years, 

With courage bold and stout ; 
His nature so makes him to go, 

Of death he hath no doubt."] 

["Whatever might be the casual idea that 
set the poet to work, it is but too evident that 
he wrote from the habitual feelings of his own 
bosom. The indignation with which he through 
life contemplated the inequality of human con- 
dition, and particularly — and who shall say 
with absolute injustice ? — the contrast between 
his own worldly circumstances and intellectual 
rank, was never more bitterly nor more loftily 
expressed than in some of these stanzas. 

' See yonder poor, o'er-labour'd wight,' &c. 

" The same feelings, strong, but triumphed over 
in the moment of inspiration, as it ought ever 



to have been in the plain exercise of such an 
understanding as his, may be read in every 
stanza of his Epistle to Davie?'' — Lockhart.] 

[" Immediately below the old bridge of Bar- 
skimming, there is a small level, grassy plot, 
or holm, surrounded by lime and chesnut 
trees ; this little holm is interestingly connected 
with the history of Burns, by the following 
circumstance, which has thus been related by 
the late James Andrew, miller, at Barskimming 
mill :— 

"Close beside the end of the bridge, stands a 
neat small house, inhabited, at the time to which 
this anecdote relates, by an old man named 
Kemp, and his daughter. The old man, not 
originally possessed of the best of tempers, was 
rendered peevish and querulous by disease, and, 
in consequence of slight paralysis, generally 
supported himself on two sticks. His daughter 
Kate, however, a trim trig lass, was one of the 
leading belles of the district, and as such had 
attracted a share of the attentions of Robert 
Burns. One evening the poet had come from 
Mauchline to see Kate ; but, on arriving at the 
house, he found the old man at the door in a 
more than usually peevish mood, and was in- 
formed by him that the cow was lost, and that 
Kate had gone in quest of her, but she had 
been so long away he was afraid she was lost 
too. The poet, leaving' the old man, crossed 
the bridge, and at the farther end he met the 
miller of Barskimming mill, then a young man 
about his own age, whom he accosted thus : 
" Weel, miller, what are you doing here ? " 
"Na, Robin," said the miller, "I s'ould put 
that question to you, for I am at hame and ye're 
no." "Why," said Robin, "I cam doun to 
see Kate Kemp." " I was just gaun the same 
gate," said the miller. "Then ye need gang 
nae further," said Burns, " for baith she and 
the cow's lost, and the auld man is perfectly 
wud at the want o' them. But, come, we'll 
tak a turn or two in the holm till we see if she 
cast up." They accordingly went into the 
holm, and, during the first two rounds they 
made, the poet chatted freely, but subsequently 
got more and more taciturn, and during the last 
two rounds spoke not a word. On reaching 
the stile that led from the place, he abruptly 
bade the miller good night, and walked rapidly 
towards Mauchline, Next time the miller and 
he met, he said, " Miller, I owe you an apology 
for my silence during our last walk together, 
and for leaving you so abruptly." " Oh ! " 
said he, " Robin, there is no occasion, for I 
supposed some subject had occurred to you, and 
that you were thinking and perhaps composing 
something on it." " You were quite right, 
miller," said Burns, " and I will now read you 
what was chiefly the work of that evening." 
The composition he read was Man was made 
to mourn. 

The Land of Burns.] 



EPISTLES TO GOUDIE AND LAPRAIK. 



215 



EPISTLE TO 

$oi)n <&a\itiit t Htlmarnocfc, 

ON THE PUBLICATION OP HIS ESSAYS.* 

O Goudie ! terror of the Whigs, 
Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin', looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues _ 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, 

Waes me ! she's in a sad condition ; 

Fie ! bring Black-Jock, her state physician, 

To see her w-t-r : 
Alas ! there's ground o' great suspicion 

She'll ne'er get better. 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple, 
But now she's got an unco ripple ; 
Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel, 

Nigh unto death ; 
See, how she fetches at the thrapple, 

An' gasps for breath ! 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 

Gaen in a gallopping consumption, 

Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption, 

Will ever mend her. 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption 

Death soon will end her. 

'Tis you and Taylor f are the chief 
Wha are to blame for this mischief, 
But gin the Lord's ain folks gat leave, 

A toom tar-barrel, 
An' twa red peats wad send relief, 

An' end the quarrel. 



[The " Whigs," of whom the Essayist was 
the terror, were the Old Light portion of the 
Presbyterian kirk ; men, ceremonious in their 
observances, austere in their conversation, and 
who accounted themselves Calvinists to the 
letter. — " These people inculcate that the great- 
est sinner is the greatest favourite of heaven — 
that a reformed bawd is more acceptable to the 
Almighty than a pure virgin who has hardly 
ever transgressed, even in thought — tkat the 
lost sheep alone will be saved, and that the 
ninety-and-nine out of the hundred will be left 
in the wilderness to perish without mercy — that 
the Saviour of the world loves the elect, not 
from any lovely qualities which they possess, 
for they are hateful in his sight — but ' he loves 
them, because he loves them.' Such are the 
sentiments which are breathed by those who 
are denominated high Calvinists, and from which 
the soul of a poet who loves mankind, and who 



* [This is another of those pieces which first appeared in 
the Glasgow collection published by Messrs. Brash and 
Reid, in 1801.] 



has not studied the system in all its bearings, 
recoils with horror. The gloomy, forbidding 
representation which they give of the Supreme 
Being has a tendency to produce insanity, and 
lead to suicide." — Rev. Hamilton Paul.] 



3£ptetle to $of)u Eapratfe, 

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARE. 
April 1st, 1785. 

While briers an' woodbines budding green, 
An' paitricks scraichin' loud at e'en, 
An' morning poussie whiddin' seen, 

Inspire my muse, 
This freedom in an unknown frien' 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-e'en we had a rockin', 

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin' ; 

And there was muckle fun an' jokin', 

Ye need na doubt ; 
At length we had a hearty yokin' 

At sang about. 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A' to the life. | 

I've scarce heard ought describ'd sae weel, 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, " Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark ? " 
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel 

About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't, 
And sae about him there I spier't, 
Then a' that ken't him round declar'd 

He had ingine, 
That nane excell'd it, few cam near't, 

It was sae fine. 

That set him to a pint of ale, 

An' either douce or merry tale, 

Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel', 

Or witty catches : 
'Tween Inverness and Teviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 

Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith, 

Or die a cadger pownie's death, 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear your crack. 



t Dr. Taylor, of Norwich.— R. B. 

J [This song, entitled, " When I upon thy bosom lean," 
is given entire in Burns's Remarks on Scottish Song.] 



216 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo-jingle fell, 

Tho' rude an' rough : 
Yet crooning to a body's sel', 

Does weel eneugh. 

I am nae poet, in a sense, 

But just a rhymer, like by chance, 

An' hae to learning nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matter ? 
Whene'er my muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, " How can you e'er propose, 
You, wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang ? " 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're may-be wrang. 

What's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest nature made you fools, 

What sairs your grammars ? 
Ye'd better ta'en up spades and shools, 

Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes, 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks, and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek ! 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire ! 

That's a' the learning I desire ; 

Then, though I drudge thro' dub an' mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My muse, though hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart. 

for a spunk o' Allan's glee, 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee, 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear enough for me, 

If I could get it ! 

Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fu', 

I'se no insist, 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true— 

I'm on your list. 

1 winna blaw about myseF ; 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 

But friends an' folk that wish me we]l, 

They sometimes roose me 5 

Tho' I maun own, as monie still 
As far abuse me. 



There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me, 

I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 

For monie a plack they wheedle frae me, 

At dance or fair ; 
May be some ither thing they gie me 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather, 
An' hae a swap o' rhymin'-ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 
An' kirsen him wi' reekin' water ; 
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, 

To cheer our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

[There's naething like the honest nappy ! 
Whar'll ye e'er see men sae happy, 
Or women sonsie, saft, an' sappy 

'Tween morn and morn, 
As them wha like to taste the drappy 

In glass or horn ! 

I've seen me daez't upon a time, 

I scarce cou'd wink, or see a styme ; 

Just ae half-mutchkin does me prime, 

Aught less is little, 
Then back I rattle on the rhyme, 

As gleg's a whittle !] 

Awa ye selfish war'ly race, 

Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, 

Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place 

To catch-the-plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face, 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

" Each aid the others," 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

My friends, my brothers ! 

But, to conclude my long epistle, 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 
Twa lines frae you would gar me fissle, 

Who am, most fervent, 
While I can either sing, or whissle, 

Your friend and servant. 



[John Lapraik, to whom this and two other 
epistles are addressed, was a rustic follower of 
the muses. Burns elsewhere describes him as that 
" very worthy and facetious old fellow, John I 
Lapraik, late of Dalfram near Muirkirk, which 
little property he was obliged to sell in conse- 
quence of some connection as security for some 
persons concerned in that villanous bubble, the 
Ayr Bank."1 



LAPRAIK'S REPLY TO BURNS. 



217 



[In this epistle two additional stanzas 
are now for the first time restored. They ap- 
pear in an original copy of the MS. in the 
Poet's own hand- writing, and were inserted by 
Cromek among the Fragments of Burns. — C.J 

"The song which moved the Poet to write this 
jpistle was composed by Lapraik, in one of his 
days of despondency, when his wife refused to 
be comforted. Lapraik is apparently the same 
name with Leprevick, honourable in the history 
of Scottish literature, having been borne by one 
of the most distinguished of our early printers. 
In 1364, David II. confirmed a charter of 
William de Cunningham, lord of Carrick, to 
James de Leprewick, of half the lands of Pol- 
kairne in King's Kyle (Wood's Peerage, I. 
321), which shows that there were persons of 
that name at an early period connected with the 
district." — Chambers. 

" The epistle to John Lapraik was produced 
exactly on the occasion described by the author. 
He says ' On Fasten e'en we had a rocking.' 
Rocking is a term derived from the primitive 
times, when our countrywomen employed their 
spare hours in spinning on the rock or distaff. 
This simple implement is a very portable one, 
and well fitted to the social inclination of meet- 
ing in a neighbour's house — hence the phrase 
of going a rocking, or with the rock. As the 
connexion the phrase had with the implement 
was forgotten when the rock gave way to the 
spinning-wheel, the phrase came to be used by 
both sexes on social occasions, and men talk 
of going with their rocks as well as women. 
It was at one of these rockings, at our house, 
when they had twelve or fifteen young people 
with their rocks, that Lapraik's song begin- 
ning " When I upon thy bosom lean," was 
sung, and we were informed who was the author. 
Upon this Robert wrote his first Epistle to 
Lapraik, and his second in reply to his answer." 
— Gilbert Burns. 

Formerly, in the lowlands of Scotland, wool 
was carded and spun for the benefit of the 
family to whom these friendly visitations were 
made. In some inland villages the social cus- 
tom still prevails. 

[The following is — 

Hapratfc'S Mcplw to SSum^ (ZBptetle. 

far fam'd Rab ! my silly muse, 
That thou sae phrais'd lang-syne, 

When she did scarce ken verse by prose, 
Now dares to spread her w T ing. 

Unconscious of the least desert, 
Nor e'er expecting fame, 

1 sometimes did my friends divert, 
Wi' jingling worthless rhyme. 

When sitting lanely by myself, 
Just unco griev'd and wae, 



To think that fortune, fickle joe ! 
Had kick'd me o'er the brae ! 

And when I was amaist half-drown'd, 

Wi' dolefu' grief and care, 
I'd maybe rhyme a verse or twa, 

To drive away despair ; 

Or when I met a chiel like you, 

Sae gi'en to mirth an' fun, 
Wha lik'd to speel Parnassus' hill, 

An' drink at Helicon ; 

I'd aiblins catch a wee bit spark 

O' his poetic fire, 
An' rhyme awa like ane half-mad, 

Until my muse did tire. 

I lik'd the lasses unco weel, 

Lang-syne when I was young, 
Which sometimes kittl'd up my muse, 

To write a kind love sang ; 

Yet still it ne'er ran in my head, 

To trouble mankind with 
My dull, insipid, thowless rhyme, 

And stupid senseless stuff ; 

Till your kind muse, wi' friendly blast, 

First touted up my fame, 
And sounded loud, through a' the wast, 

My lang forgotten name. 

Quoth I, " Shall I, like to a sumph, 

Sit douff and dowie here, 
And suffer the ill-natur'd warld 

To ca' Rab Burns a liar ? 

"He says that I can sing fu' weel, 
An' through the w T arld has sent it— 

Na ; faith I'll rhyme a hearty blaud, 
Though I should aye repent it." 

Syne up I got, wi' unco glee, 

And snatch'd my grey-goose quill, 

An' cried, " Come here, my muse, fy, come, 
An' rhyme wi' a' your skill/' 

The hizzy was right sweer to try't, 

An' scarce wad be persuaded ; 
She said, I was turn'd auld an' stiff, 

My youthfu' fire quite faded. 

Quoth she, " Had ye began lang-syne, 
When ye were brisk and young, 

I doubt na but ye might hae past, 
And sung a glorious sang. 

" But now ye're clean gane out o' tune, 
Your auld grey scaulp turn'd bare : 

Mair meet that ye were turning douse, 
An' trying to say your pray'r. 

" The folks a' laughing at you, else, 
Ye'll gar them laugh aye faster : 

When ye gang out, they'll point and say, 
There gangs the poetaster." 



=© 



218 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



" Deil care," said I, " haud just your tongue, 

Begin, and nae mair say, 
I maun maintain my honour now, 

Though I should seldom pray ! 

" I oft when in a merry tift, 

Hae rhym'd for my diversion ; 
I'll now go try to rhyme for bread, 

And let the warld be clashin'." 

" Weel, weel," said she, "sin ye're saebent, 

Come, let us go begin then ; 
We'll try to do the best we can, 

I'm sure we'll aye sae something." 

Syne till't I gat, an' rhym'd away, 

'Till I hae made a book o't, 
An' though I should rue't a' my life, 

I'll gie the warld a look o't. 

I'm weel aware the greatest part 

(I fain hope not the whole) 
Will look upon't as senseless stuff, 

An' me's a crazy fool. 

Whether that it be nonsense a' 

Or some o't not amiss, 
And whether I've done right or wrang, 

I leave the warld to guess. 

But I should tell them, by the by, 

Though maybe it is idle, 
That feint a book scarce e'er I read. 

Save ance or twice the bible. 

An' what the learned folk ca' grammar, 

I naething ken about it ; 
Although I b'lieve it be owre true, 

Ane can do nought without it. 

But maist my life has just been spent 

(Which to my cost I feel) 
In fechting sair wi' luckless brutes, 

Till they kick'd up my heel. 

Now fare-ye-weel, my guid frien' Rab, 
May luck -and health attend ye ; 

If I do weel, I'll bless the day 
That e'er I came to ken ye ; 

But on the tither han', should folk 

Me for my nonsense blazon, 
Nae doubt I'll curse th' unlucky day 

I listen'd to your phraisin'. 

May that great name that ye hae got 

Untainted aye remain ; 
And may the laurels on your head 

Aye flourish fresh and green ! 

The Lord maintain your honour aye, 

And then ye need na fear, 
While I can write, or speak, or think, 

I am your frien' sincere !] 



ittcoxCH lEptetle to Hapvaife. 

April 2\st, .785. 

While new ca'd kye rowte at the stake, 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 

To own I'm debtor 
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 

For his kind letter. 

Forjesket sair, wi' weary legs, 
Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten hours' bite, 
My awkwart muse sair pleads and begs 

I would na write. 

The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, 

She's saft at best, and something lazy, 

Quo' she, " Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 

This month an' mair, 
That, trouth, my head is grown right dizzy, 

An' something sair " 

Her dowff excuses pat me mad : 

" Conscience," says I, " ye thowless jad ! 

I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

This vera night ; 
So dinna ye affront your trade, 

But rhyme it right. 

" Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 
Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

In terms sae friendly, 
Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, 

An' thank him kindly?" 

Sae I gat paper in a blink, 

An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : 

Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it ; 
An' if ye winna mak it clink, 

By Jove I'll prose it !" 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 

Let time mak proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 

Just clean aff-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, 
Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp ; 
Come, kittle up your moorland-harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how fortune waft and warp ; 

She's but a b-tch. 

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg. 
Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the L — d, though I should beg 
Wi' lyart pow, 



I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg 
As lang 's I dow ! 

Now comes the sax and twentieth simmer, 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city gent, 

Behint a kist to lie and sklent, 

Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. 

And muckle wame, 
In some bit brugh to represent 

A baillie's name ? 

Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, 
Wi' ruffled sark an' glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel' nae sheep-shank bane, 

But lordly stalks, 
While caps and bonnets aff are taen, 

As by he walks ? 

" O Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! 

Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift, 

Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

Thro' Scotland wide ; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 

In a' their pride !" 

Were this the charter of our state, 
" On pain o' hell be rich an' great," 
Damnation then would be our fate 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heav'n, that's no the gate 

We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began, 
" The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 

And none but he !" 

O mandate, glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers o' the Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shine 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons o' Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl, 
Their worthless nievefu' of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl, 

The forest's fright ; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, 
To reach their native kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys, 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year ! 



[One of our greatest English poets used to 
recite, with commendations, most of the stanzas 
of this Second Epistle to Lapraik, pointing out, 
as he went, the all but inimitable ease and hap- 
piness of thought and language. He remark- 
ed, however, " that Burns was either fond of 
out-of-the-way sort of words, or that he made 
them occasionally in his fits of feeling and fancy. 
— For instance, he calls his muse 

' The tapetless ramfeezl'il hizzie,' 

and complains of being himself — 

' Forjesket sair, wi' weary legs.' 

Now, I sorely suspect that though ' forjesket ' 
may pass, both ' tapetless' and ' ramfeezled ' are 
new comers-in to the Scottish dialect." The 
reply was that tapetless indicated want of 
strength ; forjesket was a word in common use, 
and meant worn-out with labour ; and, with 
respect to ramfeezled, hear the words of the 
immortal author of 'The Task,' written in 
August, 1787. — " Poor Burns loses much of 
his deserved praise in this country through our 
ignorance of his language. I despair of meet- 
ing with any Englishman who will take the 
pains that I have taken to understand him. 
His candle is bright, but shut up in a dark 
lantern. I lent him to a very sensible neigh- 
bour of mine ; but his uncouth dialect spoiled 
all ; and, before he had read him through, he 
was quite ramfeezled." — Cowper.] 



EPISTLE 
Co Militant INmpSon, 

OCHILTREE. 

May, 1785. 

I gat your letter, winsome Willie ; 
Wi' gratefa' heart I thank you brawlie ; 
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin' billie, 

Your flatterin' strain. 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phraisin' terms ye've penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the writer chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 

111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 

My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 



220 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Ye E'nbrugh gentry ! 
The tytlie o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 

Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 

As whiles they're like to be my dead 

(O sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila, now, may fidge fu' fain, 

She's gotten poets o' her ain, 

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, 

But tune their lays, 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name in measur'd stile ; 
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle 

Beside New-Holland, 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings, 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 

Nae body sings. 

Th' Illissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing Auld Coila's plains an' fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, 
Ker banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bare the gree, as story tells, 

Frae southron billies. 

At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, 

Or glorious died. 

O, sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, 
When lintwhites chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin' hares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy, 
While thro' the braes the cushat croods 

With wailfu' cry ! 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me 
When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray : 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day ! 



O Nature ! a' thy shews an' forms, 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms ! 
Whether the summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night ! 

The muse, nae Poet ever fand her, 
'Till by himsel' he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander 

An' no think lang ; 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 

The war'ly race may judge an' drive 
Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch, an' strive — 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing brither ! ' ; 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal ; 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal ! 

While highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; 
While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies , 
While terra firma, on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, 

In Robert Burns. 



:Pos't3mpt. 

My memory's no worth a preen : 

I had amaist forgotten clean 

Ye bade me write you what they mean, 

By this New Light,* 
'Bout which our herds sae oft hae been 

Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but callans 

At grammar, logic, an' sic talents, 

They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid lallans, 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the moon, 
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, 
Wore by degrees, 'till her last roon, 

Gaed past their viewing, 
An' shortly after she was done, 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain — undisputed ; 
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, 
'Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

* See note to "The Ordination," Stanza X!V. 



®= 



EPISTLES TO SIMPSON AND LAPRAIK. 



221 



An' ca'd it wrang 5 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud an' lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, 
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk ; 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk, 

An' out o' sight, 
An' backlins-comin,' to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright. 

This was deny'd, it was affirm'd ; 

The herds an' hirsels were alarm'd : 

The rev'rend grey-beards rav'd an' storm'd, 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks 
An' monie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt ; 
An' some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an' brunt. 

This game was play'd in monie lands, 
An' Auld Light caddies bure sic hands 
That, faith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
'Till lairds forbade, by strict commands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But New Light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an'-stowe, 
Till now amaist on every knowe, 

Ye'll find ane plac'd ; 
An' some their New-Light fair avow, 

Just quite barefac'd. 

Nae doubt the Auld Light flocks are bleatin' ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin' : 
Mysel', I've even seen them greetin' 

Wi' girnin' spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on 

By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns ! 
Some Auld Light herds in neibor towns 
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons, 

To tak a flight, 
An' stay ae mouth amang the moons 

And see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them ; 

An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them, 

The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, 

Just i' their pouch, 
An' when the New Light billies see them, 

I think they'll crouch ! 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 

Is naething but a " moonshine matter ;" 

But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope we bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. 



[William Simpson was, in the days of Burns, 
schoolmaster of the parish of Ochiltree, after- 
wards of New Cumnock. He was a successful 
instructor of youth, and a poet of no mean 
order. Burns seems to have been partial to 
this class of men. He corresponded with David 
Sillar ; 'he wrote anxiously to John Murdoch ; 
William Nicol was long his companion, as well 
as correspondent ; to Allan Masterton he was 
partial ; he was intimate with the warm-hearted 
and enthusiastic James Gray. The present 
epistle shews what he thought of William 
Simpson ; indeed, with all he was social and 
friendly who had any claim to education or in- 
formation, save the unfortunate Dr. Hornbook. 
The natural modesty of the Poet is as visible 
in this epistle as it is elsewhere : as a rhymer, 
he aspires not to rank with Allan Ramsay, or 
Hamilton of Gilbertfield — 

" Or Fergusson, the writer chiel, 
A deathless name." 

But he desires to sing of the hills and dales, and 
heroes and beauties of Kyle, in his own rude 
country tongue. As Simpson is " a rhyme- 
composing brither," Bums speaks to him 
about his own aspirations ; and, as he is a can- 
didate for a kirk, he adds a postscript — a rather 
mystical one — on the heresy of the New Light. 
It is likely that honest " John Ochiltree" of 
the old song took his name from Simpson's pa- 
rish : and it is more than likely that the inim- 
itable Edie Ochiltree of Scott's romance was 
baptized after the hero of the song : elsewhere, 
and in the strains of Burns, the name occurs. 

"The night it was ahaly night, 
The day had been a haly day : 
Kilmarnock gleam' d wi' caunle light, 

As hameward Girzie took her way. 
A man o' sin, black be his fa' ! 

May he ne'er haly matin see — 
Met gracious Girzie, wal-awa ! 
Amang the hills of Ochil f ree." 

Allan Cunningham.] 



THIRD FPISTLE 

€0 $oi)n Eapi-atft. 

Sept. 13th, 1785. 

Guid speed an' furder to you, Johnny, 
Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bonny ; 
Now when ye're nickan down fu' canny 

The staff o' bread, 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 

To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs, 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs 

Like drivin' wrack ; 
But may the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 



=v. 



222 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it, 

But bitter, daudin' showers liae wat it, 

Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 

Wi' muckle wark, 
An' took my jocteleg* an' whatt it, 

Like ony dark. 

It's now twa month that I'm your debtor, 
For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill nature 

On holy men, 
While deil a hair yoursel' ye're better, 

But mair profane. 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, 
Let's sing about our noble sel's ; 
We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills 

To help, or roose us, 
But browster wivesf an' whiskey stills, 

They are the muses. 

Your friendship, Sir, I winna quat it, 

An', if ye mak' objections at it, 

Then han' in nieve some day we'll knot it, 

An' witness take, 
An' when wi' Usquabae we've wat it 

It winna break. 

But if the beast and branks be spar'd 
Till kye be gaun without the herd, 
An' a' the vittel in the yard, 

An' theekit right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 

Then muse-inspirin aqua-vitae 

Shall make us baith sae blythe an' witty, 

Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty, 

An' be as canty 
As ye were nine year less than thretty, 

Sweet ane an' twenty ! 

But stooks are cowpet I wi' the blast, 
An' now the sinn keeks in the west, 
Then I maun rin amang the rest 

An' quat my chanter ; 
Sae I subscribe myself in haste 

Your's, Rab the Ranter. 



[This third and last epistle of Burns to Lapraik 
was omitted in the Kilmarnock and Edinburgh 
editions, and might have been lost had not the 
Bard of Muirkirk, cheered by the success of his 
brother of Mossgiel, given his poetic works to 
the world, and printed the hasty effort of his 
friend by way of illustration. 

The name of Rab the Ranter at the end of 
this poem seems to have been adopted by the 
Poet after the Border Piper, so spiritedly in- 



* A Knife. 

t Ale-house Wives. 

t Tumbled over. 



troduced in the popular song of Maggie Lau- 
der: — 

" Maggie, quo' he, and by my bags, 

I'm fidgin' fain to see thee ; 

Sit down by me, my bonnie burd, 

In troth I winna steer thee : 

" For I'm a piper to my trade, 
My name is Rab the Ranter ; 
The lasses loup, as they were daft, 
When I blaw up my chanter."] 



EPISTLE 



€$e &th. $ofyx M'Mafy. 

Sept. 17th, 1785. 

While at the stook the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, 
Or in gulravage rinnin' scow'r 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet, 

Is grown right eerie now she's done it, 

Lest they should blame her, 
An' rouse their holy thunder on it 

And anathem her. 

I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, 
That I, a simple, country bardie, 
Shou'd meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me, 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Lowse h-11 upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces, 

Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud faces, 

Their three-mile prayers, an hauf-mile graces, 

Their raxin' conscience, 
Whase greed, revenge, and pride disgraces 

Waur nor their nonsense. 

There's Gawn, § misca't waur than a beast, 
Wha has mair honour in his breast 
Than mony scores as guid 's the priest 

Wha sae abus't him. 
An' may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they've use't him ? 

See him, || the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word an' deed, 
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed 

By worthless skellums, 
An' not a muse erect her head 

To cowe the blellums ? 

O, Pope, had I thy satire's darts, 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 



$ Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 

j| The poet has introduced the first two lines of this stanza 
into the Dedication of his Poems to Mr. Hamilton. 



EPISTLE TO M'MATH — TO A MOUSE. 



223 



I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

An' tell aloud, 
Their juggiin' hocus-pocus arts, 

To cheat the crowd. 

God knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd be, 
Nor am I even the thing I cou'd be, 
But twenty times, I rather wou'd be 

An atheist clean 
Than under gospel colours hid be, 

Just for a screen. 

An honest man may like a glass, 
An honest man may like a lass, 
But mean revenge, an' malice fause 

He'll still disdain, 
An' then cry zeal for gospel laws, 

Like some we ken. 

They take religion in their mouth ; 
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth, 
For what? — to gie their malice skouth 

On some puir wight, 
An' hunt him down, o'er right, an' ruth, 

To ruin straight. 

All hail, Religion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine, 
Who, in her rough imperfect line, 

Thus daurs to name thee ; 
To stigmatize false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 

Tho' blotch't an' foul wi' mony a stain, 

An' far unworthy of thy train, 

With trembling voice I tune my strain 

To join with those 
Who boldly daur thy cause maintain 

In spite o' foes : 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, 
In spite o' undermining jobs, 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' merit, 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes, 

But hellish spirit. 

O Ayr ! my dear, my native ground, 
Within thy presbyterial bound, 
A candid lib'ral band is found 

Of public teachers, 
As men, as Christians too, renown'd, 

An' manly preachers, 

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd ; 
Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; 
An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd 

(Which gies you honour) 
Ev'n, sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, 

An' winning manner. 

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, 
An' if impertinent I've been, 



P This is a beautiful little gem. — The Ettrick Shepherd. 



Impute it not, good sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, 
But to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd t'ye. 

[The gentleman to whom this epistle is ad- 
dressed was a worthy minister in the west of 
Scotland, who believed and preached the New 
Light : and it was written as an envelope to 
" Holy Willie's Prayer," ol which it seems 
this reverend person had requested a copy. He 
was, at that time, enjoying the appointment 
of assistant and successor to the Rev. Peter 
Wodrow, minister of Tarbolton. He was an 
excellent preacher and a decided moderate. 
He enjoyed the friendship of the Montgomeries 
of Coilsfield, and of Burns ; but unhappily fell 
into low spirits, in consequence of his depend- 
ant situation, and either resigned his charge or 
was deposed. After being for some time tutor 
to a family in the Western Isles, this unfor- 
tunate man ultimately enlisted as a common 
soldier. — Ed.] ^ 

Co a ;Pfou£fe,* 

ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, 
NOVEMBER, 1785. 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattle ! 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion 

Which maks thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

An' fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 
A daimen-ickerf in a thrave 

's a sma' request : 
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, 

And never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' foggage green ! 
An' bleak December's' winds ensuing 

Baith snell and keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 

An' weary winter comin' fast, \\ 

An' cozie here, beneath the blast, j 

Thou thought to dwell, 
'Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 



t An ear of corn, occasionally. 



224 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now tkou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble, 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain : 
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, 

Gang aft a-gley, 
An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain 

For promis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, och ! I backward cast my e'e, 

On prospects drear ! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear. 



[" The verses to the ' Mouse' and ' Mountain 
Daisy' were composed on the occasions men- 
tioned, and while the author was holding the 
plough : I could point out the particular spot 
where each was composed. Holding the plough 
was a favourite situation with Robert for poetic 
compositions, and some of his best verses were 
produced while he was at that exercise." — 
Gilbert Burns.] 

[ ' The charm," says Jeffrey, " of the fine 
lines, written on turning up a mouse's nest with 
the plough, will be found to consist in the 
simple tenderness of the delineation." It has 
higher beauties, viz. the poet's regret that man's 
power has broken the social union of nature, 
and induces a " fellow -mortal " to fly in terror 
from his face, and the pathetic reference to his 
own condition — he shrinks from the contempla- 
tion of the present, and he dreads the future. 
The field on the farm of Mossgiel is still pointed 
out and visited in which Burns composed this 
grand moral poem. — Allan Cunningham.] 

[" This beautiful poem is one of the most exqui- 
site of the poet's productions. John Blane, who 
was farm-servant at Mossgiel at the time of its 
composition, still (1838) lives at Kilmarnock. 
He stated to me that he recollected the incident 
perfectly. Burns was holding the plough, with 
Blane for his driver, when the little creature 
was observed running off across the field. Blane, 
having the pettle, or plough-cleaning utensil, 
in his hand at the moment, was thoughtlessly 
running after it, to kill it, when Burns checked 
him, but not angrily, asking what ill the poor 
mouse had ever done him ? The poet then- 
seemed to his driver to grow very thoughtful, 
and., during the remainder of the afternoon, he 
spoke not. In the night time he awoke Blane, 
who slept with him, and, reading the poem 
which had in the meantime been composed, 
asked what he thought of the mouse now ? " 
— Chambers.] 



Jkotri) iBrtnfe 



" Gie him strong drink, until he wink, 
That's sinking in despair ; 
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid ; 

That's prest wi' grief and care ; 
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse, 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 
An' minds his griefs no more." 

Solomon's Proverb, xxxi. 6, 7 



Let other poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' dru'ken Bacchus, 

An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us, 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotch drink ; 
Whether thro' wimplin' worms thou jink, 
Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink, 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink, 

To sing thy name ! 

Let husky wheat the haughs adorn, 
An' aits set up their awnie horn, 
An' pease an' beans, at e'en or morn, 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 

Thou king o' grain ! 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
In souple scones,* the wale o' food ! 
Or tumblin' in the boilin' flood 

Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin' ; 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin' 
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin'; 

But, oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin' , 

Wi' rattlin' glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear ; 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, 

At 's weary toil ; 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy, siller weed, 
Wi' gentl-ss thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind in time o' need, 



* Bannocks made of barley meal, which when baked 
o flexible as to admit of being easily rolled together. 






SCOTCH DRINK. 



225 



The poor man's wine,* 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 
Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 

But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 

Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspir'd, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
O sweetly then thou reams the horn in ! 
Or reekin' on a new-year morning 

In cog or bicker, 
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in,f 

An' gusty sucker ! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare ! to see thee fizz an' freath 

I' th' lugget caup ! 
Then Burnewin J comes on like death 

At ev'ry chaup. 

Nae mercy, then, for aim or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong fcrehanimcr, 
Till block an' stud lie ring an' reel 

Wi* dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin' weanies see the light, 
Thou raaks the gossips clatter bright, 
Hew fumblin' cuifs their dearies slight ; 

Wae worth the name ! 
Nae howdie gets a social night, 

Or plack frae them.§ 

When neibors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be, 
How easy can the barley-bree 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason ! 
But monie daily weet their weason 

* Ale is here meant, a small portion of which is frequently 
mixed with the poor man's porridge. 

t A small quantity of whiskey burnt in a spoon, and put 
into the ale. 

X Burn-the-wind — the blacksmith — an appropriate title. 

§ Var. Wae worth them for't ! 

While healths gae r und to him, tight, 

Gies famous sport.— 1st Edit. 

|| For services and expenses on the public account at the 
Revolution, Forbes of Culloden was empowered, by an act 
of the Scottish Parliament in 1690, to distil whiskey on his 
barony of Ferintosh in Cromarty-shire, free of duty. This 
inconsiderately-conferred privilege in time became the source 
of a great revenue to the family ; and Ferintosh was at 
length recognised as something like a synonyme tor whiskey, 
so much of it was there distilled. By the act relating to the 
Scotch distilleries in 1785, this privilege was declared to be 
aholished, the Lords of the Treasury being left to make such 



Wi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash ! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drucken hash, 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her worst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well ! 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor plackless devils like mysel' ! 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench, 
An' gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 

O' sour disdain, 
Out owre a glass o' whiskey punch 

Wi' honest men. 

O whiskey ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's — ; 

Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost ! 
Scotland lament frae coast to coast ! 
Now colic grips, an' barkin' hoast, 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes's charter'd boast,|| 

Is ta'en awa ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the whiskey stells their prize ! 
Haud up thy han', Deil ! ance, twice, thrice ! 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers. 

Fortune ! if thou' 11 but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' whiskey gill, 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 



compensation to the existing Mr. Forbes as should be deemed 
just, or, should they fail to make a satisfactory arrangement, 
the case was to be decided by a jury before the Scottish 
Court of Exchequer. The Lords failing to satisfy Mr. 
Forbes, the case was accordingly tried by a jury, November 
29, 1785, when it was shown by Mr. Henry Erskine, the 
plaintiff's counsel, that the privilege could be made to yield 
no less than seven thousand a-year to the family, though the 
actual annual gains from it, at an average of the last thirteen 
years, was but a little more than one thousand. He further 
showed that, while the right was an undoubted piece of 
property, which nothing could justly take away, the f mily 
had not failed to deserve it, as they had ever continued 
useful and loyal servants to the government ; Mr. Duncan 
Forbes, the late Lord President, having, in particular, spent 
no less than ^20,000 of his private fortune in suppressing 
the rebellion of 1745-6. The jury surprised the Lords of 
the Treasury by decreeing the sum of ^21,580 for " loyal 
Forbes' chartered boast." — Chambers. 



226 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Tak' a' the rest, 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 
Directs thee best. 



["This poem was written in the spring of 1786, 
upon the model, as is sufficiently evident, of the 
Caller Water of Fergusson. The tone of this 
composition, and of the Earnest Cry and 
Prayer, was probably in a greater measure an 
emanation of Burns' s fancy than of his genuine 
feelings ; for, up to this period, he was not 
more accustomed to indulge in potations than 
nine of every ten of his acquaintance. Tem- 
perance societies had not then given bacchana- 
lianism that dubious character, as a theme of 
verse, which it now has ; and Burns, who liked 
to spend a social evening, would not, of course, 
see any impropriety in celebrating what, in its 
excesses, is now generally and justly held as 
the curse of our country." — Chambers.] 

This is one of our bard's early pieces, having 
been written on the 20th of March, 1786. " I 
here enclose you," says Burns to one of his cor- 
respondents, Robert Muir, Kilmarnock, "my 

Scotch drink, and may the follow with a 

Messing for your edification. ] hope, some 
time, before we hear the gowk, to have the 
pleasure of seeing you at Kilmarnock, when I 
intend we shall have a gill between us, in a 
inutchkin stoup, which will be a great comfort 
and consolation to 

Dear Sir, your humble servant, 

R. B.» 



€|)e ^utfjor^ earnest Cry antf draper 

TO THE 

SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES 

IN THE 

HOUSE OF COMMONS. 



" Dearest of distillation ! last and best ! 

How art thou lost ! " 

Parody on Milton. 



Ye Irish lords, ye knights an' squires, 
Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 
An' doucely manage our affairs 

In Parliament, 
To you a simple Bardie's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse ! 

Your honours' heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, 

To see her sittin' on her 

Low i' the dust, 
An 7 scriechin' out prosaic verse, 

An' like to brust ! 

* [The poet here alludes to Colonel Hugh Montgomery of 
Coilsfield, representative of Ayr-shire in parliament, and sub- 
sequently twelfth Earl of Eglintoun. He had served as an 
officer in the American war. " Highland Mary" was at one 
time a servant in this gentleman's house.] 



Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me's in great affliction, 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On aqua-vitse ; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An' move their pity. 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier youth, 

The honest, open, naked truth : 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch an' gloom ? 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb ! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'em : 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin' votes you were na slack j 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle, 
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle ; 
An' d-mn'd excisemen in a bussle, 

Seizin' a stell, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 

A blackguard smuggler, right behint her, 

An' cheek-for-chow a chuffie vintner, 

Colleaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as winter 

Of a' kind coin. 

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves, 
An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire an' out o' sight ! 
But could I like Montgomeries fight,* 

Or gab like Boswell, f 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, 

An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your honours, can ye see't, 
The kind, auld, cantie carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it, 
An' tell them wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winna bear it ? 



t [James Boswell o* .nucnlnleck, the well-known biographer 
of Dr. Johnson. Boswell frequently spoke at the Ayr-shire 
county meetings.] 



AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER. 



227 



Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period an' pause, 
An' wi' rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues ; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempster,* a true blue Scot I'se warran' ; 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerranjf 
An' that glib-gabbet Highland baron, 

The Laird o' Graham ;J 
An' ane, a chap that's d — mn'd auldfarran, 

Dundas his name,§ 

Erskine,|| a spunkie Norland billie ; 
True Campbells, Frederick,^ an' Ilay; ** 
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ; 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for brithers. 

Thee, Sodger Hugh, my watchman stented, 

If bardies e'er are represented ; 

I ken if that your sword were wanted, 

Ye'd lend your hand : 
But when there's ought to say anent it, 

Ye're at a stand. 

Arouse, my boys ; exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; 
Or, faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, 

Ye' 11 see't or lang, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin' whittle, 

Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous mood, 
Her lost militia fir'd her bluid 5 
(Deil na they never mair do guid,) 

Play'd her that pliskie ! 
A' now she's like to rin red-wud 

About her whiskey. 

* [George Dempster of Dunnichen, in the county of Forfar, 
an eminent Scottish Whig representative in the time of Fox 
and Pitt. He commenced his parliamentary career in 176*2, 
and closed it in 1790, after having sat in five successive par- 
liaments. Every patriotic and liberal scheme had the sup- 
port of this excellent man, who died in 1818, at the age of 82.] 

f [Sir Adam Ferguson of Kilkerran, Bart. He had several 
times represented Ayr-shire, but at this period was member 
for the city of Edinburgh.] 

% [The Marquis of Graham, eldest son of the Duke of Mon- 
trose. He afterwards became the third Duke of Montrose, 
and died in 1836.] 

§ [The Right Hon. Henry Dundas, Treasurer of the Navy, 
and M.P. for Edinburgh-shire, afterwards Viscount Melville.] 

|| [Thomas Erskine, afterwards Lord Erskine.] 

^[ [Lord Frederick Campbell, second brother of the Duke 
of Argyle, Lord Register of Scotland, and M.P. for the county 
of Argyle in four successive parliaments.] 

** [Hay Campbell, Lord Advocate for Scotland, then repre- 
sentative in parliament of the Glasgow group of burghs. He 
was afterwards president of the Court of Session, and died 
in 1823, at an advanced age.] 

tt [Mr. Pitt's father, the Earl of Chatham, was the second 
son of Robert Pitt of Boconnock, in the county of Cornwall.] 

tt [Scones made from a mixture of oats, peas, or beans, with 
wheat or barley, ground fine, and denominated mashlum, are 
in general use in Scotland, and form a wholesome and pa- 
latable food.] 

§§ [A worthy old hostess of the author'sin Mauchline, where 
he sometimes studied politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch 
drink.— R. B.] 

[" Nance Tinnock is long deceased, and no one has caught 
up her mantle. She is described as having been a true ale- 



An' L — d, if ance they pit her till 't, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets, 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 

I' th' first she meets ' 

For G-d's sake, sirs ! then speak her fair, 
An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle House repair, 

Wi' instant speed, 
An strive, wi' a' your wit and lear, 

To get remead. 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ] 
But gie him 't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the caddie ! 
An send him to his dicing box 

An sportin' lady. 

Tell you guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's ff 
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, || 
An* drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's, § 

Nine times a- week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, || || 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition, 
Yon mixtie-maxtie queer hotch-potch 

The coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak' their part, 
Tho' by the neck she should be strung, 

She'll no desert. 



wife, in the proverbial sense of the word — close, discreet, 
civil, and no tale-teller. When any neighbouring wife came, 
asking if her John was here, ' Oh no,' Nance would reply, 
shaking money in her pocket as she spoke, ' he's no here,' 
implying to the querist that the husband was not in the 
house, while she meant to herself that he was not among her 
half-pence — thus keeping the word of promise to the ear, but 
breaking it to the hope. Her house was one of two stories, 
and had a front towards the street, by which Burns must 
have entered Mauchline from Mossgiel. The date over the 
door is 1744. It is remembered, however, that Nanse never 
could understand how the poet should have talked of enjoy- 
ing himself in her house 'nine times a-week.' 'The lad,' 
she said, ' hardly ever drank three half-mutchkins under her 
roof in his life.' Nanse, probably, had never heard of the 
poetical license. In truth, Nanse's hostelry was not the 
only one in Mauchline which Burns resorted to : a rather 
better-looking house, at the opening of the Cowgate, kept 
by a person named John Dove, and then and still bearing 
the arms of Sir joan Whiteford of Ballochmyle, was also a 
haunt of the poet, having this high recommendation, that its 
back windows surveyed those of the house in which his 
' Jean' resided. The reader will find in its proper place a 
droll epitaph on John Dove, in which the honest landlord's 
religion is made out to be a mere comparative appreciation 
of his various liquors." — Chambers. _ 

Her portrait was taken by Brooks in 1799, and has been 
engraved. The original drawing is in the possession of Mr. s 
Pickering, of Chancery Lane, London.] 

|| || The young Chancellor of the Exchequer had gained some 
credit by' a measure introduced in 1784, for preventing 
smuggling of tea by reducing the duty, the revenue being 
compensated by a tax on windows. 

Q3 



228 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



An' now, ye chosen Five-and- Forty, 
May still your mither's heart support ye ; 
Then, though a minister grow dorty, 

An' kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, 

Before his face. 

God bless your honours a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise, 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes, 

That haunt St. Jamie's ! 
Your humble poet sings and prays 

While Bab his name is. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies 
See future wines, rich clust'ring, rise ; 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

But blythe and frisky, 
She eyes her free-born, martial boys, 

Tak' aff their whiskey. 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, 
W T hile fragrance blooms and beauty charms ! 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonour arms 

In hungry droves. 

Their gun's a burthen on their shouther ; 
They downa bide the stink o' pouther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither 

To stan' or rin, 
Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a' throu'ther, 
To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Say, such is royal George's will, 

An' there's the foe ; 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

N"ae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; 
Death comes — wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin' lea'es him ; 

In faint huzzas! 

Sages their solemn een may steek, 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime an' season ; 
But tell me whiskey's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected mither ! 
Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine your dam ; 
Freedom and whiskey gang thegither ! — ■ 

Tak aff your dram ! 



" This poem was written," says Burns, "be- 
fore the act anent the Scottish Distilleries of 
Session 1786, for which Scotland and the au- 
thor return their most grateful thanks." 

["Towards the close of the year 1785, loud 
complaints were made by the Scottish distil- 
lers respecting the vexatious and oppressive 
manner in which the excise laws were enforced 
at their establishments — such rigour, they said, 
being exercised at the instigation of the London 
distillers, who looked with jealousy on the suc- 
cess of their northern brethren. So great was 
the severity of the excise that many distillers 
were obliged to abandon the trade, and the 
price of barley was beginning to be affected. 
Illicit distillation was also found to be alarm- 
ingly on the increase. In consequence of the 
earnest remonstrances of the distillers, backed 
by the county gentlemen, an act was passed 
in the session of 1786 (alluded to by the au- 
thor), whereby the duties on low wines, spirits, 
&c, were discontinued, and an annual tax im- 
posed on stills, according to their capacity. 
This act gave general satisfaction. It was dur- 
ing the general outcry against fiscal oppression 
that the poem was composed." — Chambers. 

"Burns' postscripts are oftentimes, like those 
of a lady's letter, the more important part of the 
piece to which they are attached. In this case 
it is eminently so : few passages have been more 
frequently cited than the fourth and fifth stanzas, 
the last of which is quite pictorial, while there 
are many who must have heard the sentiment, 
" Freedom and Whiskey gang thegither," 
urged as an adage for the further prolongation 
of convivial enjoyments. Though we are no 
enemies to boon companionship, still with Hector 
Macneil we must say, 

' Robin Burns, in monie a ditty, 

Loudly sings in wlii-key's praise : 
Sweet his king ! — the mair's the pity 
E'er on it hewaur'd sic lays. 

O' a' the ills poor Caledonia 
E'er yet pree'd, or e'er will taste, 

Brew'd in hell's black Panderaonia, 
Whiskey's ills will skaith her maist.' " 

Motherwell. 



Slfcte^ to tl)t U\UQ <&tlfa, 

OR THE 



My son, these maxim? make a rule, 

And lump them aye thegither ; 
The rigid righteous is a fool, 

The rigid wise anither ; 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May hae some pyles o' caff in ; 
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 

For random fits o' daffin. 

Solomon. — Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16. 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID. 



229 



O ye vvha are sae guid yoursel', 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neibours' fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supply'd wi' store o' water, 
The heapet happer's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 
ii. 
Hear me, ye venerable core, 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door 

For glaikit Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, 

Their failings and mischances, 
in. 
Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, 

And shudder at the niffer, 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What mak's the mighty differ ? 
Discount what scant occasion gave 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hiding. 

IV. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop, 
What ragings must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It makes an unco lee-way. 
v. 
See social life and glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
'Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown 

Debauchery and drinking : 
O would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences ; 
Or your more dreaded hell to state, 

D-innation of expences ! 

VI. 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

VII. 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving Whij they do it : 
And just as lamely can ye mark 

How far, perhaps, they rue it. 



VIII. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord — its various tone, 

Each spring — its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 



In this beautiful poem, the author has inter- 
woven the following reflections, which are to 
be found in the early prose memoranda given 
by him to Mr. Riddell, March, 1784 :— " I 
have often experienced, in the course of my ex- 
perience of human life, that every man, even 
the worst, has something good about him, tho' 
very often nothing else than a happy tempera- 
ment of constitution inclining him to this or that 
virtue. For this reason, no man can say in 
what degree any other person, besides himself, 
can be, with strict justice, called wicked. Let 
any one of the strictest character for regularity 
of conduct, amongst us, examine impartially 
how many vices he has never been guilty of, 
not from any care or vigilance, but from want of 
opportunity, or some accidental circumstance 
intervening ; how many of the weaknesses of 
mankind he has escaped, because he was out 
of the line of such temptation ; and how much 
he is indebted to the world's good opinion, 
because the world does not know all : I say, 
any man who can thus think will scan the 
failings, nay, the faults and crimes, of mankind 
around him, with a brother's eye." 

[ " To unmask hypocrisy was a favourite pursuit 
of the muse of Burns. Not content with expos- 
ing others, the Poet bared his own bosom, and 
displayed his errors to the world, with a confi- 
dence which has been ill-requited. His con- 
fessions of frailty have supplied texts to preach 
from against the follies of poets — men of whom 
one who had a right to speak, has said, — 

" Naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
They bear the unbroken blast on every side." 

This has been pushed so far, in the story of 
Burns, that a clergyman intimated from* the 
pulpit that Heaven, at the Poet's funeral, mani- 
fested its wrath in "thunder, lightning, and in 
rain." Instead of this, however, July sent one 
of her brightest and balmiest days." — 

Allan Cunningham. 
" Burns has written more from his own heart 
and his own feelings than any other poet, of 
which this poem is an instance. With the secret 
fountains of passion in the human soul he was 
well acquainted, and deeply versed in their 
mysteries. The last two verses are above all 
praise." — The Ettrick Shepherd.] 



230 



THE POEMS ®F BURNS. 



Cam J^am^on's CUgp.* 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God." — Pope. 

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil ? 
Or great M'Kinlayf thrawn his heel ! 
Or Robinson]; again grown weel, 

To preach an' read ? 
u Na, waur than a' !" cries ilka chiel, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane, 

An' sigh, an' sob, an' greet her lane, 

An' deed her bairns, man, wife, and wean, 

In mourning weed ; 
To death, she's dearly paid the kane — 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

The brethren o' the mystic level 
May hing their head in waefu' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will revel, 

Like ony bead ; 
Death's gi'en the lodge an unco devel — 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When Winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire up like a rock ; 
When to the lochs the curlers flock, 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock ? — 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
He was the king o' a' the core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore ; 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time o' need ; 
But now he lags on deaih's hog-score, — 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Now safe the stately sawmont sail, 
And trouts be-dropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And eels weel kenn'd for souple tail, 

And geds for greed, 
Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail 

Tam Samson dead I 

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a' ; 
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw ; 
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw> 

Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal fae is now awa', — 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

That waefu' morn be ever mourn'd 
Saw him in shootin' graith adorn' d, 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; . 
But, och ! he gaed and ne'er return' d ! 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
In vain auld age his body batters ; 
In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 



* When this worthy old sportsman went out last muirfowl 
season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, " the 
last of his fields;" and expressed an ardent wish to die and 
be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author composed 
his elegy and epitaph. R. B. 

t A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. 
Vide the Ordination, stanza II. R. B. 



In vain the burns cam' down like waters, 

An acre braid ! 
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin', clatters, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
Owre mony a weary hag he limpit, 
An' aye the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide ; 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 
"L — d, five ! " he cry'd, an' owre did stagger- 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father ; 
Yon auld grey stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

There low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast 
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest, 

To hatch an' breed ; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
When August winds the heather wave, 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three volleys let his mem'ry crave 

O' pouther an' lead, 
'Till Echo answer, frae her cave, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be ! 
Is th' wish o' mony mae than me ; 
He had twa fauts, or may be three, 

Yet what remead ? 
Ae social, honest man want we : 

Tam Samson's dead ! 



EPITAPH. 

Tam Samson 's weel worn clay here lies ? 

Ye canting zealots spare him ! 
If honest worth in heaven rise, 

Ye'll mend or ye win near him. 



PER CONTRA. 
Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly, 
Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie,* 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin', 
For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg gullie, 

Tam Samson's livin'. 



t Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who 
was at that time ailing. For him, see also the Ordination, 
stanza IX. R. B. 

§ Killie is a phrase the country-folks sometimes use for 
the name of a certain town in the west [Kilmarnock]. R. B. 






[Thomas Samson was a respectable old nursery 
and seedsman of Kilmarnock, greatly addicted 
to sporting, and one of the Poet's earliest 
friends. 

" No poet ever emblazoned fact with fiction 
more happily than Burns : the hero of this 
poem was a country sportsman, who loved curl- 
ing on the ice in winter, and shooting on the 
moors in the season. When no longer able to 
march over hill and hag in quest of 

1 Paitricks, teals, moor-pouts, and plivcrs/ 

he loved to lie on the lang-settle, and listen to 
the deeds of others on field and flood ; and 
when a good tale was told, he would cry ' Hech 
man ! three at a shot ; that was famous ! ' 
Some one having informed Tarn, in his old age, 
that Burns had written a poem — ' a gay queer 
ane' — concerning him, he sent for the Bard, 
and, in something like wrath, requested to hear 
it : he smiled grimly at the relation of his ex- 
ploits, and then cried out, ' I'm no dead yet, 
Robin — I'm worth ten dead fowk : wherefore 
should ye say that I am dead?' Burns took the 
hint, retired to the window for a minute or so, 
and, coming back, recited the ' Per Contra/ 

' Go, fame, an' canter like a filly,' — 

with which Tarn was so delighted that he rose 
unconsciously, rubbed his hands, and exclaimed, 
' That'll do— ha ! ha !— that'll do ! ' He sur- 
vived the Poet, and the epitaph is inscribed on 
his grave-stone in the churchyard of Kilmar- 
nock." — Cunningham.] 



THE LAMENT, 

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE 

OF A 

tfvizriS'S &motu\ 

" Alas ! how oft does goodness wound itself! 
And sweet affection prove the spring of woe." 

Home. 



thou pale orb, that silent shines, 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 
And wanders here to wail and weep ! 

With woe I nightly vigils keep, 

Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam ; 

And mourn, in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream. 
ii. 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly-marked distant hill : 
I joyless view thy trembling horn. 

Reflected in the gurgling rill : 
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease ! 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 



in. 
No idly feign'd poetic pains 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft-attested Pow'rs above ; 
The promis'd father's tender name ; 

These were the pledges of my love ! 

IV. 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments flown ! 
How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and her's alone ! 
And must I think it ? — is she gone, 

My secret heart's exulting boast? 
And does she heedless hear my groan ? 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 
v. 
Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie through rough distress ! 
Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less ? 

VI. 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly- treasur'd thoughts employ'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 

VII. 

The morn, that warns th' approaching day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long array, 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train, 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

VIII. 

And when my nightly couch I try, 

Sore-harass'd out with care and grief 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, 

Keep watchings with the nightly thief: 
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief, 

Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright : 
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

IX. 

O ! thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse, 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway I 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, 

To mark the mutual kindling eye. 



232 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes never, never, to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, again I burn ! 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale I'll wander through ; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



After mentioning the appearance of 'Holy 
Willie's Prayer,' which alarmed the kirk-session 
so much that they held several meetings to look 
over their spiritual artillery, if haply any of it 
might be pointed against profane rhymers, Burns 
states, " unluckily for me my wanderings led me 
on another side, within point blank shot of their 
heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate story 
that gave rise to my printed poem, ' The La- 
ment.' This was a most melancholy affair, which 
I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had very 
nearly given me one or two of the principal 
qualifications for a place among those who have 
lost the charter, and mistaken the reckoning of 
rationality. I had been for some days skulking 
from covert to covert, under all the terrors of a 
jail ; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled 
the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I 
had taken the last farewell of my few friends ; 
my chest was on the road to Greenock ; I 
had composed the last song I should ever 
measure in Caledonia, The gloomy Night is 
gathering fast, when a letter from Dr. Black- 
lock, to a friend of mine, overthrew all my 
schemes, by opening new prospects to my poetic 
ambition." 

' tl It is scarcely necessary to mention that 
t The Lament ' was composed on that unfortu- 
nate passage in his matrimonial history which I 
have mentioned in my letter to Mrs. D unlop— [al- 
luding to his connexion with Jean Armour.] — 
After the first distraction of his feelings had sub- 
sided, that connexion could no longer be conceal- 
ed. Robert durst not engage with a family in his 
poor unsettled state, but was anxious to shield 
his partner, by every means in his power, from 
the consequences of their imprudence. It was 
agreed, therefore, between them, that they 
should make a legal acknowledgment of an 
irregular and private marriage ; that he should 
go to Jamaica to push his fortune ; and that 
she should remain with her father till it might 
please Providence to put the means of support- 
ing a family in his power." — Gilbert Burns. 

" The charm of that composition, beginning, 
' O thou pale orb !' is that it speaks the 
language of truth and of nature." — 

A. F. Tytler. 



iStgpmxfcenq). 



Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I set me down and sigh : 
O life ! thou art a galling load, 
Along a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim, backward, as I cast my view, 

What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro' 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My w r oes here shall close ne'er, 
But with the closing tomb ! 



Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard 1 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd, 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd, 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon' d wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night 
And joyless morn the same ; 
You, bustling, and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain ; 
I, listless, yet restless, 
Find every prospect vain. 



How blest the solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
Sits o'er his newly- gather' d fruits, 

Beside his chrystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his evening thought, 

By unfrequented stream, 
The w r ays of men are distant brought, 
A faint collected dream ; 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to heav'n on high, 
As, wand'ring, meand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky. 



Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trae'd, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art : 
But, ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joys 

Which I too keenly taste, 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



233 



The solitary can despise, 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate, 
Whilst I here must cry here 
At perfidy ingrate ! 
v. 
Oh ! enviable, early days, 
When dancing thoughtless pleasure's mare, 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim declining age ! 

11 I think," observes Burns, "it is one of the 
greatest pleasures attending a poetic genius, 
that we can give our woes, cares, joys, and loves, 
an embodied form in verse, which to me is ever 
immediate ease." [Fuseli, the painter, seeing 
his wife in a passion one day, said, " Swear, 
my love, swear heartily ; you know not how 
much it will ease you!"] 



Cijc Cotter's ^atm-oai) ^tsljt.* 

INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ, 



" Let not ambition mock their useful toil ; 
Their homely joys, and destinv obscure ; 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile 
The short but simple annals of the poor." — Gray. 



My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end : 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester' d scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, 
I ween ! 

ii. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 

The short'ning winter-day is near a close : 



* " 'The Cotter's Saturday Night' is a noble and pathetic 
picture of human manners, mingled with a fine religious awe. 
It comes over the mind like a slow and solemn strain of 
music, The soul of the poet aspires from this scene of low- 
thought care, and reposes in trembling hope on the bosom of 
its Father and its God." — Hazlitt. 

f [The opening verse of " Fergusson's Farmer's Ingle" 
bears a considerable resemblance to this second stanza of 
Burns — 



The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose ; 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 
This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And, weary, o'er the moor, his course does 
hameward bend.f 
in. 
At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher thro' 
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonnily, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 

IV. 

Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, 

At service out, amang the farmers roun' : 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new 

Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, [gown, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 
v. 
Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : 
The social hours, swift-wing 7 d, unnotie'd, fleet ; 

Each tells the unco's that he sees or hears ; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears, 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the 
new ; — 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

VI. 

Their master's an' their mistress's command, 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play : 
" An' O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

And mind your duty, duly, morn, and night ! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 
Implore His counsel an' assisting might : 
They never sought in vain, that sought the 
Lord aright !" 

VII. 

But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 



Whan gloamin grey out-ower the welkin keeks, 

Whan Bau tie ca s the owsen to the byre, 
Whan Thrash r John, sair dung, his barn-door steeks, 

Whan lusty lasses at the dighting tire : 
What bangs fu' leal the e'ening s coming cauld, 

And gars snaw-tappit winter freeze in vain ; 
Gars dowie mortals look baith bl\ the nd bauld, 

Nor fley'd wi' a' the puirtith o' the plain ; 
Begin, my Muse, and chant in namely strain.] 



234 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek, 
Wi' heart -struck anxious care, inquires his 
name, 
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears it's nae wild, 
worthless rake. 



Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth ; he taks the mother's eye ; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 
But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
What makes the youth sae bashfu' an* sae 
grave ; 
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like 
the lave. 



O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heart- felt raptures ! — bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
" If Heaven a draught of heav'nly pleasure 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, [spare, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the 
ev'ning gale." 



Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 

A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth ! 

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'cl ? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and then- distrac- 
tion wild ? 



But now the supper crowns their simple board, 

The healsome parritch, chief of Scotia's food : 
The soupe their only hawkie does afford, 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, 
fell, 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, [bell. 
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the 



* The following fine lines on the same subject are by 
Mrs. Hemans : 

TO A FAMILY BIELE. 

What household thoughts around thee, as their shrine, 
Cling reverently !— Of anxious looks beguil'd, 
My mother's eyes upon thy page divine 
Were daily bent ; her accents, gravely mild, 
Breathed out thy lore ;— whilst I, a dreamy child, 
On breeze-like fancies wandered oft away, 



The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha' -bible, ance his father's pride ;* 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 

His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And " Let us worship God ! " he says, with 
solemn air. 

XIII. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
Perhaps " Dundee's" wild-warbling measures 
rise, 

Or plaintive " Martyrs," worthy of the name ; 
Or noble "Elgin" beets the heav'n- ward flame, 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickl'd ear no heart-felt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

XIV. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 

How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny : 
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre, 
xv. 
Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He, who bore in Heav'n the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : 
How his first followers and servants sped, 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd 
by Heav'n's command. 

XVI. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's eternal 

King ! 
The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
Hope 'springs exulting on triumphant wing,'f 
That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 
No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise, 
In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal 
sphere. 



To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild, 

Some fresh-discovered nook for woodland play. 

Some secret nest : yet would the solemn word, 

At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard, 

Fall on my wakened spirit, there to be 

A seed not lost ; for which, in darker years, 

O Book of Heaven ! I pour, with grateful tears, 

Heart-blessings on the holy dead and thee. 

t Pope's Windsor Forest. R. B. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



235 



XVII. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, 

In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! 
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole : 
But, haply, in some cottage far apart, [soul ; 

May hear, well pleas' d, the language of the 
And in His book of life the inmates poor enrol. 

XVIII. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proifer up to Heav'n the warm request 
That He, who stills the rav'n's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine 
preside. 



From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur 
springs, 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God ; " 
And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind. 
What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd ! 



O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! [sent ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is 

Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet 

content ! 

And, O ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much- 
lov'd isle. 



O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 
That stream'd through Wallace's undaunted 
heart : 
Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert ; 
But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, 
In oright succession raise, her ornament & guard ! 



[Of the origin of this truly sacred drama, 
Gilbert Burns gives the following distinct ac- 



count. — "Robert had frequently remarked to me 
that he thought there was something peculiarly 
venerable in the phrase, ' Let us worship God V 
used by a decent, sober head of a family, intro- 
ducing family worship. To this sentiment of the 
author, the world is indebted for ' The Cotter's 
Saturday Night.' When Robert had not some 
pleasure in view in which I was not thought fit 
to participate, we used frequently to walk toge- 
ther, when the weather was favourable, on the 
Sunday afternoons — those precious breathing 
times to the labouring part of the community 
— and enjoyed such Sundays as would make 
one regret to see their number abridged. It 
was in one of these walks that I first had the 
pleasure of hearing the author repeat 'The 
Cotter's Saturday Night.' I do not recollect 
to have read or heard any thing by which I 
was more highly electrified. The fifth and 
sixth stanzas, and the eighteenth, thrilled with 
peculiar ecstacy through my soul. The Cotter, 
in the i Saturday Night,' is an exact copy of 
my father in his manners, his family devotion, 
and exhortations ; yet the other parts of the 
description do not apply to our family. None 
of us were ever e at service out among the far- 
mers round.' Instead of our depositing our 
' sair-won penny-fee' with our parents, my father 
laboured hard, and lived with the most rigid 
economy, that he might be able to keep his 
children at home, thereby having an opportu- 
nity of watching the progress of our young 
minds, and forming in them early habits of 
piety and virtue ; and from this motive alone 
did he engage in farming, the source of all his 
difficulties and distresses." 

The remark of an old inmate of Dunlop- 
house, on this poem, may amuse some readers. 
■ — When Burns was first invited to dine there, 
a westlin dame, who acted as housekeeper, ap- 
peared to doubt the propriety of her mistress 
entertaining a mere ploughman who made 
rhymes, as if he were a gentleman of old de- 
scent. By way of convincing Mrs. M'Guistan, 
(that was the good woman's name) of the Bard's 
right to such distinction, Mrs. Dunlop gave 
her "The Cotter's Saturday Night" -to read. 
This was soon done ; she returned the volume 
with a strong shaking of the head, saying, 
" Nae doubt gentlemen and ladies think mickle 
o' this, but for me its naething but what I saw 
i' my father's house every day, and I dinna see 
how he could hae tauld it in ony other way." 

" ' The Cotter's Saturday Night ' is tender 
and moral, solemn and devotional, and rises at 
length into a strain of grandeur and sublimity 
which modern poetry has not surpassed. The 
noble sentiments of patriotism, with which it 
concludes, correspond with the rest of the poem. 
In no age or country have the pastoral muses 
breathed such elevated accents, if the Messiah 
of Pope be excepted, which is indeed a pastoral 
in form only. It is to be regretted that Burns 



=© 



236 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



did not employ his genius on other subjects of 
the same nature, which the manners and 
customs of the Scottish peasantry would have 
amply supplied. Such poetry is not to be 
estimated by the degree of pleasure which it 
bestows : it sinks deeply into the heart, and is 
calculated, far beyond any other human means, 
for giving permanence to the scenes and the cha- 
racters it so exquisitely describes." — Currie. 

'•' The most exquisite of his series of poems is 
' The Cotter's Saturday Night/ The charac- 
ters and incidents, which the poet here describes 
in so interesting a manner, are such as his 
father's cottage presented to his observation : 
they are such as may everywhere be found 
among the virtuous and intelligent peasantry of 
Scotland. ' I recollect once he told me,' says 
Professor Stewart, ' when I was admiring a dis- 
tant prospect in one of our morning walks, that the 
sight of so many smoking cottages gave a plea- 
sure to his mind, which none could understand who 
had not witnessed, like himself, the happiness and 
the worth which they contained.' With such 
impressions as these upon his mind, he has suc- 
ceeded in delineating a charming picture of rural 
innocence and felicity. The incidents are well- 
selected, the characters skilfully distinguished, 
and the whole composition is remarkable for 
the propriety and sensibility which it displays." 
— Dr. Irving. 

" Burns is almost equally distinguished for 
his tenderness and humour ; for a faculty of 
combining them both in the same subject, not 
entirely without parallel in the older poets, but 
altogether singular among modern writers. The 
passages of pure humour are entirely Scottish, 
and untranslateable. They consist in the most 
picturesque representations of life and manners, 
enlivened and even exalted by traits of excellent 
sagacity and unexpected reflection. His tender- 
ness is of two sorts ; that which is combined 
with circumstances and characters of humble 
and ludicrous simplicity ; and that which is pro- 
duced by gloomy and distressful impressions 
acting on a mind of keen sensibility. The pas- 
sages which belong to the former description are 
the most exquisite and original, and indicate the 
greatest and most amiable turn of genius ; both 
as being accompanied by fine and feeling pic- 
tures of humble life, and as requiring that deli- 
cacy as well as justness of conception, by which 
alone the fastidiousness of an ordinary reader 
can be reconciled to such representations. The 
exquisite description of ' The Cotter's Saturday 
Night' affords, perhaps, the finest example of 
this sort of pathetic. Its whole beauty cannot, 
indeed, be discerned, but by those whom expe- 
rience has enabled to judge of the admirable 
fidelity and beauty of the picture." — Jeffrey. 

The beautiful picture of family devotion 
drawn by the Poet is now almost extinct : the 
farmer no longer presides among his menials, 
like a father with his family, and the sound of 



psalm and prayer is but seldom heard among 
the farm onsteads and cottages. Washington 
Irving perceived a similar falling off in the 
south — " It was once," says he, "almost uni- 
versally the case at the seats of the nobility and 
gentry of England, and it is much to be regret- 
ted that the custom has fallen into neglect ; for 
the dullest observer must be sensible of the 
order and serenity prevalent in those households 
where the occasional exercise of a beautiful 
form of worship in the morning gives, as it were, 
the key-note to every temper for the day, and 
attunes every spirit to harmony." j 



©c 



€?)* dftrslt J&alm. 

The man, in life wherever plac'd, 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility and awe 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees, 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt 
Shall to the ground be cast, 

And, like the rootless stubble, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why ? that God the good adore 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest, 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



In his version of the First Psalm, Burns did 
not greatly improve on the original. In sim- 
plicity the sacred minstrel of the days of the 
Stuarts surpasses the Poet of Kyle ; but let the 
reader judge for himself: — 

" That man hath perfect blessedness 

Who walketh not astray, 
In counsel of ungodly men, 

Nor stands in sinner's way, 
Nor sitteth in the scorner's chair . 

But placeth his delight 
Upon God's law, and meditates 

On his law day and night. 

" He shall be like a tree thai grows 

Near planted by a river, 
Which in his season yields his fruit, 

And his leaf fadeth never; 
And all he doth shall prosper well. 

The wicked are not so ; 
But like they are unto the chaff, 

Which wind drives to and fro. 



THE NINETIETH PSALM. — ODE TO RUIN. 



237 



" In judgment therefore shall not stand 

Such as ungodly are ; 
Nor in th' assembly of the just 

Shall wicked men appear. 
For why ? the way of godly men 

Unto the Lord is known : 
Whereas the way of wicked men 

Shall quite be overthrown." 



OF THE 

fltnttutf) 33^alm. 

O Thou, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place ! 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath Thy forming hand, 
Before this pond'rous globe itself, 

Arose at thy command j 

That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast, 
Appear no more before thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man, 

Is to existence brought ; 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men, 

Return ye into nought I" 

Thou layest them with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flow'r, 

In beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night cut down, it lies 

All wither'd and decay'd. 



In this instance Burns was happier. We sub- 
join the original verses of the Scottish ver- 
sion. — 

" Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place 

In generations all. 
Before thou ever hadst brought forth 

The mountains great or small ; 
Ere ever thou hadst form'd the earth, 

And all the world abroad ; 
Ev'n thou from everlasting art 

To everlasting God. 

" Thou dost unto destruction 
Man that is mortal turn ; 
And unto them thou say'st, Again 
Ye sons of men return. 



Because a thousand years appear 

No more before thy sight 
Than yesterday, when it is past, 

Or than a watch by night. 

"As with an overflowing flood 

Thou carry 'st them away: 
They like asleep are, like the grass 

That grows at morn are they. 
At morn it flourishes and grows, 

Cut down at ev'n doth fade ; 
For by thine anger we're consum'd 

Thy wrath makes us afraid." 

The ninetieth psalm — the Scottish version — 
was a great favourite in the household of the 
Poet's father. To devotional verse, therefore, 
the mind of Burns was directed early ; but 
there were other impulses. — "The earliest com- 
position that I recollect taking pleasure in," he 
writes to Dr. Moore, te was the Vision of Mirza, 
and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, — 

" How are thy servants blest, O Lord !" 

I particularly remember one half-stanza, which 
was music to my boyish ear : — 

" For though on dreadful whirls we hung, 
High on the broken wave." 

I met with these lines in Mason's English Col- 
lection, one of my school-books." 



<©&* to taum. 

I. 

All hail ! inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing word, 

The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie, 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low'ring and pouring. 

The storm no more I dread ; 
Tho' thickening and black'niug, 
Round my devoted head. 

ii. 
And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd, 
While life a pleasure can afford, 
Oh ! hear a wretch's prayer ! 
No more I shrink appall' d, afraid j 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid 
To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign life's joyless day ; 
My weary heart its throbbings cease, 
Cold mould'ring in the clay ? 
No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face ; 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace ! 



238 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



[It appears from internal evidence that the 
above lines were composed in 1786, when 
" Hungry Ruin had him in the wind." The 
" dart " that 

" cut my dearest tie 

And quivers in my heart " 

is evidently an allusion to his separation from 
his bonnie Jean. Burns seems to have glanced 
into futurity with a prophetic eye : images of 
misery and woe darkened the distant vista : 
and when he looked back on his career he saw 
little to console him. — "I have been, this 
morning/' he observes, " taking a peep through, 
as Young finely says, ' The dark postern of time 
long elapsed.' 'Twas a rueful prospect ! What 
a tissue of thoughtlessness, weakness, and folly ! 
My life reminded me of a ruined temple. What 
strength, what proportion, in some parts ! What 
unsightly gaps, what prostrate ruins in others ! 
I kneeled down before the Father of Mercies 
and said : — ' Father, I have sinned against 
heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more 
svorthy to be called thy son." I rose, eased 
and strengthened.' In various poems Burns 
has exhibited the picture of a mind under 
the deep impressions of real sorrow. ' The 
Lament,' the ' Ode to Ruin,' ' Despondency/ 
and ' Winter, a Dirge/ are of this character. 
Burns often indulged in those melancholy views 
of the nature and condition of man, which are 
so congenial to the temperament of sensibility. 
— Currie.J 

$> , 

% draper 

UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH. 

O Thou Great Being ! what thou art 

Surpasses me to know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all thy works below. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands, 

All wretched and distrest ; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey Thy high behest. 

Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death ! 

But, if 1 must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then man my soul with firm resolves, 

To bear and not repine ! 



The following melancholy note appears in the 
original memoranda of the Poet : — There was a 
certain period of my life that my spirit was 
broken by repeated losses and disasters; which 
threatened, and indeed effected, the utter ruin 



* The variations are taken from the original M.S. in the 
Poet's own hand-writing. 



of my fortune. My body, too, was attacked by 
that most dreadful distemper, a hypochondria, 
or confirmed melancholy. In this wretched state, 
the recollection of which makes me yet shud- 
der, I hung my harp on the willow trees, ex- 
cept in some lucid intervals, in one of which I 
composed this prayer. 



& draper 



IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

O thou unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear ! 

If I have wander' d in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly, in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 

Thou know'st that Thou hast form'd me 

With passions wild and strong ; 
And list'ning to their witching voice 

Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do Thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have, 
But, Thou art good ; and Goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 

. 4. 

J^tart^aS, 

ON THE SAME OCCASION.* 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms. 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms : 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath His sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, " Forgive my foul offence !" 

Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
But should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way : 
Again in folly's path might go astray ;f 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for Heav'nly mercy pray, 

Who act so counter Heav'nly mercy's plan ? 
Who sin so oft have mourn' d, yet to temptation 
ran? 

O Thou great Governor of all below ! 
If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, \ 



t Var. — Again by passion would be led astray. M.S. 
% If one so black with crimes dare call on thee. M.S. 



@= 



THE MOUNTAIN DAISY. 



Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 
Or still the tumult of the raging sea : 

With that controuling pow'r assist ev'n me, 
Those headlong *furious passions to confine 

For all unfit I feel my pow'rs to be,f 
To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 

O, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! 



[This " Prayer " and the "Stanzas" were 
composed when fainting fits, and other alarm- 
ing symptoms of pleurisy, or some other dan- 
gerous disorder, which indeed still threatens 
me, first put nature on the alarm. The stanzas 
are misgivings in the hour of despondency and 
prospect of death. The grand end of human 
life is to cultivate an intercourse with that 
Being to whom we owe life with every enjoy- 
ment that renders life delightful. — Burns.] 

STANZAS 
Co a mountain 39afeg, 

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN 
APRIL 1786. 



Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

Thou bonnie gem. 



Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 

Wi' speckl'd breast, 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet, 

The purpling east.J 



Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble, birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 



The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield ; 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 



There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the ' share' uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies ! 



Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray'd, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 



Such is the fate of simple bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 



Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, 
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, 
By human pride or cunning driv'n 

To mis'ry's brink, 
Till, wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 



Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till, crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 

Shall be thy doom ! 



[The " Mountain Daisy" was composed, as 
the Poet has related, at the plough : the field 
where he crushed the " Wee modest crimson- 
tipped flower" lies next to that m which he 
turned up the nest of the Mouse, and both are 
on the farm of Mossgiel, and still shown to 
anxious inquirers by the neighbouring pea- 



Mossgiel is about a mile from Mauchline. 
It is a very plain farm-steading of the kind de- 
scribed in Ramsay's ' Gentle Shepherd' : — 

' A snug thack house, before the door a green ; 
Hens on the midden, ducks in dubs are seen ; 
On this side stands a barn, on that a byre, 
A peat-stack joins, and forms a rural square ;' 

except that the buildings are not thatched. 



Rapid. M.S. f My native powers be. M.S. these mark the pencil of the poet, which delineates nature 

X I have seldom met with an image more trtdy pastoral with the precision of intimacy, yet with the delicate colour, 
than that of the lark in the second stanza. Such strokes as | ing of beauty and of taste.— Henry M'Kenzie. 



240 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Being situated at the height of the country, 
between the vales of the Ayr and the Irvine, it 
has a peculiarly bleak and exposed appearance, 
which is but imperfectly obviated by a very tall 
hedge and some well-grown trees which gather 
around it, and beneath one of which, it is said, 
the Poet loved to recline. The domestic ac- 
commodations consist of little more than a but 
and a ben — that is, a kitchen and a small room. 
The latter, though in every respect most hum- 
ble, and partly occupied by fixed beds, does not 
appear uncomfortable. Every consideration, 
hovever, in the mind of the visiter sinks be- 
neath the one intense feeling that here — within 
these four walls — warmed at this little fire- 
place, and lighted by this little window — lived 
one of the most extraordinary men that ever 
oreathed ; and here wrote some of the most ce- 
lebrated poems of modern times. The house is 
in every respect exactly in the same condition 
as when the Poet lived in it." — Chambers. 

" ' The Address to a Mountain Daisy,' is a 
Poem of the same nature with the Address 
1 To a Mouse.' To extract out of incidents so 
common and seemingly so trivial as these, so 
fine a train of sentiment and imagery, is the 
surest proof, as well as the most brilliant tri- 
umph, of original genius." — Currie. 



iEptetle to a looting; dfnntft. 

May, 1786. 
I. 

t lakg hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae other end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject-theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps, turn out a sermon. 
ii. 
i^e'll try the world fu' soon, my lad, 

And, Andrew dear, believe me, 
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Ev'n when your end's attained ; 
And a' your views may come to nought, 

Where ev'ry nerve is strained, 
in. 
I'll no say, men are villains a' ; 

The real, harden'd wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked : 
But, och ! mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 

IV. 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 
Their fate we should na censure, 



For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart ; 

Tho' poortith hourly stare him ; 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 
v. 
Aye free, aft* han' your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel' 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel', as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 

VI. 

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it : 
I waive the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard of concealing ; 
But, och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling ! 

VII. 

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justified by honour ; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

VIII. 

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip 

To haud the wretch in order ; 
But where ye feel your honour grip, 

Let that aye be your border : 
Its slightest touches, instant pause — 

Debar a' side pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 

IX. 

The great Creator to revere 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear, 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended ! 
x. 
When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gie a random sting, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 

XI. 

Adieu, dear, amiable youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting t 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FlilEND, ETC. 



May prudence, fortitude, and truth 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, " God send you speed," 

Still daily to grow wiser : 
And may you better reck the rede 

Than ever did th' adviser ! 



" Burns' Poetical Epistles to his friends are 
admirable." — Hazlit. 

" This is a beautiful and masterly Poem." — 

Hogg. 

" It displays much shrewdness, an intimate 

acquaintance with human nature, and great 

kind-heartedness. When Burns employed his 

mind in giving rules for moral and prudential 

conduct, no man was a sounder philosopher." — 

Motherwell. 

"This Epistle was addressed to one every 

way worthy of such a strain — Andrew Aiken, 

son of Robert Aiken, writer, in Ayr, to whom 

'The Cotter's Saturday Night,' is inscribed. 

j Young Aiken entered into the service of his 

I country, and rose to distinction and affluence. 

j He obtained some notice, too, in London, in 

j 1832, at the dinner celebrating the birth-day 

i of the Ayr-shire Ploughman, and that of the 

| Ettrick Shepherd ; nature having, it seems, 

; out of a wondrous love for the 25th of January, 

produced both Poets on that day of the year — 

and produced them both in storms : the hail 

and the whirlwind were abroad when Burns 

was born ; and Ettrick rose in flood, as Ettrick 

never rose before, when Hogg appeared ! " — 

Allan Cunningham. 



Co a House, 

ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, AT CHURCH. 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie ! 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Tho' faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' -sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner 

On some poor body. 

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle 
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations ; 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 



* " Lunardi made two ascents in his balloon from the Green 
of Glasgow, the first on the 5th of November, 1785, the 
second on the 5th of December following. It would appear 



Now baud you there, ye're out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight ; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right 

'Till ye've got on it, 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height 

O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump and grey as onie grozet ; 

for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum, 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum ! 

1 wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat ; 
But Miss's fine Lunardi !* fie ! 

How daur ye do't ? 

O, Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin' ! 
Thae winks and finger-ends, 1 dread, 

Are notice takin' ! 

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us 

To see oursels as others see us ! 

It wad frae monie a blunder free us, 

An' foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, 

And ev'n devotion ! 



[" Homelier subjects were sometimes chosen 
by the Muse of Burns than his more stately 
friends desired. ' The Louse ' is one of them. 
Some of his lady patronesses expostulated, and 
some critics frowned : it was all to no purpose. 
When once a man of genius begins to sacrifice 
his own judgment to the taste of others, who 
knows where he may halt ? Almost all the 
themes on which Burns sung are of a humble 
kind : a Mouse, a Daisy, an Old Mare, a Hag- 
gis, and so on, all pertain to the clouted shoe. 
The moral which he draws is one the world is 
not out of need of : to see ourselves as others 
see us would give our vanity a plucking ; 

' What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us 
And ev'n devotion ! ' 

That vanity creeps into devotion is not un- 
known to the world. A worthy in my native 
vale, who imagined himself not only powerful 
in prayer, but that he had a sort of divinity of 
look conferred upon him when he knelt, turned 
round to his wife in the midst of his fervour, 
and said, ' Tibbie ! how do I look when I 



that, in the Poet's day, a particular description of women's 
bonnets was named after the daring aeronaut." 

Chambers.] 



242 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



pray ? ' Another of our Nithsdale holy Wil- 
lies, who commonly volunteered a prayer when 
a corpse was lifted at a burial, arrived too late 
on one occasion, and found his place supplied 
by a meek, mild man, whose calmness was mis- 
taken for coldness. ' Sit you down, sir,' said 
the other, pushing him aside, i your word has 
no weight at all ; ' and, holding up his hands, 
poured out a thundering prayer, which might 
have been heard a mile down the wind. " — 
Allan Cunningham. 

" This is a homely enough subject for the 
muse ; but, lowly as it is, ample justice has 
been done to it. Tn his choice of subjects, 
Burns was by no means very fastidious, and 
more refined tastes would not have had the 
hardihood to introduce the 

1 Ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt and sinner,' 

as a vehicle for humorous sarcasm. The best 
verse, however, is the last ; and, if poetical 
merit were to be determined by frequency of quo- 
tation, it would stand very high in the scale. 
It is on every person's lips." — Motherwell.] 

^ . 

Epistle to Sfoljit ^aiifmie, 

INCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine, 
The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin' ! 
There's monie godly folks are thiiikin' 

Your dreams* an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin', 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked, drucken rants, 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill them fou ; f 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants. 

Are a' seen through. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 

That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! 

Spare 't for their sakes wha aften wear it, 

The lads in black ! 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 

Rives 't aff their back. 



* A certain humorous dream of his was then making a 
noise in the country-side. — R. B. 

f [" Some occurrence is evidently here alluded to. Wehave 
heard the following account of it : — A noted zealot of the 
opposite party (the name of Holy Willie has been mentioned, 
but more probably, from the context, the individual must 
have been a clergyman) calling on Mr. Rankine on business, 
the latter invited him to take a glass. With much entreaty 
the visiter was prevailed on to make a very small modicum 
of toddy. The stranger remarking that the liquor proved 
very strong, Mr. Rankine pointed out that a little more hot 
water might improve it. The kettle was accordingly re- 
sorted to, but still the liquor appeared over-potent. Again 
he filled up. Still, no diminution of strength. All this time 
he was sipping and sipping. By and bye, the liquor began 
to appear only too weak, and at length the reluctant guest 
ended by tumbling dead-drunk on the floor. The trick 
played upon him requires, of course, no explanation." — 
Chambers.] 



Think, wicked sinner, wha ye 're skaithing, 
It's just the blue-gown badge an' claithingj 
O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naething 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain' d for, an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Yon sang,f ye '11 sen't wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect. 

Tho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
My muse dow scarcely spread her wing ! 
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring, 

An' dane'd my fill ! 
I'd better gaen an' sair't the kino;, 

At Bunker's Hill. 

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 

I gaed a roving wi' the gun, 

An' brought a paitrick to the gruu', 

A bonnie hen, 
And. as the twilight was begun, 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor wee thing was little hurt ; 

I straikit it a wee tor sport, 

Ne'er thinkin' they wad fash me for't ; 

But, deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 

The hale affair. 

Some auld, us'd hands had taen a note, 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd to lie ; 
So gat the whissle o' my groat, 

An' pay't the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
An' by my pouther an' my hail, 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The game shall pay o'er moor an' dale, 

For this, niest year. 



J [" The allusion here is to a privileged class of mendicants 
well known in Scotland by the name of 'Blue Gowns.' The 
order was instituted by James V. of Scotland, the royal 
' Gaberlunzie-Man.' The brethren of the order assemble 
at Edinburgh every year, on the king's birthday, when each 
is presented with a new blue gown or cloak, and a sum equal 
to s. penny for each year of the king's age. To the breast of 
the gown is attached a round pewter plate, on which is in- 
scribed the name of the wearer, and his warranty to pass 
unmolested. — The insignia of the order is only bestowed on 
persons of good moral character ; and by it they are distin- 
guished from such ' Randie gangrel bodies,' as 



' In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore 
To drink their orra duddies,' " 



MOTHERWBLL.] 



§ A song he had promised the author. — R. B. 



THE POET'S WELCOME. 



243 



As soon's the clockin-thne is by, 
An' the wee pouts begun to cry, 
L — d, I 'se hae sportin' by an' by, 

For my gowd guinea : 
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye 

For't in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Scarce thro' the leathers 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers ! 

ft pits me aye as mad's a hare ; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 
But pennyworths again is fair, 

When time 's expedient : 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



[John Rankine lived at Adam- Hill, in Ayr- 
shire, and merited the praise of "rough and 
ready-witted, " which Burns bestowed upon 
him. The " dream which was then making a 
noise in the country side " may be related as an 

instance of his caustic humour. Lord K , 

it is said, was in the practice of calling all his 
familiar acquaintances " brutes," and sometimes 
"damned brutes." — "Well, ye brute, how are 
ye to-day, ye d — d brute ? " was his usual 
mode of salutation. Once, in company, his 
lordship having indulged in this rudeness more 
than his wont, turned to Rankine, and ex- 
claimed, " Ye d — d brute, are ye dumb ? Have 
ye no queer, sly story to tell us ? " — " I have 
nae story," said Rankine, "but last night I had 
an odd dream." — " Out with it, by all means," 
^aid the other. — "Aweel, ye see," said Ran- 
kine, " I dreamed I was dead, and that for 
keeping other than good company upon earth I 
was damned. When I knocked at hell-door, 
wlia should open it, but the deil ; he was in a 
rough humour, and said * Wha may ye be, and 
what's your name? ' — c My name,' quoth I, ' is 
John Rankine, and my dwelling-place was 
Adam-Hill.' — ' Gae wa' wi',' quoth Satan, 'ye 

canna be here; ye 're ane of Lord K 's 

damned brutes — hell's fu' o' them already ! ' " 
This sharp rebuke, it is said, polished for the 
future his lordship's speech. 

Regarding this poem, and the circumstances to 
which it alludes, we subjoin the following excel- 
lent remarks from the pen of Mr. Lockhart : — 



* [The above verses first appeared in a small octavo 
volume, entitled " Poems ascribed to Robert Burns, the 
Ayr-shire Bard," being a collection of pieces which either 
had not come under the attention of Dr. Currie, or which 
his fastidious taste had rejected. It was in this volume that 
originally appeared Burns's inimitable poem, "The Jolly 
Beggars."] 

t [The subject of these verses was the Poet's illegitimate 
daughter whom, in " The Inventory," he styles his 
" Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess." 
In consequence of the Poet's intention to go to Jamaica, he 



"The poet had not, as he confesses, come un- 
scathed out of the society of those persons of 
1 liberal opinions ' with whom he consorted in 
Irvine (during his flax-dressing experiment) ; 
and he expressly attributes to their lessons the 
scrape into which he fell soon after l he put his 
hand to plough again.' He was compelled, 
according to the then almost universal custom 
of rural parishes in Scotland, to do penance in 
church, before the congregation, in consequence 
of the birth of an illegitimate child ; and, what- 
ever may be thought of the propriety of such 
exhibitions, there can be no difference of opi- 
nion as to the culpable levity with which he 
describes the nature of his offence, and the still 
more reprehensible bitterness with which, in his 
epistle to Rankine, he inveighs against the 
clergyman, who, in rebuking him, only per- 
formed what was then a regular part of the 
clerical duty, and a part of it that could never 
have been at all agreeable to the worthy man 
whom he satirizes under the appellation of 
Daddie Auld." 

V tx£t£ to tf)e 3ame ; 

ON HIS WRITING TO THE POET, THAT A GIRL IN THAT 
PART OF THE COUNTRY WAS WITH CHILD BY HIM.* 

I am a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, altho' not a' ; 

Some people tell me gin I fa', 

Ae way or ither, 
The breaking of ae point, tho' sma', 

Breaks a' thegither, 

I hae been in for't ance or twice, 
And winna say o'er far for thrice, 
Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest, 
But now a rumour's like to rise, 

A whaup's i' the nest. 



Cljt poet's Mclcome to IjtS Htcrritrntate 

cpa.t 

Thou's welcome, wean! mischanter fa' me, 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me, 

My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta or daddy. 

Wee image of my bonnie Betty, 
I, fatherly, wall kiss and daut thee, 



executed a deed at Mossgiel, on the 22nd of July, 1/S6, 
whereby he acknowledged himself the father of a child named 
Elizabeth, ' begot upon Elizabeth Paton, in Largieside.' 
This interesting document is elsewhere given. She is said 
to have resembled the Poet more than any other of his child- 
ren. She grew up to womanhood, was married, and had a 
family. Her death is thus announced in the Scots Magazine : 
— December 8th, 1817. Died Elizabeth Burns, wife of Mr. 
John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet, near Whitburn. She 
was the daughter of the celebrated Robert Burns, and tho 
subject of some of his most beautiful lines.] 

II 2 



244 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



As dear an' near my heart I set thee 
Wi' as guid will, 

As a' the priests had seen me get thee 
That's out o' h-11. 

What tho' they ca' me fornicator, 
An' tease my name in kintra clatter : 
The mair they talk I'm kenn'd the better, 

E'en let them clash ! 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter 

To gie ane fash. 

Sweet fruit o' monie a merry dint, 

My funny toil is now a' tint, 

Sin' thou came to the warld asklent, 

AVhich fools may scoff at ; 
In my last plack thy part's be in't — 

The better half o't. 

And if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
And tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
A lovin' father I'll be to thee, 

If thou be spar'd : 
Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, 

An' think' t weel war'd. 

Gude grant that thou may aye inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, and merit, 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 

Without his failin's, 
'Twill please me mair to hear and see't 

Than stockit mailens. 



[The Poet's welcome to an Illegitimate Child 
was composed on the same occasion [as the pre- 
ceding] — a piece in which some very manly feel- 
ings are expressed, along with others which it 
can give no one pleasure to contemplate. There 
is a song in honour of the same occasion, or a 
similar one, about the same period, The rantin 
dog the Daddie o't, which exhibits the poet as 
glorying, and only glorying, in his shame. 

" When I consider his tender affection for 
the surviving members of his own family, and 
the reverence with which he ever regarded the 
memory of the father whom he had so recently 
buried, I cannot believe that Burns has thought 
fit to record in verse all the feelings which this 
exposure excited in his bosom. ' To wave (in 
his own language) the quantum of the sin/ he 
who, two years afterwards, wrote the Cotter's 
Saturday Night had not, we may be sure, 
hardened his heart to the thought of bringing 
additional sorrow and unexpected shame to the 
fire-side of a widowed mother. But his false 
pride recoiled from letting his jovial associates 
guess how little he was able to drown the whis- 
pers of the still small voice ; and the fermenting 
bitterness of a mind ill at ease within itself es- 
caped (as may be too often traced in the history 



* Vae. — Ourbillie, Rob, has ta'en a jink. — M.S 

t He's cantered to anither shore. — M.S. 

% An' pray kind Fortune to redress him. — M.S. 



of satirists,) in the shape of angry sarcasms 
against others, who, whatever their private 
errors might be, had at least done him no 
wrong. 

"It is impossible not to smile at one item 
of consolation which Burns proposes to himself 
on this occasion : — 

' The mair they talk, I'm kenn'd the better ; 

E'en let them clash ! ' 

This is indeed a singular manifestation of ' the 
last infirmity of noble minds.' " — Lockhaet. 

Vn&t& on a Jkotd) ISartt, 

GONE TO THE "WEST INDIES. 

A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, 
A' ye wha live and never think, 

Come, mourn wi' me ! 
Our billie's gien us a' a jink,* 

An' owre the sea. 

Lament him a' ye rantin' core, 
Wha dearly like a random-splore, 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar 

In social key ; 
For now he's taen anither shore, f 

An' owre the sea ! 

The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him, 
An' in their dear petitions place him : J 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 

Wi' tearfu' e'e ; 
For Aveel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the sea ! 

O fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou ta'en aff some drowsy bummle 
Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg as onie wumble, 

That's owre the sea ! 

Auld, cantie Kyle § may weepers wear, 
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear ; 
'Twill mak || her poor, auld heart, I fear, 

In flinders flee ; 
He was her laureate monie a year, 

That's owre the sea ! 

He saw misfortune's cauld nor'-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
So, took a berth afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under fortune's cummock, 
On ^[ scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach, 



^ Kilmarnock. 

I! Vak.— Gar.— M.S. 



% An.— M.S. 



THE POET'S FAREWELL, ETC. 



245 



Could ill agree ; 
So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, 
An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was glen to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding : 

He dealt it free : 
The muse was a' that he took pride in 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
An' hap him in a cozie biel ; 
Ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel, 

And fu' o' glee ; 
He wad na wrang'd the vera deil 

That's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie !* 
Your native soil was right ill-willie ; 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonnilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie 

Tho' owre the sea ! 



["Burns in this poem alludes to himself. It 
was composed, and placed in the hands of a 
friend, to be read at the first masonic meeting 
after he had left them for the West Indies. 
Fortunately for his country, his destiny was 
otherwise ruled. The identity of the Bard 
with the hero of these verses is placed beyond a 
doubt by a MS. copy of the verses, in Burns's 
own hand- writing, wherein the last line of the 
first stanza stands thus : — 

Our billie Rob has ta'en a jink. 

The poem must, therefore, have been written 
in 1786. An old man of the west of Scotland, 
who still lives to remember him with affection, 
says — ' He was subject to great fluctuation of 
spirits— sometimes he was so depressed that he 
would shun his most intimate friends ; and when 
observing any one he knew approaching him 
on the road, he hesitated not to leap over a 
hedge, or strike into another path, to avoid 
being disturbed.' He was at such periods as 
likely to be in a poetic reverie as in a melan- 
choly one."] — Cunningham. 



Vtv&t& fcmitm twite fctolmt @rof. 

Accept the gift a friend sincere 
Wad on thy worth be pressin' ; 

"Remembrance oft may start a tear, 

But oh ! that tenderness forbear, 
Though 'twad my sorrows lessen. 



* Vae. — Then fare-ye-weel, my rhyming billie ! — M.S. 
t The Bard's illegitimate daughter. 



My morning raise sae clear and fair, 

1 thought sair storms wad never 
Bedew the scene ; but grief and care 
In wildest fury hae made bare 
My peace, my hope, for ever ! 

You think I'm glad ; oh, I pay weer 

For a' the joy I borrow, 
In solitude — then, then I feel 
I canna to myseF conceal 

My deeply ranklin' sorrow. 

Farewell ! within thy bosom free 

A sigh may whiles awaken ; 
A tear may wet thy laughin' e'e, 
For Scotia's son — ance gay like thee — 
Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken ! 



[" The above verses appear to have been writ- 
ten in the distressing summer of 1786, when the 
poet's prospects were at the dreariest, and the 
very wife of his fondest affection had forsaken 
him. From the time, and other circumstances, 
we may conjecture that the present alluded to 
was a copy of the Kilmarnock edition of the 
poems, then newly published."— Chambers.] 



:t The valiant in himself, what can he suffer ? 
Or what does he regard his single woes ? 
But when, alas ! he multiplies himself, 
To dearer selves, to the lov'd tender fair, 
To those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him, 
To helpless children ! then, O then ! he feels 
The point of misery fest'ring in his heart, 
And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward. 
Such, such am I ! undone !" 

Thomson's Edward and Eleanora 



Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, 
Far dearer than the torrid plains 

Where rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 

My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
Farewell, my Bess ! f tho' thou'rt bereft 

Of my parental care ; 
A faithful brother I have left, 
My part in him thou'lt share ! 
Adieu too, to you too, 

My Smith,} my bosom frien' ; 
When kindly you mind me, 
Oh then befriend my Jean ! 



What bursting anguish tears my heart ! 

From thee, my Jeannie, must I part ! 

Thou, weeping, answ'rest, " No !" 



$ James Smith, Merchant, in Mauchline — the same persr 
to whom one of the Poet's best Epistles is r-cciressed. 



I 246 



Alas ! misfortune stares ray face, 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I, for thy sake, must go ! 
Thee, Hamilton and Aiken * dear, 

A grateful, warm adieu ! 
I, with a much-indebted tear, 
Shall stilt remember you ! 
All-hail then, the gale then, 

Wafts me from thee, dear shore ! 
It rustles, and whistles — 
I'll never see thee more ! 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



[These very touching stanzas were composed 
in the Autumn of 1786, when the prospects of 
the poet darkened, and he looked towards the 
West-Indies as a place of refuge, and perhaps 
of hope. He alludes to every one who shared 
his affections : — his mother — Ins brother Gilbert 
— his illegitimate child Elizabeth, — whom he 
consigned to his brother's care, and for whose 
support he had appropriated the copyright of 
his Poems, and to his friends Smith, Hamil- 
ton, and Aiken ; but in nothing he ever wrote 
was his affection for Jean Armour more ten- 
derly or more naturally displayed. The verses 
were first published in the Rev. Hamilton 
Paul's edition of the works of Burns — their 
authenticity is unquestionable.] 

% Saltation to <Sa&m Hamilton, €s'q[. 

Expect na, sir, in this narration, 
A fleechin, fleth'rin dedication, 
To roose you up, an' ca you guid, 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye're surnam'd like his Grace : 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye, 
Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
Set up a face, how I stop short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun do, sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the great folks for a wamefu' •, 
For me ! sae laigh I needna bow, 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; 
And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; 
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin', 
Its just sic poet, an' sic patron. 

The poet, some guid angel help him, 
Or else, I fear, some ill ane skelp him, 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
But only — he's no just begun yet. 

The patron (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me), 
On ev'ry hand it will aliow'd be, 
He's just— nae better than he should be. 



* Gavin Hamilton, Esq., and Robert Aiken, Esq. These 
gentlemen were at this period the chief advisers and patrons 
of the Poet, 



I readily and freely grant 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What's no his ain, he winna tak' it, 
What ance he says, he winna break it ; 
Ought he can lend, he'll no refus 't, 
Till aft his guidness is abus'd ; 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang. 
Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang : 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that ; 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
It's naething but a milder feature 
Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt nature : 
Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
That he's the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed, 
It's no thro' terror of d-mn-tion - 7 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality, thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, Avhose stay and trust is 
In moral mercy, truth and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 
Steal thro' a winnock frae a wh-re, 
But point the rake that tak's the door ; 
Be to the poor like onie whunstane, 
And haud their noses to the grunstane, 
Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang, wry faces ; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

ye wha leave the springs o' Calvin, 
For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin' ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 

Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror ! 
When vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, 
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him . 
While o'er the harp pale mis'ry moans, 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 

1 maist forgat my Dedication ; 
But when divinity comes 'cross me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper^ 



POETICAL DEDICATION, ETC. 



247 



When a' my works I did review, 

To dedicate them, Sir, to you : 

Because (ye need na tak it ill) 

I thought them something like yoursel'. 

Then patronize them wi' your favour, 

And your petitioner shall ever 

I had amaist said, ever pray ; 

But that's a word I need na say : 

For pray in' I hae little skill o't ; 

I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't ; 

But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r 

That kens or hears about you, Sir — 

" May ne'er misfortune's growling bark, 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk ! 
May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart 
For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
May Kennedy's far-honour'd name 
Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
Five bonnie lasses round their table, 
And seven braw fellows stout an' able 
To serve their king and country weel, 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May health and peace, with mutual rays, 
Shine on the ev'ning o' his days ; 
Till his wee curlie John's* ier-oe, 
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow !" 

I will not wind a lang conclusion 
i Wi' complimentary effusion : 
i But, whilst your wishes and endeavours 
j Are blest with fortune's smiles and favours, 
J I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
j Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which pow'rs above prevent) 

That iron-hearted carl, Want, 

Attended in his grim advances, 
i ' By sad mistakes and black mischances, 
1 While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 
: Make you as poor a dog as I am, 
i Your humble servant then no more ; 
: For who would humbly serve the poor ? 
' ' But by a poor man's hopes in heav'n ! 
■ While recollection's pow'r is g'iv'n, 

If, in the vale of humble life, 

The victim sad of fortune's strife, 

I, thro' the tender gushing tear, 

Should recognize my master dear, 

If friendless, low, we meet together, 

Then, Sir, your hand — my friend and brother i 



[In a copy of this " Dedication," in the 
Poet's hand-writing, the circumstance of rid- 
ing on the sabbath-day is thus neatly intro- 
duced : — 

" He sometimes gallops on a Sunday, 
An' pricks the beast as if 't were Monday." 

* [John Hamilton, Esquire, now residing in London — a 
worthy scion of a noble stock.] 



" I regard this poem as one of Burns's very 
best. There is a great deal of humour and 
good nature in it." — Hogg. 

" The epistles of Burns, in which may be in- 
cluded his Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq., 
discover, like his other writings, the powers of 
a superior understanding. They display deep 
insight into human nature, a gay and happy 
strain of reflection, great independence of sen- 
timent and generosity of heart." — Currie. 

Gavin Hamilton, the steady friend of the 
poet, was descended from the Hamiltons of 
Kype in Lanark-shire. 

" It is related of the laird of Kype, that he 
was once paying a visit to the Duke of Hamil- 
ton, when his Grace inquired in what degree 
he was related to the ducal house, and where- 
abouts in the family tree the race of Kype was 
to be found. ' It would be needless to seek the 
root among the branches/ answered the haughty 
laird, who perhaps had some pretensions to be 
of the principal stock of the Hamiltons, or 
knew, at least, that the claims of the ducal 
house to the chieftainship were by no means 
clear." — Chambers. 



ELEGY 



CIk ©tat!) of 3&otot Mmsseauj*. 

Now Robin lies in his last lair, 

LTe'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, 

Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him ; 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care, 

E'er mair come near him. 

To tell the truth, they seldom fash't him, 
Except the moment that they crush't him : 
For sune as chance or fate had hush't 'em, 

Tho' e'er sae short, 
Then wi 7 a rhyme or song he lash't 'em, 

And thought it sport. 

Tho' he was bred to kintra wark, 

And counted was baith wight and stark, 

Yet that was never Robin's mark 

To mak a man ; 
But tell him, he was learn'd and dark, 

Y"e roos'd him than ! 



[Cromek found this fragment among the papers 
of Burns, and printed if in the Reliques, with 
the intimation only that Ruisseaux was a play 
upon the Poet's own name. It is probably a 
portion of a poem in which he desired to dissect 
himself, and shew his evil and his good to the 
world ; but, not having commenced so happily 
as he wished, he threw it aside, and resumed the 
subject in that noble and touching strain, "A 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Bard's Epitaph." — " He meets us in his com- 
positions/' says Campbell, "undisguised as a 
peasant ; at the same time his observations go 
extensively into life, like those of a man who 
felt the proper dignity of human nature in the 
character of a peasant." Perhaps of all poets 
Burns poured most of himself into poetry. 
Byron appears in his verse as in a mask, and 
never comes fairly and unhesitatingly forward ; 
of Scott, 

" Some saw an arm, and some a hand, 
And some the waving of a gown." 

Of Campbell personally we know nothing from 
his verse ; nor has Southey shewn himself. 
Burns painted his own portrait, and did it so 
darkly that others have presumptuously in- 
creased the gloom in their delineations of his 
character. — Allan Cunningham.] 



Eetter to Mantes Catt, 

OF GLENCONNER. 

Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner, 

How's a' the folk about Glenconner ? 

How do ye this blae eastlin win', 

That's like to blaw a body blin' ? 

For me, my faculties are frozen, 

My dearest member nearly dozen'. 

I've sent you here, by Johnnie Simson, 

Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ! 

Reid, wi' his sympathetic feeling, 

An' Smith, to common sense appealing. 

Philosophers have fought an' wrangled, 

An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled, 

Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd, 

An' in the depth of science mir'd, 

To common sense they now appeal, 

What wives an' wabsters see and feel. 

But, hark ye, frien' ! I charge you strictly, 

Peruse them, an' return them quickly, 

For now I'm grown sae cursed douce 

I pray an' ponder but the house, 

My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin', 

Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston ; 

Till by an' by, if I haud on, 

I'll grunt a real gospel-groan : 

Already I begin to try it, 

To cast my e'en up like a pyet, 

When by the gun she tumbles o'er, 

Flutt'ring an' gasping in her gore : 

Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 

A burning an' a shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace an' wale of honest men : 
When bending down wi' auld grey hairs, 
Beneath the load of years and cares, 
May He who made him still support him, 
An' views beyond the grave comfort him. 
His worthy fam'ly, far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear ! 



My auld schoolfellow, preacher Willie, 
The manly tar, my mason Billie, 
An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy ; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy, 
May he be dad, and Meg the mither, 
Just five-and-forty years thegither ! 
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
An' L — d, remember singing Sannock, 
Wi' hale-breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock. 

An' next my auld acquaintance, Nancy, 

Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 

An' her kind stars hae airted till her 

A good chiel wi' a pickle siller. 

My kindest, best respects I sen' it, 

To cousin Kate an' sister Janet ; 

Tell them, frae me, wi' chiels be cautious, 

For, faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashious ; 

To grant a heart is fairly civil, 

But to grant a maidenhead's the devil. — 

An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel, 

May guardian angels tak' a spell, 

An' steer you seven miles south o' hell : 

But first, before you see heav'n's glory, 

May ye get monie a merry story, 

Monie a laugh, and monie a drink, 

And aye eneugh o' needfu' clink. 

Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you, 
For my sake this I beg it o' you, 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye'll fin' him just an honest man : 
Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter, 
Your's, saint or sinner, 

Rob the Ranter.' 



[Tait, of Glenconner, accompanied Burns to 
Nithsdale in 1788, and advised him respecting 
the farm of Ellisland. — " I am just returned," 
says the Poet to a correspondent, " from Mil- 
ler's farm. My old friend, whom I took with 
me, was highly pleased with the bargain, and 
advised me to accept of it. He is the most in- 
telligent, sensible farmer in the county, and his 
advice has staggered me a good deal." To a 
correspondent of another complexion and cha- 
racter, Burns wrote, regarding " Old Glen- 
conner," — " I am thinking my farming scheme 
will yet hold. A worthy, intelligent farmer, 
my father's friend and my own, has been with 
me on the spot : he thinks the bargain practi- 
cable. I am nryself, on a more serious review 
of the lands, much better pleased with them. 
I won't trust this to any body in writing but 
you," 

The poem is one of those hasty and every- 
day-business-like effusions which Burns occa- 
sionally penned. Though not at all equal to 
some of his earlier epistles, yet it is well worth 
preserving, as a proof of the ease with which 



* See a s 
Lapraik." 



lilar signature to the " Third Epistle to John 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD 



249 



he could wind verse round any topic, and con- 
duct the duties and the courtesies of life in 
song. His account of having 'grown sae cursed 
douce,' and scorching himself at the tire — 

' Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston,' 

is archly introduced. The persons to whom a 
part of the letter alludes were of Glenconner's 
household or his neighbours. The 'manly tar' was 
probably Richard Brown." — Cunningham.] 



33ti-t& cf a $o£ti)ttmotuS Cptf.* 

Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 

And ward o' mony a pray'r, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na move, 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! 

November hirples o'er the lea, 

Chill, on thy lovely form ; 
And gane, alas ! the shelt'ring tree 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour, 

And wings the blast to blaw, 
Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 

The bitter frost and snaw ! 

May He, the friend of woe and want, 
Who heals life's various stounds, 

Protect and guard the mother-plant, 
And heal her cruel wounds ! 

But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, 

Fair on the summer-morn : 
Now feebly bends she in the blast, 

Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 

Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 
And from thee many a parent stem 

Arise to deck our land ! 



* [The mother was a daughter of the Poet's friend, Mrs. 
Dunlop. She and the little flow'ret are often alluded to in 
the Poet's letters to that lady. Miss Susan Dunlop had 
married a French gentleman of good birth and fortune, of 
the name of Henri. They lived at Loudoun Castle in Ayr- 
shire, where, June 22, 1790, M. Henri was cut off by a cold, 
caught in consequence of exposure to wet. His son and 
heir, born in the subsequent November, was the subject of 
the above fine verses. In the autumn of 1792, Mrs. Henri, 
accompanied by her infant, went to the south of France. In 
a subsequent letter to Mrs. Dunlop, Burns deplores the dan- 
gerous and distressing situation of the young mother, ex- 
posed to the tumults of the Revolution ; and he has soon 
after occasion to condole with his venerable friend on the 
death of her daughter in a foreign land — "that laud," says 
the Poet, '^convulsed with every horror that can harrow the 
humm feelings." When tins sad event took place, the 
orphan child fell under the immediate care of his paternal 
grandfather, who, however, was soon obliged to take refuge 
in Switzerland, leaving the infant behind him. Years passed 
—he and the Scotch friends of the child heard nothing of it, 
and concluded that it was lost. At length, when the elder 
Henri was enabled to return to his ancestral domains, he 
had the unspeakable satisfaction of finding that his grandson 
and heir was alive and well, having never been removed 
from the place. The child had been protected and reared 
with the greatest care by a worthy female, Mademoiselle 
Susette, formerly a domestic of the family. This excellent 



" These stanzas," says Burns in his memo- 
randa, " were composed on the birth of a pos- 
thumous child, born in peculiar circumstances 
of family distress." A father was carried to the 
grave a few months before his only son was 
born ; almost a type of what happened at no 
distant date in the Poet's own household. Not 
only are the chief circumstances of the case 
applicable, but the very words which he used 
in expressing the woe of another give an image 
of what was suffered in Burns'-street, in July, 
1796. 

" The sheltering tree was removed in both 
cases, and tender flowerets exposed to the storm. 
I shall never forget the time when Burns's boys 
appeared in the streets of Dumfries, in mourn- 
ing for their father's death. All eyes were 
turned in sympathy on them — their weepers, as 
the bands of white cambric on their coat-cuffs 
were called, and their forlorn and wondering 
looks, live in more memories than mine." 

Cunningham.] 



Co Mite €xuiUi)mxh#,i 

A VERY YOUNG LADY. 

OOK, PRESENTED TO 
R. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming in thy early May,J 
Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights ! 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view, 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 



person had even contrived, through all the levelling violences 
of the intervening period, to preserve in her young charge 
the feelings appropriate to his rank. Though absolutely in- 
debted to her industry for his bread, she had caused" him 
always to be seated by himself at table, and regularly waited 
on, so that the otherwise plebeian circumstances in which he 
lived did not greatly affect him. The subject of Burns's 
stanzas is now proprietor of the family estates ; and it is 
agreeable to add that Mademoiselle Susette still (1838) lives 
in his paternal mansion, in the enjoyment of that grateful 
respect to which her fidelity and discretion so eminently 
entitle her. Such is the somewhat extraordinary history of 
this " Sweet flow'ret, pledge 0' meikle love, 

And ward o' mony a prayer." — Chambers.] 

t [The young lady, who was the subject of these beautiful 
lines, was then only twelve years old ; she afterwards became 
the wife of Mr. Henderson, a writer, or legal practitioner at 
Jedburgh. Burns also composed his song entitled, 'A Rose- 
bud by my early walk, ' in honour of the same beautiful 
young lady. Mr. Cruickshank's house consisted of a floor 
at the top of a common stair now marked No. 30, in St. 
James's Square, Edinburgh ; here the poet for some time 
lived with him, his room being one which has a window 
looking out from the gable of the house upon the green, 
behind the General Register House. Here abo Burns lay 
while confined with a bruised limb in the winter of 1787-8. 
Mr. Cruickshank died, March 8, 1795.] 

X Var. On the early day. 



May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem, 
Richly deck thy native stem : 
'Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm, 
While all around the woodland rings, 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings ; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 



[Burns often intimated his friendships — or at- 
tachments — in verse or prose, on the blank leaf 
of a favourite book, and then presented the 
volume to the object of his regard. He was 
mostly attached to ladies whose voices were 
sweet and harmonious, or who excelled in 
music. Of the spell which music threw over 
him we have the following very graphic ac- 
count, from one who knew him well: — "About 
the end of October, I called for him at the 
house of a friend, whose daughter, though not 
more than twelve, was a considerable proficient 
in music. I found him seated by the harpsi- 
chord of this young lady, listening with the 
keenest interest to his own verses, which she 
sang and accompanied, and adjusting them to 
the music by repeated trials of the effect. In 
this occupation he was totally absorbed ; it 
was difficult to draw his attention from it for a 
moment ; and it is to the enthusiasm which the 
nature of his undertaking inspired that the ex- 
cellence of its execution must be ascribed. Had 
his ardour been less, I should probably have 
regretted to see his genius no longer left free to 
the impulse of inclination, and the excitement 
of interesting occurrences, but employed in 
amendment or imitation, and partly expended 
in overcoming the difficulties occasioned by an 
additional circumspection, both in subject and 
measure." — Professor Walker.] 



Millie Cljatmer^ 



Mr. W. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayr-shire, 
a particular friend of mine, asked me to write a 
poetic epistle to a young lady, his dulcinea. I 
had seen her, but was scarcely acquainted with 
her, and wrote as follows : — R. B. 



Madam, 
Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride, 

And eke a braw new brechan, 
My Pegasus I'm got astride, 

And up Parnassus pechin ; 
Whiles owre a bush wi' downward crush : 

The doited beastie stammers ; 
Then up he gets, and off he sets, 

For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 



I doubt na, lass, that weel-kenn'd name 

May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
I am nae stranger to your fame, 

Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet 

His honest heart enamours, 
And faith ye'll no be lost a whit, 

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers. 



Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye're fair, 

And Honour safely back her, 
And Modesty assume your air, 

And ne'er a ane mistak' her : 
And sic twa love-inspiring een 

Might fire even holy Palmers ; 
Nae wonder then they've fatal been 

To honest Willie Chalmers. 



I doubt nae Fortune may you shore 

Some mim-mou'd pouther'd priestie y 
Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore, 

And band upon his breastie : 
But oh ! what signifies to you 

His lexicons and grammars : 
The feeling heart's the royal blue, 

And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. 



Some gapin', glowrin', countra laird,, 

May warsle for your favour ; 
May claw his lug, and straik his beard, 

And hoast up some palaver. 
My bonny maid, before ye wed 

Sic clumsy-witted hammers, 
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp 

AAva' wi' Willie Chalmers. 



Forgive the Bard ! my fond regard 

For ane that shares my bosom 
Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues, 

For de'il a hair I roose him. 
May powers aboon unite you soon, 

And fructify your amours, — 
And every year come in mair dear 

To you and Willie Chalmers. 



[" William Chalmers was, in those days, a 
writer in Ayr, and a staunch comrade of the 
Poet : he was his correspondent also : but only 
one of the letters of Burns has survived the 
change which time and death make. I have 
not heard that the lady yielded to the influ- 
ence of verse : women are seldom rhymed into 
wedlock."— Cunningham.] 

[The above lively verses were first printed 
by Mr. Lockhart, from some MSS. which were 
sent by the poet to Lady Harriet Don.] 



=© 



EPISTLE TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ETC. 



251 



% grayer, 



LEFT, BY THE AUTHOR, AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S 
HOUSE, IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 



O Thou dread Pow'r, who reign'st above ! 

I know Thou wilt me hear, 
When, for this scene of peace and love, 

I make my prayer sincere. 



The hoary sire — the mortal stroke, 
Long, long, be pleased to spare ! 

To bless his filial little flock, 
And show what good men are. 



ihe, who her lovely offspring eyes 
With tender hopes and fears, 

0, bless her with a mother's joys, 
Hut spare a mother's tears ! 



Their hope — their stay — their darling youth, 
In manhood's dawning blush — 

Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 
I p to a parent's wish ! 



The beauteous, seraph sister-band, 
With earnest tears I pray, 

Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand- 
Guide Thou their steps alway ! 



When soon or late they reach that coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driv'n, 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in Heav'n ! 

"The first time," says Gilbert Burns, u Robert 
" heard the spinnet played upon was at the 
house of Dr. Lawrie, then minister of Loudon, 
now in Glasgow, having given up the parish 
in favour of his son. Dr. Lawrie had several 
daughters — one of them played ; the father 
and the mother led doAvn the dance ; the rest 
of the sisters, the brother, the Poet, and the 
other guests mixed in it. It was a delightful 
family-scene for our Poet, then lately intro- 
duced to the world. His mind was roused to a 
poetic enthusiasm, and the stanzas were left in 
the room where he slept." 

[Dr. Lawrie was the medium through whom 
Dr. Blacklock transmitted the letter by w T hieh 
Burns was arrested on his flight to tlie West 
Indies, and induced to go to Edinburgh. This 
letter is now (1838) in the possession of the 
Rev. Mr. Balfour Graham, minister of North 
Berwick, who is connected with the family by 
marriage.] 



<£ptetle to <*§abm Hamilton* 5S3q., 

MAUCHLINE. 

RECOMMENDING A BOY. 

Mosgaville, May 3, 1785. 
I. 

I hold it, Sir, my bounden duty 
To warn you how that Master Tootie, 

Alias, Laird M'Gaun, 
Was here to hire yon lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day, 

An' wad hae don't aff han' : 
But lest he learn the callan tricks, 

As, faith, I muckle doubt him, 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks, 
An' tellin' lies about them : 
As lieve then, I'd have then, 

Your clerkship he should sair, 
If sae be, ye may be 
Not fitted otherwhere. 



Altho' I say't, he's gleg enough, 

An' bout a house that's rude an'* rough, 

The boy might learn to swear ; 
But then wi' you, he'll be sae taught, 
An' get sic fair example straught, 

I ha'e na ony fear. 

Ye'll catechise him every quirk, 

An' shore him weel wi' hell ; 

An' gar him follow to the kirk — 

Aye when ye gang yoursel. 

If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this comin' Friday ; 
Then please, Sir, to lea'e, Sir, 
The orders wi' your lady, 
in. 
My word of honour I hae gi'en, 
In Paisley John's, that night at e'en, 

To meet the Warld's worm ; 
To try to get the twa to gree, 
An' name the airles* an' the fee, 

In legal mode an' form : 
I ken he weel a snick can draw, 

When simple bodies let him : 
An' if a Devil be at a', 

In faith he's sure to get him. 
To phrase you, an' praise you, 
Ye ken your Laureat scorns : 
The pray'r still, you share still, 
Of grateful Minstrel Bunxs. 



[Master Tootie, Cromek informs us, lived in 
Mauchline, and dealt in cows. It was his com- 
mon practice to cut the nicks or markings from 
the horns of cattle, to disguise their age, and so 
bring a higher price. He v T as an artful, trick- 
contriving person : hence he is called a 'sneck- 
drawer,' an epithet which the Bard had already 
appled to — the devil. In his " Address to the 
Deil," he styles that august personage — on aula 
sneck-drawing dog /] 

* The airles — earnest money. 



252 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



OF CRAIGEN-GILLAN. 

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

I trow it made me proud ; 
" See wha tak's notice o' the bard !" 

I lap and cry'd fu' loud, 

" Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 

The senseless, gawky million ; 
I'll cock my nose aboon them a' — 

I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan ! " 

'Twas noble, Sir ; 'twas like yoursel, 

To grant your high protection : 
A great man's smile, ye ken fu' weel, 

Is aye a blest infection. 

Tho' by his* banes wha in a tub 

Match' d Macedonian Sandy ! 
On my ain legs, thro' dirt and dub, 

I independent stand ay. — 

And when those legs to guid, warm kail, 

Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 
A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail, 

And barley-scone shall cheer me. 

Heav'n spare you lang to kiss the breath 

O' mony flow'ry simmers ! 
And bless your bonnie lasses baith, 

I'm tauld they're loosome kimmers ! 

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, 

The blossom of our gentry ! 
And may he wear an auld man's beard, 

A credit to his country. 

[The above is a hasty, unpremeditated effu- 
sion. In the commencement of his poetic career, 
Burns, receiving an obliging letter from the 
iaird of Craigen-Gillan, to whom his friend 
Woodburn was factor, he took up a sheet of pa- 
per, as he " sat owre a gill," and thanked him in 
verse. The Bard, amid his joy, forgets not that 
he is independent ; and, in asserting his inde- 
pendence, he remembers that old age will come, 
and perhaps poverty ; but then " a lee dyke- 
iide and barley-scone " would cheer one who 
had been accustomed to simple fare.] 



pature'3 %ahy. 

A POEM, 

HUMBLY INSCRIBED 

TO GAVIN HAMILTON, 



ESQ. 



"Great nature spoke, observant man obeyed.'' — Pope. 



Let other heroes boast their scars, 
The marks of sturt and strife ; 



And other poets sing of wars, 
The plagues of human life : 

Shame fa' the fun, wi' sword and gun, 
To slap mankind like lumber ! 

I sing his name and nobler fame, 
Wha multiplies our number. 



Great Nature spoke, with air benign, 

" Go on, ye human race! 
This lower world I you resign ; 

Be fruitful and increase. 
The liquid fire of strong desire 

I've pour'd it in each bosom ; 
Here, in this hand, does mankind stand, 

And there, is beauty's blossom ! " 

in. 
The hero of these artless strains, 

A lowly bard was he, 
Who sung his rhymes in Coila's plains, 

With mickle mirth an' glee ; 
Kind Nature's care had given his share, 

Large, of the flaming current ; 
And, all devout, he never sought 

To stem the sacred torrent. 



He felt the powerful, high behest, 

Thrill, vital, thro' and thro' ; 
And sought a correspondent breast, 

To give obedience due : 
Propitious Powers screen'd the young flow'rs 

From mildews of abortion ; 
And lo ! the bard, a great reward, 

Has got a double portion ! 



Auld, can tie Coil may count the day, 

As annual it returns, 
The third of Libra's equal sway, 

That gave another Burns, 
With future rhymes, an' other times, 

To emulate his sire ; 
To sing auld Coil in nobler style, 

AVith more poetic fire. 



Ye powers of peace, and peaceful song, 

Look down with gracious eyes; 
And bless auld Coila, large and long, 

With multiplying joys ; 
Lang may she stand to prop the land, 

The flow'r of ancient nations ; 
And Burns's spring, her fame to sing, 

To endless generations ! 



[These verses were first published in Picker- 
ing's edition of the poetical works of Burns, 
printed from the original MS. in the Poet's 
hand-writing. They appear to have been com- 
posed soon after his " Bonnie Jean" had pre- 
sented him with twins.] 



EPISTLE TO A TAILOR. 



8n3iim- to a poetical 3£piStXe, 

SENT TO THE AUTHOR BY A TAILOR. 

What ails ye now, ye lousie b — h, 
To thresh my back at sic a pitch ? 
Losh, man ! hae mercy wi' your natch, 

Your bodkin's bauld, 
I didna suffer ha'f sae much 

Frae Daddie Auld. 

What tho' at times when I grow crouse, 
f gie the dames a random pouse, 
Is that enough for you to souse 

Your servant sae ? 
Gae mind your seam, ye prick- the-louse, 

An' jag-the-fiae. 

King David, o' poetic brief, 
Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief 
As filPd his after life wi' grief, 

An' bluidy rants, 
An* yet he's rank'd among the chief 

O' lang-syne saunts. 

And maybe, Tarn, for a' my cants, 
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants, 
I'll gie auld cloven Clooty's hannts 

An unco slip yet. 
An' snugly sit among the saunts 

At Davie's hip yet . 

But fegs, the Session says I maun 

Gae fa' upon anither plan, 

Than garrin' lasses cowp the cran 

Clean heels owre body, 
And sairly thole their mither's ban 

Afore the howdy. 

This leads me on, to tell for sport, 
How I did wi' the Session sort, — 
Auld Clinkum at the inner port 

Cry'd three times — " Robin ! 
Come hither, lad, an' answer for 't, 

Ye're blamed for jobbin'." 

Wi' pinch I pat a Sunday's face on, 
An' snoov'd awa' before the Session ; 
I made an open fair confession — 

I scorn'd to lie ; 
An' syne Mess John, beyond expression, 

Fell foul o' me. 



[The remaining five verses, in which the 
Poet gives a description of his interview with 
the Kirk-Session, and relates some of the con- 
versation that ensued, are too free and uncere- 
monious to be inserted.] 

[A tailor in the neighbourhood of Mauchline 
t x k it upon him, it seems, to lecture Burns in 
veise, upon his loose conversation and beha- 



viour. The Poet answered him in a strain which 
must have made the other, as Hamilton says, 

" Strangely fidge and fike." 

It has been surmised that Burns wrote the 
monitory letter himself, for the sake of the an- 
swer. "To be able to write down to the level 
of the following verses," says Mr. Cunningham, 
" is a compliment to his genius, though not a 
just one." 

GBpfetle from a Cailor — 

(THOMAS WALKER, OCHILTREE,) 

TO ROBERT BURNS. 

What waefu' news is this I hear, 
Frae greeting I can scarce forbear, 
Folks tell me ye're gaun aff this year, 

Out o'er the sea, 
And lasses wham ye lo'e sae dear 

Will greet for thee. 

Weel wad I like war ye to stay, 
But, Robin, since you will away, 
I hae a word yet mair to say, 

And maybe twa ; 
May He protect us night and day, 

That made us a'. 

Whar thou art gaun, keep mind frae me, 
Seek Him to bear thee companie, 
And, Robin, whan ye come to die, 

Ye'll won aboon, 
An' live at peace an' unity 

Ayont the moon. 

Some tell me, Rab, ye dinna fear 
To get a wean, an' curse an' swear, 
I'm unco wae, my lad, to hear 

O' sic a trade, 
Could I persuade ye to forbear, 

I wad be glad. 

Fu' weel ye ken ye'll gang to hell, 

Gin ye persist in doin' ill — 

Waes me ! ye're hurlin' down the hill 

Withouten dread. 
An' ye'll get leave to swear your fill 

After ye're dead. 

There, walth o' women ye'll gf>* near, 
But gettin' weans ye will forbear, 
Ye'll never say, my bonnie dear, 

Come, gie's a kiss — 
Nae kissing there — ye'll girn an' sneer, 

An' ither hiss. 

O Rab ! lay by thy foolish tricks, 

An' steer nae mair the female sex, 

Or some day ye'll come through the pricks, 

And that ye'll see ; 
Ye'll fin' hard living wi' Auld Nicks — 

I'm wae for thee. 

But what's this comes wi' sic a knell, 

Amaist as loud as ony bell, 

While it does mak' my conscience tell 

Me what is true, 
I'm but a ragget cowt myseF, 

Owre sib to you ! 

We're owre like those wha think it fit 
To stuff their noddles fu* o' wit, 



254 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



An' yet content in darkness sit, 

Wha shun the light, 

Wad let them see to 'scape the pit 

That lang dark night. 

But fareweel, Rab, I maun awa,' 
May He that made us keep us a', 
For that would be a dreadfu' fa', 

And -hurt us sair, 
Lad, ye wad never mend ava, 

Sae, Rab, tak' care.] 



%im$ hixitttix mi a 33ank*twte. 

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf! 

Fell source o' a' my Avoe and grief ! 

For lack o' thee I've lost my lass ! 

For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass. 

I see the children of affliction 

Unaided, thro' thy curs'd restriction. 

I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile, 

Amid his hapless victim's spoil, 

And, for thy potence, vainly wish'd 

To crush the villain in the dust. 
For lack o' thee, I leave this much-lov'd shore, 
Never, perhaps, to greet auld Scotland more. 
R. B.—Kyle. 



[The Bank-note, on the back of which these 
characteristic lines were endorsed, came into 
the hands of Mr. James F. Gracie, banker in 
Dumfries : he knew the hand- writing of the 
Pcet, and preserved it as a curiosity. The note 
is of the Bank of Scotland, and is dated so far 
back as the 1st March, 1780. The lines exhibit 
the strong marks of the poet's vigorous pen, 
and are evidently an extempore effusion of his 
characteristic feelings. They bear internal 
proof of their having been written at that in- 
teresting period of his life when he was on the 
point of leaving the country, on account of the 
unfavourable manner in which his proposals for 
marrying his " Bonny Jean," were at first re- 
ceived by her parents.] 



% ©ream. 

Thoughts, words, & deeds, the statute blames with reason; 
But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason. 

On reading, in the public papers, the " Laureate's Ode," * 
with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no 
sooner dropt asleep than he imagined himself transported 
to the birth-day levee ; and in his dreaming fancy made 
the following address. — Burns. 



Guib-mornin' to your Majesty ! 
May Heav'n augment your blisses, 

* [Thomas Warton was then in this servile and ridiculous 
Bee. His ode for- June 4, 1786, begins as follows : — 

" When Freedom nurs'd her native fire 
In ancient Greece, and rul'd the lyre, 
Her bares disdainful, from the tyrant's trow 

The tinsel gifts of fl.ittery tore, 
But paid to guiltless power their willing vow, 

And to the throne of virtuous kings, &c. 



On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, 
A humble poet wishes ! 

My hardship here, at your levee, 
On sic a day as this is, 

Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 
Amang thae birth-day dresses 
Sae fine this day. 



I see ye're complimented thrang, 

By many a lord an' lady ; 
" God save the king !"'sa cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said ay ; 
The poets, too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, 

But ay unerring steady, 
On sic a day. 



For me, before a monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter ; 
For neither pension, post, nor place, 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on your grace, 

Your kingship to bespatter ; 
There's monie warn* been o' the race, 

And aiblins ane been better 

Than you this day. 



; Tis very true, my sov'reign king, 

My skill may weel be doubted : 
But facts are chiels that winna ding, 

An' downa be disputed : 
Your royal nest, beneath your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 
And now the third part of the string, 

An' less, will gang about it 

Than did ae day.f 



Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame j^our legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But, faith ! I muckle doubt, my Sire, 

Ye've trusted ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 

Wad better filPd their station 

Than courts yon day. 

VI. 

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, 
Her broken shins to plaister ; 



On these verses, the rhymes of the Ayr-shire bard must be al- 
lowed to form an odd enough commentary. — Chambers.] 

f [The poet alludes here to the immense curtailment of 
the British dominions, which took place only three years be- 
fore the writing of this poem, viz. at the close of the Ameri- 
can war, when, by the treaties of 1783, the independence of 
the thirteen United States was acknowledged, and the exten- 
sive territory of Louisiana, acquired by the treaty of 1763, 
was again restored to Spain.] 



A DREAM. 



255 



Your sair taxation does her fleece, 
Till she has scarce a tester ; 

For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 
Nae bargain wearing faster, 

Or, faith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, 
I shortly boost to pasture 

I' the craft some day. 



I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,* 

A name not envy spairges,) 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An' lessen a' your charges ; 
But, G-d-sake ! let nae saving-fit 

Abridge your bonnie barges f 
An' boats this day. 



Adieu, my Liege ! may freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may ye rax corruption's neck, 

And gi'e her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great birth-day. 



Hail, Majesty Most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple poet gi'es ye ? 
Thae bonnie bairntime, Heav'n has lent, 

Still higher may they heeze ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent, 

For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 



For you, young potentate o' Wales, 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly sairly, 
That e'er ye brak' Diana's pales, 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie, J 
By night or day. 



Yet aft a ragged cowte's been known 
To mak' a noble aiver ; 



* [Gait, gett, or gyte, a homely substitute for the word 
child in Scotland. Sir Walter Scott speaks somewhere of 
the gaits' class in the Edinburgh High School — namely, the 
class containing the youngest pupils. The above stanza is 
not the only testimony of admiration which Burns pays to 
the great Earl of Chatham.] 

t [On the supplies for the navy being voted, spring 1786, 
Captain Macbride counselled some changes in that force, 



So, ye may doucely rill a throne, 
For a' their clish-ma-claver : 

There, him at Agincourt § wha shone, 
Few better were or braver ; 

And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John, || 
He was an unco shaver 

For monie a day. 



For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg,1T 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a ribbon at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the keys o' Peter, 
Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth ! ye' 11 stain the mitre 
Some luckless day. 

XIII. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks,** I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious galley, tt stem an' stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter ; • 
But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymeneal charter, 
Then heave aboard your grapple aim, 

An', large upon her quarter 

Come full that day. 



Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', 

Ye royal lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, 

An' gie you lads a-plenty : 
But sneer na British boys awa', 

For kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German gentles are but sma', 

They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 

xv. 

God bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dautit ; 
But ere the course o' life be thro', 

It may be bitter sautit : 
An' I hae seen their coggie fu', 

That yet hae tarrow't at it ; 
But or the day was down, I trow, 

The laggen they hae clautit 

Fu' clean that day. 



[To the " Dream," the neglect shown by tne 
Government to the Poet has been imputed. No 
doubt it was otherwise than acceptable at 
court; Mrs. Dunlop and Mrs. Stewart of Stair 



particularly the giving up of 64-gun ships, which occasioned 
a good deal of discussion.] 

t [The Right Hon. Charles James Fox.] 

§ King Henry V.— R. B. 

|| Sir John Falstaff— vide Shakspeare.— R. B. 

% The Duke of York. 

** William IV., then Duke of Clarence. 

tt Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain Royal 
sailor's amour. — R. B. 



256 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



solicited, in vain, to have it omitted in the Edin- 
burgh edition. The suppression of the poem 
would have been of no benefit to the bard. 
The ear of his Majesty, like that of Pitt and 
Dundas, was not to be charmed by sweet sounds : 
he who mistook Pye for a poet was not likely 
to regard Burns as one. Nor were his ministers 
more merciful than their master to the tuneful 
and the inspired : interest and influence were 
every thing, and genius was as nothing. The 
merits of the " Dream" are of a high order — 
the gaiety as well as keenness of the satire, and 
the vehement rapidity of the verse, are not the 
only attractions. Even the prose introduction 
is sarcastic — the Poet, on reading the Laureate's 
ode, fell asleep — a likely consequence, for the 
birth-day strains of those times were something 
of the dullest. 

The poem seems prophetic ; the young po- 
tentate of Wales lived to rue that he had 
"broken Diana's pales, and rattled dice with 
Charlie ; " nor was the Bishop of Osnaburg 
long in getting a wife, as well as a ribbon to 
his lug, but this did not hinder him from going 
wrong in the very way intimated by the Poet. 
The hymeneal charter, which he proposes to 
the Royal Sailor, in the affair of the "glorious 
galley," or the early marriage which he recom- 
mends to the " bonnie blossoms — the royal lasses 
dainty " — might have been beneficial to Britain. 
The last verse of the poem seems to intimate 
the coming of some great change among the 
nations : had not the island spirit stood firm, a 
scattering, such as France and other kingdoms 
endured, might have taken place. 

Allan Cunningham. 



% SSarfc'a GBpftapIj. 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool ? 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song, 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 

That weekly this area throng ? 

O, pass not by ! 
Out, with a frater-feeling strong, 

Here, heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment cleai 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career 

Wild as the wave ? 
Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn, and wise to know, 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 



And softer flame, 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stain'd his name ! 

Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 



["Whom did the poet intend should be thought 
of as occupying that grave, over which, after 
modestly setting forth the moral discernment 
and warm affections of the i poor inhabitant ' it 
is supposed to be inscribed, that 

' Thoughtless follies laid him low 
And stain'd his name ? ' 

Who but himself — himself anticipating the too 
probable termination of his own course ? Here 
is a sincere and solemn avowal — a public decla- 
ration from his own will — a confession at once 
devout, poetical, and human — a history in the 
shape of a prophecy ! What more was required 
of the biographer than to have put his seal to 
the writing, testifying that the foreboding had 
been realized, and the record was authentic ! " 
Wordsworth.] 



A FRAGMENT. 



Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, 

That press the soul, or wring the mind with an- 

Beyond comparison, the worst are those [guish, 

That to our folly or our guilt we owe. 

In every other circumstance, the mind 

Has this to say — " It was no deed of mine ; " 

But when, to all the evil of misfortune, 

This sting is added — " Blame thy foolish self," 

Or, worser far, the pangs of keen remorse — 

The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt — 

Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others, 

The young, the innocent, who fondly lo'ed us, 

Nay, more — that very love their cause of ruin ! 

Oh, burning hell ! in all thy store of torments, 

There's not a keener lash ! 

Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 

Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 

Can reason down its agonizing throbs ; 

And, after proper purpose of amendment, 

Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace ? 

Oh, happy, happy, enviable man ! 

Oh, glorious magnanimity of soul ! 



[These lines occur in an early common-place- 
book of the poet, and probably relate to the 
consequences of his first serious error — his 
unfortunate liaison with the charming Jittette 



:HE TWA DOGS. 



257 



alluded to in the Life. They are preceded by 
the following remarks of the poet : — ] 

I entirely agree with that judicious philo- 
sopher Adam Smith, in his excellent Theory of 
Moral Sentiments, that remorse is the most 
painful sentiment that can embitter the human 
bosom. Any ordinary pitch of fortitude may 
bear up tolerably well under those calamities in 
the procurement of which we ourselves have 
had no hand ; but, when our own follies or 
crimes have made us miserable and wretched, 
to bear up with manly firmness, and at the 
same time have a proper penitential sense of 
our misconduct, is a glorious effort of self- 
command. 



A TALE. 

'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Aulcl King Coil,* 
Upon a bonnie day in June, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame, 
Forgather'd ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Ceesar, 
Was keepit for his honour's pleasure ; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 

His locked, letter' d, braw brass collar 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar ; 
But tho' he was o' high degree, 
The fient a pride — nae pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin', 
Even wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin'. 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stan 't, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 

A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, 

Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, 

And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 

After some dog in Highland sang,f 

Was made lang-syne — Lord knows how lang 

He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
Aye gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his towzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gaucie tail, wi' upward curl, 
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl. 



* [Kyle, or Coil, the native province of the poet, derives 
its name from Coilus, King of the Picts, alluded to in the 
Notes to the Vision.] 

t Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's Fingal.— R. B. 



Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff 7 d an' snowkit, 
Whyles mice an' moudieworts they howkit j 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' worry 'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down } 
And there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation. 



I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, an' a' his stents ; 
He rises when he likes himsel' ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonnie silken purse 
As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the steeks, 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan 
Wi'. sauce, ragouts, an' sic like trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our whipper-in, wee, blastit wonner 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner 
Better than ony tenant man 
His honour has in a' the Ian' ; 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
I own its past my comprehension. 



Trowth, Csesar, whyles they're fash't eneugb 

A cotter howkin' in a sheugh, 

Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dyke, 

Baring a quarry, an' sic like ; 

Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 

A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, 

An' nought but his han' darg, to" keep 

Them right an' tight in thack an' rape. 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
An' they maun starve o' cauld an' hunger : 
But, how it comes, I never kenmd yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented : 
An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 



: Var. — Till tir'd at last wi' mony a farce, 

They sat them down upon their . 

Till tir'd at last, an' doucer grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down. — MS. 



268 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



CJESAR. 

But then, to see how ye're negleckit, 
How huff'd, and cuff'd, a'\d disrespeckit ! 
L — d, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk 
As I wad by a stinkin' brock. 
I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's snash : 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, 
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble !'* 

I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches? 



They're no sae wretched's ane wad think ; 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' tho' fatigued wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side ; 
An' whyles twalpennnie worth o' nappy 
Can mak' the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage an' priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts ; 
Or tell what new taxation's comin', 
An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmas returns., 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns, 
When rural life, o' ev'ry station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins 
They bar the door on frosty win's ; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
And sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, 
Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
The cantie auld folks crackin' crouse, 
The young anes rantin' thro' the house, — 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them.f 



[* The factor was the person into whose hands the affairs of 
Buras's father fell, after his misfortunes. In his letter to 
Dr. Moore, written in 1787, the Poet says, " My indignation, 
yet boils at the recollection of the scoundrel factor's inso- 



Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont fo'k, 
Are riven out baith root and branch, 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle master, 
Wha aiblins, thrang a parliamentin', 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin' — 

CJESAR. 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; 

For Britain's guid ! guid faith ! I doubt it. 

Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, 

An' saying aye or no's they bid him : 

At operas an' plays parading, 

Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading ; 

Or may be, in a frolic daft, 

To Hague or Calais tak's a waft, 

To mak a tour, an' tak' a whirl, 

To learn bon ton, an' see the worl'. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 

Lie rives his father's auld entails ; 

Or by Madrid he takes the route, 

To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi' nowte ; 

Or down Italian vista startles, 

Wh-re-hunting amang groves o' myrtles , 

Then bouses drumly German water, 

To mak' himsel' look fair and fatter, 

An' clear the consequential sorrows, 

Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 

For Britain's guid ! — for her destruction I 

Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction ! 



Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ! 
Are we sae foughten an' harass' d 
For gear to gang that gate at last ! 

O would they stay aback frae Courts, 
An' please themsels wi' countra sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter I 
For thae frank, rantin', ramblin' billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows ; 
Except for breakin' o' their timmer, 
Or speakin' lightly o' their limmer, 
Or shootin' o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. 

But will ye tell me, Master Caesar, 
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure ? 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 

CESAR. 

L — d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 

lent threatening letters, which used to set us all in tears."] 

t [Many a hundred time have I seen this description veri* 
fied to the letter. — Etteick Shepherd.] 



THE TWA DOGS. 



259 



It's true they needna starve nor sweat, 
Thro' wind's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes. 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes : 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They mak enow themsels to vex them ; 
An' aye the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh, 
His acres till'd, he's right eneugh • 
A country girl at her wheel, 
Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel : 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy ; 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless ; 
An' e'en their sports, their balls an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places, 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party matches, 

Then sowther a' in deep debauches ; 

Ae night, they're mad wi' drink and wh-ring, 

Niest day their life is past enduring. 

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither. 
Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty : 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks 
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard. 
There's some exception, man an' woman ; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sigl.it, 
An' darker gloaming brought the night : 
The bum-clock humni'd wi' lazy drone ; 
The kye stood rowtin i' the loan : 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 
Rejoic'd they were na men, but dogs ; 
An' each took aff his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 

[In a letter to John Richmond, dated the 17th 
of February, 1786, Burns thus alludes to this 
highly descriptive poem : — " I have completed 
my poem on the Dogs, but have not shewn it 
to the world." Mr. Neil relates that, in a 
jaunt through the land of Burns, he met with 
Henry Cowan and Hugh his brother, who were 
early acquaintances of the Poet's family — mem- 
bers of the club, and remembered the discussion 
of the question regarding marriage, in which 
the young Poet spoke with great ardour and 
eloquence, and was successful. These brothers 



said they happened to be aiding Burns and his 
father with a load of wood at Coilsfield, when, 
in a field beside them, the Bard's collie and a 
collared Newfoundlander met and grew very 
social. Burns looked on them often, and smiled, 
yet said nothing: but when the poem was 
published, they knew to what period his 
thoughts had wandered.] 

[" The tale of the Twa Dogs was composed 
after the resolution of publishing was nearly 
taken. Robert had a dog, which he called 
Luath, that was a great favourite. The dog 
had been killed by the wanton cruelty of some 
person, the night before my father's death. 
Robert said to me that he should like to confer 
such immortality as he could bestow on his old 
friend Luath, and that he had a great mind to 
introduce something into the book under the 
title of ' Stanzas to the Memory of a Quadruped 
Friend :' but this plan was given up for the 
poem as it now stands. Caesar was merely the 
creature of the Poet's imagination, created for 
the purpose of holding chat with his favourite 
Luath." — Gilbert Burns.] 

[John Wilson, printer, Kilmarnock, on un- 
dertaking the first edition of the poems, sug- 
gested the propriety of placing a piece of a grave 
nature at the beginning, and Burns, acting on 
the hint, in walking home to Mossgiel, com- 
posed or completed the Twa Dogs.] 

" I know of no lines in verse that flow so 
purely from nature as the description of the 
' Twa Dogs.' That of the Newfoundland dog 
is altogether inimitable. One may copy some 
traits of nature pretty closely, but it is impossi- 
ble to copy Burns. This tale was written off 
hand, just as the Kilmarnock edition of the 
poems was going to the press. Luath was a 
real character, and the bard's own dog. He is 
likewise a good-hearted sagacious tyke, and the 
characters are all along well kept up. In how 
different a shape Burns shows his affection for a 
faithful and beloved dog compared with Byron." 
— Ettrick Shepherd. 

" The Poems of observation on life and cha- 
racters are the ' Twa Dogs' and the various 
Epistles, all of which show very extraordinary 
sagacity and powers of expression." — Jeffrey. 

" His 'Twa Dogs' is a very spirited piece of 
description, both as it respects the animal and 
human creation, and gives a very vivid idea of 
the manners both of high and low life. The 
burlesque panegyric of his first dog, 

' His locked, letter' d, braw brass collar, 
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar :" 

reminds one of Launce's account of his dog 
Crabbe, where he is said, as an instance of his 
being in the way of promotion, ' to have got 
among three or four gentleman-like dogs under 
the duke's table.' " — Hazlitt. 

11 The humour of Burns is of a richer vein 
than those of Ramsay or Fergusson, both of 

s 2 



260 



THE POEMS OF BURNS 



whom, as he himself informs us, he had ' fre- 
quently in his eye, but rather with a view to 
kindle at their flame than to servile imitation/ 
His descriptive poems, whether the objects on 
which they are employed be comic or serious, 
animate or inanimate, are of the highest order. 
A superiority of this kind is essential to every 
species of poetical excellence. In one of his 
earlier poems his plan seems to be to inculcate a 
lesson of contentment on the lower classes of 
society, by showing that their superiors are nei- 
ther much better nor happier than themselves ; 
and this he chooses to execute in the form of a 
dialogue between two dogs. He introduces 
this dialogue by an account of the persons and 
characters of the speakers. The first, whom 
he had named Ccesar, is a dog of condition : high 
bred though he is, he is, however, full of condes- 
cension : the other, Luath, is l a ploughman's 
collie ;' but a cur of a good heart and a sound 
understanding. Never were ; Twa dogs' so 
exquisitely delineated. Their gambols, before 
they sit down to moralise, are described with an 
equal degree of happiness ; and through the 
whole dialogue, the character, as well as the 
different condition, of the two speakers, is kept 
in view. The dogs of Burns, excepting in their 
talent for moralization, are downright dogs ; 
and not like the horses of Swift, or the hind 
and panther of Dryden, men in the shape of 
brutes. It is this circumstance that heightens 
the humour of the dialogue. The ' twa dogs' 
are constantly kept before our eyes, and the 
contrast between their form and character as 
dogs, and the sagacity of their conversation, 
heighten the humour and deepen the impression 
of the poet's satire. Though in this poem the 
chief excellence may be considered as humour, 
yet great talents are displayed in its composi- 
tion ; the happiest powers of description, and 
the deepest insight into the human heart." — 
Currie. 

«$, . 

Co $c (fcfol. 
i. 

Sab bird of night, what sorrows call thee forth, 

To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour? 
Is it some blast that gathers in the north, 

Threat'ning to nip the verdure of thy bow'r ? 
ii. 
Is it, sad owl, that Autumn strips the shade, 

And leaves thee here, unshelter'd & forlorn ? 
Or fear that Winter will thy nest invade ? 

Or friendless melancholy bids thee mourn ?* 

ill. 

Shut out, lone bird, from all the feather'd train, 

To tell thy sorrows to th' unheeding gloom ; 
No friend to pity when thou dost complain, 

Grief all thy thought, and solitude thy home. 



* In another version, also in the poet's hand-writing, it io 
thus rendered : 

Or is it solitude that bids thee mourn? 



Sing on, sad mourner ! I will bless thy strain, 

And pleas'd in sorrow listen to thy song : 
Sing on, sad mourner ; to the night complain, 

While the lone echo wafts thy notes along. 

v. 

Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek 

Sad, piteous tears, in native sorrows fall ? 
Less kind the heart when anguish bids it break? 

Less happy he who lists to pity's call? 

VI. 

Ah no, sad owl ! nor is thy voice less sweet, 
That sadness tunes it, and that grief is there ; 

That spring's gay notes, unskilFd, thou eans't 
repeat ; 
That sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair. 

VII. 

Nor that the treble songsters of the day [thee ; 

Are quite estrang'd, sad bird of night ! from 
Nor that the thrush deserts the ev'ning spray, 

When darkness calls thee from thy reverie. 

VIII. 

From some old tow'r, thy melancholy dome, 
While the grey walls, and desert solitudes, 

Eeturn each note, responsive to the gloom 
Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods. 

IX. 

There hooting, I will list more pleas'd to thee 
Than ever lover to the nightingale ; 

Or drooping wretch, oppress 'd with misery, 
Lending his ear to some condoling tale. 

[" Burns sometimes wrote poems in the old 
ballad style, which he gave to the world as 
songs of the olden time. That famous soldier's 
song first printed in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, 
beginning — 

' Go fetch to me a pint of wine, 
And fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink, before I go, 
A service to my bonnie lassie,' 

has been pronounced, by some of our best 
living poets, an inimitable relique of some 
ancient minstrel ! Yet it was the actual pro- 
duction of Burns himself. The ballad of Auld 
lang Syne was also introduced in this ambigu- 
ous manner, though there exist proofs that the 
two best stanzas are undisputably his. Hence 
there are strong grounds for believing this poem 
also to be his production, although the name of 
John M i Creddie is stated as the author. It is 
in every way worthy of Burns's muse ; altho' 
more in the style of Gray or Collins. It was 
found among his MS. in his own hand-writing, 
with occasional interlineations, such as occur 
in all his primitive effusions. Should there, 
however, be a real author of that name (John 
M'Creddie), which is extremely doubtful, he 
will not be displeased at the publication of his 
poem, when he recollects that it had obtained 
the notice of Burns, and had undergone his 
corrections."- — Cromek.] 

A period of more than five and twenty years 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 



2<3i 



having elapsed since Cromek penned the above 
note, and no one having claimed this beautiful 
poem, it may now go down to posterity as one 
of the choicest gems of the immortal Rard. 



8fofcv*S$ to Cfttnluirglj. 
i. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 
ii. 
Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy Trade his labour plies ! 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod ; 
There Learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode, 
in. 
Thy sons, Edina ! social, kind, 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 

Or modest merit's silent claim ; 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

IV. 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, 

Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
I see the Sire of Love on high, 

And own his work indeed divine !* 
v. 
There, watching high the least alarms, 

Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar ; 

* ["It maybe curious to learn what was thought of this 
lovely woman by a man of a very different sort from Burns — 
namely, Hugh Chisholm, one of the seven " broken men" 
who had protected Prince Charles Stuart, in 1/46, in their 
cave in Inverness-shire for several weeks, during his hidings, 
resisting the temptation of thirty thousand pounds to give 
him up. This man, when far advanced in life, was brought 
on a visit to Edinburgh, where it was remarked he would 
never allow any one to shake his right hand, that member 
having been rendered sacred, in his estimation, by the grasp 
of the Prince. Being taken to sup at Lord Monboddo's, old 
Hugh sat most of the time gazing abstractedly on Miss Bur- 
net, and being asked afterwards what he thought of her, he 
exclaimed, in a burst of his eloquent native tongue, which 
can be but poorly rendered in English — ' She is the finest 
creature I ever beheld.' Yet an enviously minute inquirer, 
In the letter-press accompanying the reprint of Kay's Edin- 
burgh Portraits, states that she had one blemish, though 
one not apt to be observed — bad teeth ! She died at Braid 
Farm, near Edinburgh in 1/90, of consumption, at the age 
of twenty-five, and the poet, who could never forget so admir- 
able a creature as Miss Burnet, testified the depth of his 



Like some bold vet'ran, grey in arms, 
And mark'd with many a seamy scar : 

The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, 

Have oft withstood assailing war, 
And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. 

VI. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes ! had their royal home : 
Alas, how chang'd the times to come ! 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! 

Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just ! 

VII. 

Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply, my sires have left their shed, 
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, 

Bold-following where your fathers led ! 

VIII. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'ed flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling' ring: Lours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

" I enclose you two poems," says the Foe! 
to William Chalmers, "which I have carded and 
spun since I passed Glenbuck. One blank in the 
Address to Edinburgh, ' Fair B — ,' is the heavenly 
Miss Burnet, daughter of Lord Monboddo, at 
whose house I have had the honour to be more 
than once. There has not been any thing 
nearly like her in all the combinations of beauty, 
grace, and goodness, the great Creator has 
formed, since Milton's Eve on the first day of 
her existence ! " She will be again alluded to 
in a note to the Elegy on her death. 



feelings on the occasion by writing an elegy to her memory." 
— Chambers.] 

["Miss Burnet," says an eloquent contemporary, "was 
endowed with all her father's benevolence of temper, and 
with all his taste for elegant literature, without his whim or 
caprice. It was her chief delight to be the nurse and com- 
panion of his declining years. She was the young lady alluded 
to in one of the papers of the Mirror, as having rejected the 
most flattering and advantageous opportunities of settlement 
in marriage, that she might amuse a father's loneliness, 
nurse the sickly infirmities of his age, and cheer him with all 
the tender cares of filial affection. Her presence contributed 
to draw around him, in his house, all that was truly respect- 
able among the youth of his country. She delighted in 
literary conversation, in poetry, and in the fine arts, without 
contracting from this taste any of that pedantic self-conceit 
and affectation which usually charac-terise literary ladies." 
This lovely apparition was truly 

- sent 



To be a moment's ornament.] 



262 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



[The appropriateness of the opening of this 
poem to the striking features of the Scottish 
capital, as seen from a little distance, must be 
generally acknowledged. The poem was written 
immediately after the Poet's arrival in that city. 

The following striking lines on the same 
splendid scene occur in Marmion : — ■ 

" When sated with the martial show 
That peopl'd all the plain below, 
The wandering eye could o'er it go, 
And mark the distant city glow 

With gloomy splendour red : 
For on the smoke-wreaths huge and slow, 
That round her sable turrets flow, 

The morning beams were shed, 
And ting'd them with a lustre proud 
Like that which streaks a thunder cloud. 
Snch dusky grandeur clotli'd the height 
Where the huge castle holds its state, 

And all the steep slope down, 
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 
Pil'd deep and massy, close and high — 

Mine own romantic town ! 
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw, 
Here Preston bay and Berwick law, 

And broad between them roll'd 
The gallant Firth the eye might note, 
Whose islands on its blosom float 

Like emeralds chas'din gold." 

Sir Walter Scott.] 



LINES 

ON 

fHcctmg imtl) Eovtr 25acr.* 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day ! 
Sae far I sprachl'd f up the brae, 

I dinner' d wi' a Lord. 

I've been at drucken writers' J feasts, 
Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests ; 

(Wi' rev'rence be it spoken !) 
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum, 
When mighty Squireships o' the quorum, 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi' a Lord ! — stand out, my shin ! 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son! — 

Up higher yet, my bonnet ! 
An' sic a Lord ! — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a', 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

* Basil, Lord Daer, son and heir apparent of Duabar, 
fourth of Selkirk, died too soon for his country. He had 
enterprise, talents, and taste, and those winning manners 
which make their way to all hearts. His name was always 
pronounced by Dugald Stewart with affection. "The first 
time I saw Robert Burns," says that eloquent writer, "was on 
the 23rd of October, 1/86, when he dined at my house in 
Ayr-shire. My excellent and much lamented friend, the late 
Basil Lord Daer, happened to arrive at Catrine the same day, 
and, by the kindness and frankness of his manners, left an 
impression on the mind of the Poet which never was effaced. 
The verses which the Poet wrote on the occasion are among 



But, oh ! for Hogarth's magic pow'r ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r,§ 

An' how he star'd and stammer'd ! 
When goavan,|| as if led wi' branks,^ 7 
An' stumpan on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlour hammer' d, 

To meet good Stuart little pain is, 
Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes, 

Thinks I, they are but men ! 
But Burns, my Lord — guid G-d ! I doited ! W 
My knees on ane anither knoited,ft 

As faultering I gaed ben ! H 

I sidling shelter'd in a neuk, 
An' at his lordship steal't a look, 

Like some portentous omen ; 
Except good sense an' social glee, 
An' (what surpris'd me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch' d the symptoms o' the great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state, 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Then from his Lordship I shall learn 
Henceforth to meet, with unconcern, 

One rank as weel's another ; 
Nae honest, worthy man need care, 
To meet wi' noble, youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 



I In a letter to Dr. Mackenzie, the Poet him- 
self says of these verses, " They were really 
extempore, but a, little corrected since. They 
may entertain } r ou a little, with the help of that 
partiality with which you are so good as to 
favour my performances." Burns has described, 
with infinite humour, the emotions which he felt 
on finding himself for the first time in the pre- 
sence of a lord. His " watching the symptoms 
of the great," is one of his sharp touches. 

" These lines," says Dr. Currie, " will be 
read with no common interest by all who re- 
member his Lordship's unaffected simplicity of 
appearance ; his sweetness of countenance and 
manners, and the unsuspecting benevolence of 
his heart." This young nobleman, at the time 
when he met Burns, had just returned from 



the most imperfect of his pieces ; but a few stanzas may, 
perhaps, be an object of curiosity, both on account of the 
character to which they relate, and of the light which they 
throw on the situation and feelings of the writer before his 
name was known to the public." 

t Clambered. J Attorneys'. 

§ Frightened stare. Wild, strange, timid stare. 

|| Walking stupidly. Looking round with a strange inquire 
ing gaze. ^f A kind of bridle. 

** [This stanza was left out by Dr. Currie, no doubt by 
desire of the learned Professor.] 

tt Knocked together. Jf. Was stupified. 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. 



263 



France, where he imbibed the principles which 
led to the Revolution in that country. He after- 
wards acquired notoriety as a Friend of the 
people, and died, November 5th, 1794, at the 
age of thirty-one.] 



EPISTLE 
Co piajov ^ocjan.* 

Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie ! 
Though fortune's road be rough an' hilly 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie, 

We never heed, 
But tak' it like the unback'd filly, 

Proud o' her speed. 

When idly goavan whyles we saunter 
Yirr, fancy barks, awa' we canter, 
Uphill, down brae, till some mischanter, 

Some black bog-hole, 
Arrests us, then the scathe an' banter, 

We're forc'd to thole. 

Hale be your heart ! hale be your fiddle ! 
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, 
To cheer you through the weary widdle 

O' this wild warl', 
Until you on a cummock driddle 

A grey-hair'd carl. 

Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon, 
Heav'n send your heart-strings aye in tune, 
And screw your temper-pins aboon, 

A fifth or mair, 
The melancholious, lazie croon 

O' cankrie care ! 

May still your life from day to day 
Nae ' lente largo ' in the play, 
But ' allegretto forte ' gay 

Harmonious flow : 
A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey — 

Encore ! Bravo ! 

A* blessin's on the cheery gang, 
W ha dearly like a jig or sang, 
An' never think o' right an' wrang 

By square an' rule, 
But as the clegs o' feeling stang 

Are wise or fool ! 

My hand-wal'd curse keep hard in chase 
The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race, 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 



* [Major Logan, a retired military officer, lived at Park- 
house, near Ayr, with his mother and sister — the latter, the 
Miss Logan to whom the Poet addressed some verses, ac- 
companied with a copy of Beattie's Poems. The major was 
not only a first-rate performer on the violin, but a pleasant 
companion and not a little of a wit. He was a great favour- 
ite with the celebrated Neil Gow, who entertained a high 
opinion of his musical skill. He is still remembered in Ayr- 
shire for his wit and humour — of which two specimens may 
be given. On being asked by an Ayr hostess if he would 
have water to the glass of spiritG she was bringing to him on 
bis order, he said, with a grin, " ^io, I would rather you took 



Their tuneless hearts ! 
May fireside discords jar a base 

To a' their parts ! 

But come — your hand, my careless brither — 
I' th' ither warl', if there's anither — 
An' that there is, I've little swither 

About the matter , 
We cheek for chow shall jog thegither, 

I'se ne'er bid better. 

We've faults and failings — granted clearly, 

We 're frail backsliding mortals merely, 

Eve's bonny squad, priests wyte them sheerly, 

For our grand fa' ; 
But still — but still — I like them dearly — 

God bless them a' ! 

Ochon ! for poor Castalian drinkers, 
When they la' foul o' earthly jinkers, 
The witching, curs' d, delicious blinkers 

Hae put me hyte, 
And gart me weet my waukrife winkers, 

Wi' girnan spite. 

But by yon moon ! — and that's high swearin' — 
An' every star within my hearin' ! 
An' by her een wha was a dear ane ! f 

I'll ne'er forget; 
I hope to gie the jads a clearin' 

In fair play yet. 

My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 
I'll seek my pursie whare I tint it, 
Ance to the Indies I were wonted, 

Some cantraip hour, 
By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted, 

Then, vive V amour I 

Faites mes baissemains respectueuse 

To sentimental sister Susie, 

An' honest Lucky ; no to roose ye, 

Ye may be proud, 
That sic a couple fate allows ye 

To grace your blood. 

Nae mair at present can I measure, 

An' trowth my rhymin' ware's nae treasure ; 

But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure, 

Be't light, be't dark, 
Sir Bard will do himsel' the pleasure 

To call at Park. 

Robert Burns, 

Mossgiel, Oct. 30th, 1786. 



the water out o't !" On his death-bed he was visited by Mr. 
Cuthill, one of the ministers of Ayr, who remarked that it 
would take fortitude to support such sufferings as he was 
visited with ; " Ay," said the wit, " it would take fiftitude !" 
The above Epistle was written shortly after the Poet had 
abandoned all idea of going to the West Indies. The origi- 
nal MS. was discovered in 1828, by Mrs. M'Kenzie, (late 
Miss Logan) in a drawer of an old cabinet, after her brother's 
death, where, in all probability it may have lain for the last 
forty years.] 

t The Poet here alludes to the unfortunate termination of 
his courtship with Jean Armour. 



264 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



INSCRIBED '. 



A POEM, 

fO JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ., AYR. 



The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, 
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 
Hailing the setting jun, sweet, in the green- 
thorn bush ; 
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 
Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild- whistling o'er 

the hill ; 
Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed, 
To hardy independence bravely bred, 
By early poverty to hardship steel' d, 
And train'd to arms in stern misfortune's field — 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating prose ? 
No ! tho' his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward ! 
Still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
SkilPd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 
When Ballantyne befriends his humble name, 
And hands the rustic stranger up to fame, 
With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells, 
The god-like bliss, to give, alone excels. 



•-toils, "\ 
s| spoils, f 
e waxen I 



'Twas when the stacks get on their winter- 
hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil- won crap ; 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
O' coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer-toils, 
Unnumber'dbuds, an' flow'rs' delicious! 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive 

piles, 

Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstone reek: 
The thund'ring guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 



* Ayr was one of the military stations of Edward I., and 
(he place where the hero Wallace first displayed his courage 
and strength. It became a royal burgh as early as 1202. The 
"Auld Brig" was erected in the reign of Alexander III. The 
"New Brig" stands about a hundred yards below the old 
one, and was chiefly raised by the patriotic exertions of Mr. 
Ballantyne, to whom the poem is inscribed. This gentleman 
was a bountiful friend of the poet, and offered to advance the 
money necessary for printiug his poems, at a time when the 
gloom of his fortunes was at the deepest — a proposal eventu- 
ally rendered unnecessary by the warm reception Burns met 
with in Edinburgh. Ayr gav- birth to the accomplished Count 
Hamilton, author of the " Memoirs of Grammont." It was 
the residence, too, of the heroic Wallaces of Craigie, and 
here Cromwell constructed a fort between the town and the 
sea, " to keep the West in awe." 

[The variations and additions (the latter now for the first 
time restored to the text), are taken from a MS. conv, in the 



(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs, 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
Except, perhaps, the robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree : 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days, -\ 
Mild, calm, serene, wide-spreads the noon-tide f 
blaze, [the rays, t 

While thick the gossamer waves wanton in ) 

'Twas in that season, when a simple bard, 
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 
Ae night, within the ancient burgh of Ayr, 
By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care, 
He left his bed, and took his wayward route, 
And down by Simpson's % wheel' d" the left about : 
(Whether impel? d by all-directing Fate, 
To witness what I after shall narrate ; 
[Or penitential pangs for former sins, 
Led him to rove by quondam Merran Dins ; §] 
Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 
He wander' d out, || he knew not where nor why) 
The drowsy Dungeon'ff clock**had number'd two, 
And Wallace tow'rft had sworn the fact was true : 
The tide-swoll'n Firth, wi' sullen sounding roar, 
Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the 

shore. 
All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e : 
The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : 
The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
Crept, gently - crusting, o'er the glittering 

stream. — 

When, lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings he heard ;f| 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the gos§§ drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry' d 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk 5 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain 

them, 
And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appear'd o' ancient Pictish race, 
The very wrinkles Gothic in his face : 



poet's own hand. For these we are indebted to the new 
edition of Burns' Poems, in 3 vols, published by Mr. Picker- 
ing.] 

f Var. — " Flowerets nect'rine." — MS. 

X A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end. — R. B. 

§ These lines are now restored from the original MS. 

|| Var.— " Forth."— MS. 

% " Steeple."— MS. 

** A clock in a steeple connected with the old jail of Ayr. 
This steeple and its clock were removed some years ago. 

ft The clock in the Wallace Tower — an anomalous piece of 
antique masonry, surmounted by a spire, which stood in the 
High-street of Ayr. It was removed some years ago, and 
replaced by a more elegant tower, which bears its name. 

XX Var. — "When, lo ! Before our Bardie's wond'ring een, 
The Brigs of Ayr's twa sprites are seen." — MS, 

§§ The gos-hawk, or falcon, — JJ.. B. 



=^@ 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 



235 



He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 
Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 
New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, 
That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams, got ; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious 

search, 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch ; — 
It chahc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
He, down the water, gies him this guid e'en : — 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na', frien', ye'll think ye 're nae 
sheepshank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre frae banic to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith, that date I doubt ye'll never see ; 
There '11 be, if that day come, I'll wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense, 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street, 
W here twa wheel-barrows tremble when they 

meet — * 
Your ruin'd, formless balk o' stane an' lime, 
Compare wi' bonnie brigs o' modern time ? 
There's men o' taste wou'd tak the Ducat- 
stream, f 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim, 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
0' sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! pufPd up wi' windy pride ! — 
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 
I'll be a brig, when ye 're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
When heavy, dark, continu'd, a'-day rains, 
Wi' deep'ning deluges o'erflow the plains ; 
When from the hills where springs the brawling 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, [Coil, 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland 

course, 
Or haunted Garpal J draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, 
In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; 



* Vas. — These two lines were not in the original MS., 
but were afterwards added. The next line stands thus : 
" Will your auld formless bulk o' stane an' lime. " 

t A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. — R. B. 

t The banks of Garpal Water — one of the few places in 
the West of Scotland, where those faney-scaring beings, 



And from Glenbuck, § down to the Ratton-key,|| 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd tumbling sea — 
Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, [skies. 
That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say o't ! 
The L — d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't ! 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices ; 
O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves ; 
Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture drest, 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free, 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace ; 
Or cuifs of later times wha held the notion 
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection ! 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resur- 
rection ! 

AULD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-remember'd ancient yealings, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 
Ye worthy Proveses, and mony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay 
Ye dainty Deacons and ye douce Conveeners, 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ! 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly brethren o' the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters ; 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly 

Writers ; 
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo. 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation. 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And, agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degen'rate race !H 
Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid 
Nae langer thrifty citizens an' douse, [story ! 
Meet owre a pint, or in the council-house ; 
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; ** 
Men, three parts made by tailors and by barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d — d new 

Brigs and Harbours ! 



known by the name of Ghaists, still continue pertinaciously 
to inhabit. — R. B. 

§ The source of the river Ayr.— R. B. 

j| A small landing-place above the large key. — R. B. 

5f Var.— These two lines are omitted in the MS. copy. 

** Var.— O' their.— MS. 



266 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



NEW BRIG. 

Now haud you there! for faith ye've said 

enough, 
And muckle mair than ye can mak to through, 
[That's ay a string auld doyted Grey-beards 

harp on, 
A topic for their peevishness to carp on.]* 
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 
But, under favour o' your langer beard, 
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd : 
To liken them to your auld-warld squad, f 
I must needs say, comparisons are odd. J 
In Ayr, wag- wits nae man* can have a handle 
To mouth ' a citizen/ a term o' scandal ; 
Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; § 
[No difference but bulkiest or tallest, 
With comfortable Dulness in for ballast ; 
Nor shoals nor currents need a Pilot's caution, 
For regularly slow, they only witness motion.] || 
Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops an' 

raisins, 
Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins, 
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
Had shor'd them wi' a glimmer of his lamp, 
And would to Common-sense for once betray'd 

them, 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, 
No man can tell ; but all before their sight, 
A fairy train appear' d in order bright: 
Adown the glitt'ring stream they featly danc'd ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses gianc'd : 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet • 
While arts of minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung. — 
O had M'Lauchlan,H thairm-inspiring Sage, 
Been there to hear this heav'nly band engage, 
When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with 

Highland rage • 
Or when they struck** old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, 
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch 

inspir'd ! 
No guess could tell what instrument appear' d, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, [heart. 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the 

The genius of the stream in front appears, 
A venerable Chief ad vane' d in years ; 



* These two additional lines are now restored to the text 
from the original MS. 

t Var.— Bodies. X Var.— Odious. 

§ Vae. — Nae mair down street the Council quorum waddles, 
With wigs like mainsails on their logger noddles. 

II These four lines are now restored from the original MS. 

% A well-known performer of Scottish music on the 
violin. — R. B. 



His hoary head with water-lilies crown' d, 
His manly leg with garter-tangle bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring; 
Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural 
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : [Joy, 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, 
Led yellow Autumn, wreath' d with nodding corn; 
Then Winter's time - bleach' d locks did hoary 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow. [show, 
Next follow' d Courage, with his martial stride, 
From where the Fealft wild-woody coverts hide ; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair :|J 
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode : §§ 
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath [wreath, 
The broken, iron instruments of death ; 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kind- 
ling wrath. 



[ • ' The Poet composed this poem in Edinburgh 
for the second Edition of his works. The idea 
was taken from Fergusson's ' Plane Stanes and 
Causeway.' In the dialogue between the 
' Brigs of Ayr,' Burns himself is the auditor. 
The Poet, ' pressed by care,' or ' inspired by 
whim,' had left his bed in the town of Ayr, and 
wandered out alone in the darkness and solitude 
of a winter night, to the mouth of the river, 
where the stillness was interrupted only by the 
rushing sound of the influx of the tide. It was 
after midnight. The Dungeon -clock had 
struck two, and the sound had been repeated 
by Wallace-tower. All else was hushed. The 
moon shone brightly, and 

' The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream.' 

In this situation, the listening bard hears the 
' clanging sugh,' of wings moving through the 
air, and speedily he perceives two beings, reared, 
the one on the Old, the other on the New, Bridge, 
whose form and attire he describes, and whose 
conversation with each other he rehearses. 
These genii enter into a comparison of the re- 
spective edifices over which they preside, and 
afterwards, as is usual between the old and young, 
compare modern characters and manners with 
those of past times. They differ, as may be 
expected, and taunt and scold each other in 
broad Scotch. This humourous conversation 
may be considered as the proper business of the 
poem. Although irregular and imperfect, it 



** Var.— Touch'd.— M.S. 

ft [The Poet here alludes to Captain Montgomery of Coils- 
field — soger Hugh — afterwards twelfth Earl of Eglintoun, 
whose seat of Coilsfield is situated on the Feal, or Faile, a 
tributary stream of the Ayr.] 

XX [A compliment to his early patroness, Mrs. Stewart, of 
Stair.] 

$$ [A well-merited tribute to Professor Dugald Stewart.] 



ELEGY ON ROBERT DUNDAS, ETC. 



267 



displays various and powerful talents, and may 
serve to illustrate the genius of Burns." — 
Currie.1 



Vsx&t& to an oVu J^focctljcart, 

AFTER HER MARRIAGE. 

WRITTEN 

ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS, 

PRESENTED TO THE LADY. 

Once fondly lov'd, and still remember 'd dear ; 

Sweet early object of my youthful vows ! 
Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,— 

Friendship ! 'tis all cold duty now allows. 

And when you read the simple, artless rhymes, 
One friendly sigh for him — he asks no more, — 

Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. 



The name of the lady to whom these verses 
were given has not been mentioned. Burns, it 
is evident, had at that time no better prospect 
before him than emigration to the West Indies. 
His prose and verse of the year 1786 are filled 
with allusions to that reluctant step 



ELEGY 



Clje Beatt) of 3£toim-t 23unte, iSs'ij. 

OF ARNISTON,* 

LATE LORD PRESIDENT OF THE COURT OF SESSION. 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 
Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering 

rocks ; 
Down foam the rivulets, red with dashing rains ; 
The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains ; 
Beneath the blast the leafless forests groan ; 
The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, 
Ye howling winds, and wintry-swelling waves ! 
Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye, 
Sad, to your sympathetic scenes I fly ; 
Where, to the whistling blast and waters' roar 
Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. 

O heavy loss, thy country ill could bear ! 
A loss these evil days can ne'er repair ! 
Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 
Her doubtful balance ey'd, and sway'd her rod; 
She heard the tidings of the fatal blow, 
And sunk, abandon'd to the wildest woe. 



* Elder brother to Viscount Melville, born 1713, appointed 
president in 1760, and died Dec. 13, 1787, after* a short 
illness. 



Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den, 
Now gay in hope explore the paths of men : 
See, from his cavern, grim Oppression rise, 
And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes ; 
Keen on the helpless victim see him fty, 
And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry : 

Mark ruflian Violence, distained with crimes, 
Rousing elate in these degenerate times ; 
View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 
As guileful Fraud points out the erring way : 
While subtile Litigation's pliant tongue 
The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong : 
Hark ! injur' d Want recounts th' unlisten'd tale, 
And much-wrong' d Mis'ry pours th' unpitied 
wail ! 

Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains, 
To you I sing my grief-inspired strains : 
Ye tempests, rage ! ye turbid torrents, roll ! 
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 
Life's social haunts and pleasures 1 rasign, 
Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mine, 
To mourn the woes my countiy must endure, 
That wound degenerate ages cannot cure. 



How this poem was welcomed, and what the 
Poet felt in consequence, he has written with 
his own hand under the copy of the poem 
which he gave to Dr. Gedcles: — 

" The foregoing Elegy has some tolerable lines 
in it, but the incurable wound of my pride will 
not suffer me to correct, or even peruse, it. I 
sent a copy of it, with my best prose letter, to 
the son of the great man, the theme of the 
piece, by the hands of one of the noblest men in 
God's world, Alexander Wood, surgeon. When, 
behold ! his solicitorship took no more notice 
of my poem or me than I had been a strolling 
fiddler, who had made free with his lady's name 
over a silly new reel ! Did the gentleman 
imagine that I looked for any dirty gratuity ?" 
— Burns. 



ON READING IN A NEWSPAPER 

BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OB 
THE AUTHOR. 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 
The morning rose may blow ; 

But, cold successive noontide blasts 
May lay its beauties low. 



+ Var. — Brother to Miss Isabella M'Leod, a particular 
acquaintance of the author. — Burns's MS. 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Fair on Isabella's morn 
The sun propitious smil'd ; 

But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 
Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords 

That nature finest strung : 
So Isabella's heart was form'd, 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Were it in the poet's power, 
Strong as he shares the grief 

That pierces Isabella's heart, 
To give that heart relief ! 

Dread Omnipotence, alone, 
Can heal the wound He gave ; 

Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes 
To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 
And fear no with'ring blast ; 

There Isabella's spotless worth 
Shall happy be at last. 



[The family of the M'Leods having suffered 
much from misfortune, Burns was deeply im- 
pressed with the bereavements they had in a 
short space of time endured. That he sympa- 
thised much in such distresses his works suffi- 
ciently show : some of his noblest poems — such 
as the Elegy on Matthew Henderson, were 
composed on occasions of domestic mourning. 

The fifth verse has been restored from the 
Poet's manuscript.] 



Co Mi$$ Hogan, 

WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS AS A NEW 

YEA It's GIFT. 

Jan. 1, 1787. 

Again the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driv'n, 

And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, 
Are so much nearer Heav'n. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts, 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 
Is charg'd, perhaps, too true ; 

But may, dear maid, each lover prove 
An Edwin still to you ! 



[Miss Susan Logan, the lady to whom Burns 
presented the poems of Beattie, inscribed with 

* This poem is inserted by Dr. Currie among the Songs of 
Burns, and headed A Fragment. Tune— Gillicrankie. 

[|The English Parliament having imposed an excise duty 
upon tea imported into North America, the East India Corn- 



these elegant lines, was the " Sentimental Sistei 
Susie " of the Epistle to Major Logan. She 
lived at Park-house, and sometimes at Camlarg ; 
sang with taste and feeling, and, with her bro- 
ther, helped to cheer the Bard in many of his 
desponding hours.] 

. & 

€1> mmvicmx TOar. 

A FRAGMENT.* 
I. 

When Guilford good our pilot stood, 

And did our helm thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskin'-pat, 

And in the sea did jaw,f man ; 
An' did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our la\v, man. 
II. 
Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ! 
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn, 

And Carleton did ca', man : 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery-like did fa', man : 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man . 
in. 
Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage, 

Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 

For Philadelphia, man ; 
Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 

Guid Christian bluid to draw, man ; 
But at New- York, wi' knife an' fork, 

Sir-loin he hacked sma', man. 

IV. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, 

Till Eraser brave did fa', man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saragota shaw, man. 
Cornwallis fought as long's he dough t, 

An' did the buckskins claw, man ; 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, 

He hung it to the wa', man. 
v. 
Then Montague, and Guilford too, 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure, 

The German chief to thraw, man ; 
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, 

An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man. 

VI. 

Then Rockingham took up the game, 
Till death did on him ca', man ; 



pany sent several ships laden with that article to Boston ; 
but, on their arrival, the natives went on board by force of 
arms, and emptied all the tea into the ocean.] 



THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 



When Shelburne meek held up his cheek, 

Conform to gospel law, man ; 
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, 

They did his measures throw, man, 
For North an' Fox united stocks, 

An' bore him to the wa', man. 

VII. 

Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes, 

He swept the stakes awa', man, 
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race, 

Led him a stir faux pas, man ; 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 

1 Up, Willie, waur them a', man ! ' 

VIII. 

Behind the throne then Grenville's gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
While slee Dundas arous'd the class, 

Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heav'nly graith, 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man;) 
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd l Willie, rise ! 

' Would I hae fear'd them a', man ! ' 

IX. 

But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co., 

Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man, 
Till Suthrons raise, an' coost their claise 

Behind him in a raw, man ; 
An' Caledon threw by the drone, 

An' did her whittle draw, man ; 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' bluid 

To make it guid in law, man. 



[" The page of Burns," says Campbell, ''con- 
tains a lively image of contemporary life, and 
the country from which he sprung." Dr. Blair 
remarked of this poem, " Burns's politics always 
smell of the smithy." To understand this allu- 
sion the reader would require to be acquainted 
with the scene which a country smithy presents, 

" When ploughmen gather wi' their graith," 

and ale, politics, and parish scandal are all alike 
carefully discussed. The allusions in this frag- 
ment will be generally understood. The verses 
are curious for the lively idea they convey of 
the direct and familiar manner in which high 
military and political matters are considered 
amongst the peasantry.] 

. «£ . 

€fy 23ean of tfacultv. 

A NEW BALLAD. 

Tune. — " The Dragon of Wantley." 

I. 

Dihb was the hate at old Harlaw, 

That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
And dire the discord Langside saw, 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 



* The Hen. Henry Erskine. 

t Robert Dundas, Esq. Arniston. 



But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, 

Or were more in fury seen, Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal* and Bob f for the famous job — 

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir. — 
ii. 
This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, 

Among the first was numbered ; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, 

Commandment tenth remember'd. — 
Yet simple Bob the victory got, 

And won his heart's desire ; 
Which shews that heaven can boil the pot, 

Though the devil — in the fire. — 
in. 
Squire Hal besides had, in this case, 

Pretensions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy ; 
So, their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness, 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. — 

IV. 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision : 
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet 

Till for eloquence you hail him, 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the Ass of Balaam, 
v. 
[In your heretic sins may ye live, and die, 

Ye heretic eight and thirty ! 
But accept, ye sublime Majority, 

My congratulations hearty. 
With your Honours and a certain King, 

In your servants this is striking — ' 
The more incapacity they bring, 

The more they're to your liking.}] 

["The Hon. Henry Erskine was elected Dean 
of the Faculty of Advocates in 1786, and 
unanimously re-elected every year till 179C, 
when it was resolved by some members of the 
Tory party, at the Scottish bar, to oppose his 
re-election, in consideration of his having 
aided in getting up a petition against the pass- 
ing of the well-known sedition bills. Mr. 
Erskine's appearance at the Circus (now the 
Adelphi Theatre) on that occasion was desig- 
nated by those gentlemen (among whom were 
Charles Hope and David Boyle, now" respect- 
ively Lord President and Lord Justice-Clerk,) 
as " agitating the giddy and ignorant multitude, 
and cherishing such humours and dispositions 
as directly tend to overturn the laws." They 
brought forward Mr. Robert Dundas of Arnis- 
ton, Lord Advocate, in opposition to Mr. Er- 
okine ; and at the election, January 12, 1796, 



t [This additional stanza is now restored from the original 
MS. in the Poet's own hand-writing.] 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



the former gained the day by 123 against 38 
votes. The above verses by Burns describe 
the keenness of the contest. The mortification 
of the displaced dean was so extreme that he 
that evening, with a coal-axe, hewed off, from 
his door in Prince's Street, a brass-plate on which 
his designation as Dean of Faculty was inscrib- 
ed. It is not impossible that, in characterising 
Mr. Dundas so opprobriously, and we may add 
unjustly, Burns might recollect the slight with 
which his elegiac verses on the father of that 
gentleman had been treated eight years before." 
— Chambers.] 

[The poem was first published in the Tteliques 
of Burns. It explains itself. It was any thing 
but graciously received by the two competitors, 
Hal and Bob.] 



Co Claraifca.* 

WITH A PRESENT OP A PAIS, OF 
DRINKING-GLASSES. 

Fair, Empress of the Poet's soul, 

And Queen of Poetesses ; 
Clarinda, take this little boon, 
This humble pair of glasses, — 

And fill them high with generous juice, 

As generous as your mind ; 
And pledge me in the generous toast — 

" The whole of human kind ! " 

" To those who love us ! " — second fill ; 

But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us ! — ■ 

A third — " to thee and me, love !" 

[Long may we live ! long may Ave love ! 

And long may we be happy ! 
And may we never want a glass, 

Well charg'd with generous nappy ! f] 



* Of the numerous fair dames who were the objects of 
Burns's admiration, none were more distinguished than the 
beautiful Clarinda. The maiden name of this lady was 
Agnes Craig, a cousin of the late Lord Craig, one of the 
Lord3 of Session in Scotland. She made the poet's ac- 
quaintance in Edinburgh in the winter of 1737; and was then 
the wife of Mr. M'Lehose. A Platonic attachment ensued— the 
result was the series of eloquent prose letters, which he ad- 
dressed to this celebrated lady. Clarinda still lives (1840) at the 
advanced age of eighty-two. Besides great personal attractions 
Mrs. M'Lehose was an ardent follower of the muses, and Burns 
thus alludes to one of her productions : — " Your last verses to 
me have so delighted me that I have got an excellent old Scots 
air that suits the measure, and you shall see them in print in 
the Scots' Musical Museum, a work publishing by a friend of 
mine in this town. The air is The Banks of Spey, and is 
most beautiful. I want four stanzas — you gave me but 
three, and one of them alluded to an expression in my former 
letter : so I have taken your first two verses, with a slight 
alteration in the second, and have added a third ; but you 
must help me to a fourth. Here they are ; the latter half of 
the first stanza would have been worthy of Sappho ; I am in 
ruptures with it : — 



%o tlje 3ame. 

ON THE POET'S LEAVING EDINBURGH. 

Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 

The measur'd time is run ! 
The wretch beneath the dreary pole. 

So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie ; — 
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 

The sun of all his joy ? 

We part — but, by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex, 

Has blest my glorias day ; 
And shall a glimmering planet fix 

My worship to its ray ? 

The bard had recovered from his fall, and 
was contemplating his departure from Edin- 
burgh, when he wrote these verses to " Cla- 
rinda," " I enclose you," says he, " a few 
lines I composed on a late melancholy occasion. 
I will not give above five or six copies of them 
in all, and I would be hurt if any friend should 
give away copies without my consent." He 
sent her a copy of the sketch which he gave 
of himself to l)r. Moore, and added, "I do not 
know if you have a just idea of my character ; 
but I wish you to see me, as I am. I am, as 
most people of my trade are, a strange will-o'- 
wisp being ; the victim, too frequently, of much 
imprudence and many follies. My two great 
constituent elements are pride and passion : the 
first I have endeavoured to humanize into in- 
tegrity and honour 5 the last makes me a devotee 
to the warmest degree of enthusiasm, in love, 
religion, or friendship — either of them, or alto- 
gether, as I happen to be inspired. 



Talk not of Love, it gives me pain, 

For love has been my foe ; 
He bound me with an iron chain, 

And plung'd me deep in woe. 

But friendship's pure and lasting joys 

My heart was form'd to prove — 
There, welcome, win, and wear the prize, 

But never talk of Love. 
Your Friendship much can make be blest, 

Oh ! why that bliss destroy ? 
Why urge the odious [only] one request 

You know I must [will] deny? 
PS. What would you think of this for a fourth Stanza ? 
Your thought, if Love must harbour there, 

Conceal it in that thought ; 
Nor cause me from my bosom tear 

The very friend I sought. 

These verses are inserted in the second volume of H 
Musical Museum. 

f [From the original MS. in Burns's own hand, this ad 
ditional verse is given.] 



" Devotion is the favourite employment of 
your heart ; so is it of mine : what incentives 
then to, and powers for, reverence, gratitude, 
faith, and hope, in all the fervours of adoration 
and praise to that Being, whose unsearchable 
wisdom, power, and goodness, so pervaded, so 
inspired, every sense and feeling ! 

" What a strange mysterious faculty is that 
thing called imagination ! We have no ideas 
almost at all, of another world ; but I have often 
amused myself with visionary schemes of what 
happiness might be enjoyed by small alterations 
— alterations that we can fully enter into, in 
this present state of existence. For instance, 
suppose you and I, just as we are at present — ■ 
the same reasoning powers, sentiments, and 
even desires ; the same fond curiosity for know- 
ledge and remarking observation in our minds ; 
and imagine our bodies free from pain, and the 
necessary supplies for the wants of nature, at 
all times, and easily within our reach : imagine, 
farther, that we were set free from the laws of 
gravitation which bind us to this globe, and 
could at pleasure fly, without inconvenience, 
through all the yet unconjectured bounds of 
creation — what a life of bliss would we lead in 
our mutual pursuit of virtue and knowledge, 
and our mutual enjoyment of friendship and 
love ! 

" I see } r ou laughing at my fairy fancies, and 
calling me a voluptuous Mahometan, but I am 
certain I would be a happy creature, beyond 
anything we call bliss here below ; nay, it 
would be a paradise congenial to you, too. 
Don't you see us, hand-in-hand, or rather, my 
arm about your lovely waist, making our re- 
marks on Sirius, the nearest of the fixed stars ; 
or surveying a Comet, flaming innoxious by us, 
as we just now would mark the passing pomp 
of a travelling monarch, or in a shady bower of 
Mercury or Venus, dedicating the hour to love, 
in mutual converse, relying honour, and revel- 
ling endearment, while the most exalted strains 
of poesy and harmony would be the ready and 
spontaneous language of our souls ?" — Burns. 



Co tfje 3ame. 



" I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn, 
By driving winds the crackling flames are borne!" 
Now madd'ning, wild, I curse that fatal night ; 
Now bless the hour which charm'd my guilty 
In vain the laws their feeble force oppose ; [sight. 
Chain'd at his feet they groan, Love's vanquish' d 
In vain Religion meets my shrinking eye ; [foes : 
T dare not combat — but I turn and fly : 
Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallow'd fire ; 
Love grasps his scorpions — stifl'd they expire ; 
Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne, 
Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone : 
Each thought intoxicated homage yields, 
And riots wanton in forbidden field's ' 



By all on High adoring mortals know ! 
By all the conscious villain fears below ! 
By your dear self ! — the last great oath I swear ,; 
Nor life nor soul were ever half so dear ! 



[The above impassioned Lines were written 
in 1788, during the period of the Poet's cele- 
brated Correspondence with Clarinda, and ap - 
pear in one of his letters to that lady.] 



Co ti)t Same. 

Before I saw Clarinda's face, 
My heart was blythe and gay, 

Free as the wind, or feather' d race 
That hop from spray to spray. 

But now dejected I appear, 

Clarinda proves unkind ; 
I, sighing, drop the silent tear, 

But no relief can find. 

In plaintive notes my tale rehearses 
When I the fair have found ; 

On every tree appear my verses 
That to her praise resound. 

But she, ungrateful, shuns my sight, 
My faithful love disdains, 

My vows and tears her scorn excite, 
Another happy reigns. 

Ah, though my looks betray, 

I envy your success ; 
Yet love to friendship shall give way, 

I cannot wish it less. 



"WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON, THE 
POET, IN A COPY OF THAT AUTHOR'S WORKS PRE- 
SENTED TO A YOUNG LADY IN EDINBURGH, 
MARCH 1QTH, 1787- 

Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, 
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure ! 
O thou, my elder brother in misfortune, 
By far my elder brother in the muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures ? 



[This apostrophe to Fergusson bears a striking 
affinity to one in the " Epistle to William 
Simpson." It was written before Burns visited 
the Scottish capital. Even without a poet's 
susceptibility, we may feel how this prophetic 
parallel of Fergusson' s case with his own must 
have pressed on the memory of our bard, when 
he paid this second tribute of affection to his 
"elder brother in misfortune." — Cunning- 
ham.] 



272 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



prologue 

SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS* ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT. 
MONDAY, APRIL 16TH, \7%7' 

When by a generous Public's kind acclaim, 
That dearest meed is granted — honest fame : 
When here your favour is the actor's lot, 
Nor even the man in private life forgot ; 
What breast so dead to heav'nly Virtue's glow, 
But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe? 

Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, 
It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's song ; 
But here an ancient nation fam'd afar, 
For genius, learning high, as great in war — ■ 
Hail, Caledonia ! name for ever dear ! 
Before whose sons I'm honour'd to appear ! 
Where every science —every nobler art — 
That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, 
Is known : as grateful nations oft have found, 
Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 
Philosophy, no idle, pedant dream, [son's beam ; 
Here holds her search by heaven-taught Rea- 
Here History paints with elegance and force, 
The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 
Here Douglas forms wild Shakspeare into plan, 
And Harley f rouses all the God in man, 
When well-form' d taste, and sparkling wit, unite 
With manly lore, or female beauty bright, 
(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, 
Can only charm us in the second place,) 
Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear, 
As on this night, I've met these judges here ! 
But still the hope Experience taught to liv r e, 
Equal to judge — you're candid to forgive. 
No hundred-headed Riot here we meet, 
With decency and law beneath his feet ; 
Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name ; 
Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. 

. O Thou, dread Power ! whose empire-giving 
hand [land ! 

Has oft been stretch' d to shield the honour'd 
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire ! 
May every son be worthy of his sire ! 
Firm may she rise with generous disdain 
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's, chain ! 
Still self-dependent in her native shore, 
Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, 
Till fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no 
more. 



€o tfy 6uttffotfe of OTatttfjope f^ou^f, 

[MRS. SCOTT, OF WAUCHOPE.] 

GUIDWIFE, 

I mind it weel, in early date, 

When I was beardless, young, and blate, 



* [Mr. Woods had been the friend of Fergusson. He was 
long a favourite actor in Edinburgh, and was himself a man 
of some poetical talent. He died at his house on the Terrace, 
Edinburgh, December 14, 1802. This Prologue first appeared 
in the Glasgow edition of Burns's Poems, published in 1801. 
iJurns was well known to Mr. Woods. In describing 



An' first could thresh the barn 
Or baud a yokin' at the pleugh ; 
An' tho' forfoughten sair eneugh, 

Yet unco proud to learn : 
When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckon'd was, 
An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass, 
Still shearing, and clearing, 

The tither stooked raw, 
Wi' claivers, an' haivers, 
Wearing the day awa. 

Ev'n then, a wish (I mind its pow'r), 
A wish, that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast — 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake 
Some usefu' plan or beuk could make, 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough bur- thistle, spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd the weeding-heuk aside, 
An' spar'd the symbol dear : 
No nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise, 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
'Till on that hairst I said before, 
My partner in the merry core, 

She rous'd the forming strain : 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean, 

That lighted up my jingle, 
Her witching smile, her pauky een 
That gart my heart-strings tingle ! 
I fired, inspired, 

At every kindling keek, 
But bashing, and dashing, 
I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex ! ilk guid chiel says, 
Wi' merry dance in winter-days, 

An ? we to share in common : 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, 
The saul o' life, the heav'n below, 

Is rapture-giving woman. 
Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, 

Be mindfu' o' your mither : 
She, honest woman, may think shame 
That ye're connected with her, 
Ye're wae men, ye're nae men 
That slight the lovely dears ; 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkie swears. 



" Mav Eve, or Kate of Aberdeen," in his Remarks on Scot- 
tish Son?, Burns relates an anecdote of Cunningham, tl.< 
Actor: adding, "This Mr. Woods, the Player, who knev 
Cunningham well, and esteemed him much, assured me M 
true."] 

t Henry Mackenzie, in "The Man of Feeling." 



THE GU1DWIFE OF WAl'CHOPE-HOUSE. 



273 



For you, no bred to barn and byre, 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre, 

Thanks to you for your line : 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare 
By me should gratefully be ware ; 

'Twad please me to the Nine. 
I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap, 

Douce hingin' owre my curple, 
Than ony ermine ever lap, 
Or proud imperial purple. 

Fareweel then, lang heal then, 

An' plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan ca'. 

March, 178/. 



"Oh! that he, the prevailing poet," says a 
kindred spirit, speaking of the aspirations of 
his youth, "could have seen this light break- 
ing in upon the darkness that did too long and 
too deeply overshadow his living lot ! Some 
glorious glimpses of it his prophetic soul did 
see — witness 'The Vision,' or that somewhat 
humbler, but yet high, strain — in which, be- 
thinking him of the undefined aspirations of his 
boyish genius that had bestirred itself in the 
darkness, as if the touch of an angel's hand 
j were to awaken a sleeper in his cell — he said 
to himself: — 

' Ev'n then a wish, (I mind its pow'r,) 
A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast ; 
That I, for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
Some usefu' plan, or beuk, could make, 

Or sing a sang at least.' 

" Such hopes were in him, in his ' bright 
and shining youth,' surrounded as it was with 
toil and trouble, that could not bend down the 
brow of Burns from its natural upright inclina- 
tion to the sky : and such hopes, let us doubt it 
not, were with him in his dark and faded prime, 
when life's lamp burned low indeed, and he was 
willing at last, early as it was, to shut his eyes 
on this dearly beloved, but sorely distracting, 
world." — Professor Wilson. 

The lady to whom this epistle is addressed 
was endowed with taste ancl talent. She was 
a painter and poetess : her sketches with the 
pencil were very beautiful ; of her skill in verse 
the reader may judge from the following : — ■ 

* [The eminent bookseller to whom this epistle is addressed 
was a very singular person : he was the son of the minister 
of Newbattle, and, by his mother, connected with a noble 
family in Devonshire. He was a good classical scholar ; was 
educated for the medical profession, but finally resolving to 
be a bookseller, apprenticed himself to Kincaid of Edin- 
burgh. He forsook, however, the business for a time, and 
went on a tour to the continent, with Lord Kilmaurs, after- 
wards Earl of Glencairn. On his return, he became partner 
with Kincaid, who soon retired, leaving Creech in sole pos- 
session of the business, which he carried on for forty-four 
years with great success. He was not only the most popular 
bookse'ler in the north, but he published the writings of 



THE GUDEWIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOTJSE, 

TO ROBERT BURNS, THE AYR-SHIRE BARD. 

Feb. 1787. 
" My cantie, witty, rhyming ploughman, 
I hafflins doubt, it is na true, man, 
That ye between the stilts was bred, 
Wi' ploughmen school'd, wi' ploughmen fed; 
I doubt it sair, ye 've drawn your knowledge 
Either frae grammar-school, or college. 
Guid troth, your saul an' body baith 
War' better fed, I'd gie my aith, 
Than theirs, who sup sour milk an' parritch, 
An' bummil through the single Carritch 
Whaever heard the ploughman speak, 
Could tell gif Homer was a Greek ? 
He'd flee as soon upon a cudgel, 
As get a single line of Virgil. 
An' then sae slee ye crack your jokes 
O' Willie Pitt and Charlie Fox: 
Our great men a' sae weel descrive, 
An' how to gar the nation thrive, 
Ane maist wad swear ye dwalt amang them, 
And as ye saw them, sae ye sang them. 
But be ye ploughman, be ye peer, 
Ye are a funny blade, I swear ; 
An' though the cauld I ill can bide, 
Yet twenty miles an' mair I 'd ride, 
O'er moss an' muir, an' never grumble, 
Though my auld yad should gie a stumble, 
To crack a winter-night wi' thee, 
An' hear thy sangs an' sonnets slee. 
A guid saut herring, an' a cake, 
Wi' sic a chiel, a feast wad make, 
I'd rather scour your rumming yill, 
Or eat o' bread and cheese my fill, 
Than, wi' dull lairds, on turtle dine, 
An' ferlie at their wit and wine. 
O, gif I kenn'd but whare ye baide, 
I 'd send to you a marled plaid ; 
'Twad haud your shouthers warm an' brdw, 
An' douce at kirk, or market shaw ; 
Far south, as weel as north, my lad, 
A' honest Scotsmen lo'e the maud. 
Right wae that we're sae far frae ither ; 
Yet proud I am to ca' ye brither. 

Your most obedient, E. S." 

Mrs. Scott of Wauchope was niece to Mrs. 
Cockburn, authoress of a beautiful variation oi 
"The Flowers of the Forest." 



ISpistle to William €nu%* 

WRITTEN AT SELKIRK. 

Auld chuckie Reekie 'sf sair distrest, 
Down droops her ance weel-burnisht crest, 
Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest 

Can yield ava, 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 

Willie's awa ! 



almost all the distinguished men who adorned Scottish lite- 
rature towards the close of the eighteenth century. His 
shop occupied a conspicuous place in the centre of the Old 
Town, and it was his pleasure to give breakfasts to his 
authors: these meetings were called Creech's levees. Burns 
enumerates, as attending them, Dr. James Gregory, Tytler, 
of Woodhouselee, Dr. William Greenfield, Henry Mackenzie, 
and Dugald Stewart. He not only encouraged authors, but 
he wrote prose himself; he published a volume of trifles under 
the name of " Edinburgh Fugitive Pieces/' which was re- 
printed in 1815. 

"Mr. Creech's style of composition," says Robert Cham- 
t Edinburgh. 
_ T 



274 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Willie was a witty wight, 
And had o' things an unco slight ; 
Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight, 

An' trig an' braw : 
But now they '11 busk her like a fright, 

Willie's awa! 
The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; 
They durst nae mair than he allow'd, 

That was a law : 
We 've lost a birkie weel worth gowd, 

Willie's awa ! 
Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools, 
Frae colleges and boarding-schools, 
May spout like simmer puddock-stools 

In glen or shaw j 
He wha could brush them down to mools, 

Willie 's awa ! 
The brethren o' the Commerce- Chaumer* 
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour ; 
He was a dictionar and grammar 

Amang them a' ; 

1 fear they'll now mak mony a stammer 

Willie 's awa ! 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and poets pour, 
And toothy critics by the score, 

In bloody raw ! 
The adjutant o' a' the core, 

Willie's awa! 
Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
Ty tier's and Greenfield's modest grace ; 
Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace 

As Rome ne'er saw ; 
They a' maun meet some ither place, 

Willie's awa ! 
Poor Burns — e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, 
He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken, 
Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin 

By hoodie-craw ; 
Grief's gi'en his heart an unco kickin', 

Willie's awa ! 

bers, in his valuable ' Scottish Biography,' "is only worthy 
of being spoken of with respect to its ironical humour. In 
private life he shone conspicuously as a pleasant companion 
and conversationist, being possessed of an inexhaustible 
fund of droll anecdote, which he could narrate in a charac- 
teristic manner, and with unfailing effect. He thus secured 
general esteem, in despite, it appeared, of extraordinary 
fondness for money and penuriousness of habits, which acted 
to the preclusion, not only of all benevolence of disposition, 
but even of the common honesty of discharging his obliga- 
tions where they were due." In these concluding words the 
secret of the long abode of Burns in Edinburgh is explained, 
and also some passages in his letters expressing doubt and 
apprehension. Creech would not part with the money due 
to the poet on his works, and the poet could not enter into 
farming speculations with an empty pocket. 

" Mr. Creech more than once failed the chair of Lord Provost 
of Edinburgh, and is noted as the only person who ever saved 
money out of the salary then attached to the office. With refer- 
ence to his penurious bachelorly habits, a native caricaturist 
once set the town in a roar by depicting, in connection, the 
respective kitchens of the chief magistrates of London and 
Edinburgh, the former exhibiting every appearance of plenty 
that could be expected in a large and munificent establish- 
ment, and the latter displaying a poor oid pinched house- 
keeper spinning beside a narrow fireplace, where the cat was 



Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blellum,. 
And Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him 5 
And self-conceited critic skellum 

His quill may draw ; 
He wha could brawlie ward their bellum, 

Willie's awa ! 
Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, 
And Eden scenes on chrystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roaring red, 

While tempests blaw ; t 
But every joy and pleasure's fled, 

Willie's awa ! 
May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach : 
And lastly, streekit out to bleach 

In winter snaw ; 
When I forget thee, Willie Creech, 

Tho' far awa ! 
May never wicked fortune touzle him t 
May never wicked men bamboozle him ! 
Until a pow as auld's Methusalem 

He canty claw ! 
Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, 

Fleet wing awa ! 



[The "Epistle to William Creech" was the 
sole poetic fruit of the Border tour of Burns. It 
was written May 13, 1787, and accompanied 
with the following letter: — " My honoured 
friend — The enclosed I have just wrote, nearly 
extempore, in a solitary inn at Selkirk, after 
a miserable wet day's riding. I have been over 
most of East Lothian, Berwick, Roxburgh, 
and Selkirk -shires; and next week I begin a 
tour through the north of England. Yesterday 
I dined with Lady Harriet, sister to my noble 
patron [James, Earl of Glencairn] Quern Deus 
conservet ! I would write till I would tire you 
as much with dull prose as, I dare say, by this 
time you are with wretched verse, but I am 
jaded to death ; so with a grateful farewell, I 
have the honour to be, good sir, yours sincerely, 
— R. B."] 

perched for warmth upon a gathering coal. Mr. Creech died 
in 1815, at the age of seventy."] — Chambers. 

* [The Chamber of Commerce at Edinburgh, of which 
Creech was Secretary. 

t [Dr. Clarkson used to relate, with a heavy heart, that 
when Burns, and his fellow-traveller, Mr. Ainslie, arrived 
at Selkirk, that evening, "they were just like twa droukit 
craws." The doctor and two other gentlemen were sitting in 
Veitch's Inn, near the West Port, taking their glass (for 
Selkirk has a West Port as well as Edinburgh). When the 
travellers arrived, the two within viewed them out at the 
window as they alighted, and certainly conceived no very high 
opinion of them. In a short time, however^ they sent Mr. 
Veitch in to the doctor and his friends, requesting permission 
for two strangers to take a glass with them. The doctor ob- 
jected ; and asked Mr. Veitch what the men were like ? Mr. 
Veitch said, he could not well say : the one spoke rather 
like a gentleman, but the other was a drover-looking chap ; 
so they refused to admit them, sending them word ben the 
house that they were sorry they were engaged elsewhere, and 
obliged to go away. The doctor saw them ride off next morn- 
ing, and it was not till the third day that lie knew it had been 
the celebrated Scottish poet whom they had refused to admit. 
That refusal hangs about the doctor's heart like adead weight 
to this day, and will do to the day of his death, for the Bard 
had not a more enthusiastic admirer." — Hogg.] 



THE HERMIT.— PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. 



275 



€Ik Hermit. * 

WRITTEN ON A MARBLE SIDEBOARD, 

IN THE HERMITAGE BELONGING TO THE DUKE OF ATHOLE, 

IN THE WOOD OF ABERFELDY. 

Whoe'er thou art, these lines now reading, 
Think not, though from the world receding, 
I joy my lonely days to lead in 

This desert drear ; 
That fell remorse a conscience bleeding 

Hath led me here. 

i\ T o thought of guilt my bosom sours ; 
Free-will' d I fled from courtly bowers ; 
For well I saw in halls and towers 

That lust and pride, 
The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest powers, 

In state preside. 

I saw mankind with vice encrusted ; 
I saw that honour's sword was rusted ; 
That few for aught but folly lusted ; 
That he was still deceiv'd who trusted 

To love or friend ; 
And hither came, with men disgusted, 

My life to end. 

In this lone cave, in garments lowly, 

Alike a foe to noisy folly, 

And brow-bent gloomy melancholy, 

I wear away 
My life, and in my office holy 

Consume the day. 

This rock my shield, when storms are blowing, 
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing- 
Supplying drink, the earth bestowing 

My simple food ; 
But few enjoy the calm I know in 

This desert wood. 

Content and comfort bless me more in 

This grot than e'er I felt before in 

A palace — and with thoughts still soaring 

To God on high, 
Each night and morn with voice imploring, 

This wish I sigh : — ■ 

" Let me, O Lord ! from life retire, 
Unknown each guilty worldly fire, 



* [This beautiful poem first appeared in Hogg and Mo- 
therwell's edition of the Poet's works, on the authority of 
Mr. Peter Buchan, Aberdeen. It had previously been pub- 
lished fugitively, and there is no doubt of its authenticity. 
It also appears in Mr. Robert Chambers's Edition,] 

t Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and 
beautiful ; but their effect is much impaired by the want of 
trees and shrubs. — R. B. 

[" The first object of interest that occurs upon the public 
road, after leaving Blair, is a chasm in the hill on the right 
hand, through which the river Bruar falls over a series of 
beautiful cascades. Formerly, the falls of the Bruar were 
unadorned by wood ; but the Poet Burns, being conducted to 
see them by his friend the Duke of Athole, recommended 
that they should be invested with that necessary decoration — 
a plantation. Trees have accordingly been thickly planted 
along the chasm, and are now far advanced to maturity. 
Throughout this young forest, a walk has been cut, and a 
number of fantastic little grottoes erected for the convenience 
of those who visit the spot. The river not only makes several 



Remorse's throb, or loose desire ; 

And when I die, 
Let me in this belief expire — 

To God I fly." 

Stranger, if full of youth and riot, 
And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet, 
Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at 

The hermit's prayer ; 
But if thou hast good cause to sigh at 

Thy fault or care • 

If thou hast known false love's vexation, 
Or hast been exiled from thy nation, 
Or guilt affrights thy contemplation, 

And makes thee pine, 
Oh ! how must thou lament thy station, 

And envy mine ! 



Clje ftxivMt ^ttition ol ISruar Water, f 

TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 



My Lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain, 
How saucy Phcebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer-pride, 
Dry-with'ring, waste my foamy streams, 

And drink my crystal tide. 
ii. 
The lightly-jumpin', glowrin' trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray ; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow, 
They're left, the whit'ning stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow, 
in. 
Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet Burns came by, 
That, to a bard, I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Even as I was he shor'd me ; 



distinct falls, but rushes on through a channel, whose rough- 
ness and haggard sublimity adds greatly to the merits of the 
scene, as an object of interest among tourists." — Chambers.] 

[" Burns passed two or three days with the Duke of Athole, 
and was highly delighted by the attention he received, and 
the company to whom he was introduced. These, on the 
other hand, were no less pleased with the correct and manly 
deportment of the interesting stranger. As the hour of sup- 
per was distant, he begged I would guide him through the 
grounds. It was already growing dark ; yet the softened, 
though faint and uncertain, view of their beauties which the 
moonlight afforded us, seemed exactly suited to the state of 
his feelings at the time. When we reached a rustic hut on 
the river Tilt, where it is overhung by a woody precipice, he 
threw himself on the heathy seat, and gave himself up to a ten- 
der, abstracted, and voluptuous enthusiasm of imagination. 
By the Duke's advice he visited the Falls of Bruar, and in a 
few days I received a letter from Inverness, with the above 
verses inclosed." — Professor Walker.] 

T2 



276 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



But had I in my glory been, 
He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

IV. 

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well, 

As nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' I say't mysel, 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 
v. 
Would then my noblest master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, 

And bonnie spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks, 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

VI. 

The sober lav'rock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink,* music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow. 

VII. 

This, too, a covert shall insure, 

To shield them from the storms ; 
And coward maukins sleep secure, 

Low in their grassy forms : 
The shepherd here shall make his seat, 

To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 
Or find a shelt'ring safe retreat, 

From prone descending show'rs. 

VIII. 

And here, b}^ sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds, witli all their wealth, 

As empty idle care. 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heav'n to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms 

To screen the dear embrace. 

IX. 

Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 
Some musing bard may stray, 

And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, 
And misty mountain, grey ; 



*Var. The bairdie.— MS 

t [The Poet visited Ochtertyre and Loch-Turitin the com- 
pany of Nicol, during his third northern tour. He was stay- 
ing, when he wrote these touching lines, with Sir William 
Murray of Ochtertyre. Other inspirations came upon him. 
He met Miss Euphemia Murray of Lintrose, commonly called 
"The Flower of Strathmore," and celebrated her beauty in 
that fine lyric beginning — 

" Blythe, blythe, an' merry was she, 
Blythe was she, but and ben ; 



Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Mild-chequ'ring thro' the trees, 
Rave to my darkly-dashing stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 
x. 
Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool, 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed ! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

XI. 

So may old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour' d native land ! 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, 

To social-flowing glasses, 
The grace be — " Athole's honest men, 

And Athole's bonnie lasses !" 



<3n Jkartttg Some OTattr^dfafol 

IN LOCH-TTJBJT, 

. WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OCHTERTYRE-t 

Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunts forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? — 
Common friend to you and me, 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock. 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
Man, your proud usurping foe, 
Would be lord of all below : 
Plumes himself in freedom's pride, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow, 
Marking you his prey below, 
In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong necessity compels : 
But man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying heav'n, 



Blythe by the banks of Era, 

And blyther in Glenturit Glen." 

" The house of Ochtertyre is little and over-neat; but its 
situation on an eminence starting from the face of a hill, and 
its glorious park, and lake, and trees, and all its sunny loveli- 
ness, render it, nevertheless, one of the most delightful seats 
in broad Scotland. It has been spoken of in terms of rap- 
tnre by all literary travellers, including Burns, who spent 
some time here, and has rendered the adjacent vale of the 
'i urit altogether classical by his glowing |-eit." — Chambers.] 



TAYMOUTH — FALL OF FYERS. 



277 



Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wand'ring swains, 
Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
Far from human haunts and ways ; 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man's superior might 
Dare invade your native right, 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn ; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



LINES 
WlxitUn tmtl) a pencil, 

OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE, IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INN 
AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH. 

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, 
My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 
'Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. — * 
The meeting cliifs each deep-sunk glen divides, 
The woods, wild scatter'd, clothe their ample 
sides ; [hills, 

Th' outstretching lake, embosomed 'mong the 
The eye with wonder f and amazement fills ; 



* [Burns, like all travellers of taste, was struck with the 
mag! ificent scene, of which the splendid castle of the Earl 
of Breadalbane can scarcely be called the chief attraction.— 
" The house," says Chambers, "is after the fashion of In- 
verary, with circular turrets at the corners, and a minor 
tower rising prominent above, together with several additional 
portions of less abitude, though equally beautiful architec- 
ture. It contains one of the best collections of pictures in 
Scotland." Among the picture* are many of the portraits of 
Jameson. The vale is bounded by lofty, abrupt, and finely 
wooded hills, and, though not spacious enough to admit a 
well-laid lawn and park, such as adorn thebaronia! residences 
of the south, yet the stream, and vale, and upland, unite in 
forming a landscape wondrous for iis picturesque beauty. 
The surface of the ground is always green, and the hoary 
tiees are of great antiquity and size. 

The images contained in these lines are worthy of a painter, 
and show that Burns had a fine eye for what was striking 
and lovely. In his journal the poet simply says, " Taymouth 
described in rhyme," and well has he pourtrayed this beau- 
tiful scene. "Some of these verses," says Lockhart, "are 
among his best purely English heroics."] 

t Var Pleasure.— MS. 

t Var. Nor with one single goth-conceit, disgrac'd. — MS. 

§ [Those who wish to see the Fall of Fyers in its true 
Highland glory should go, after two days' rain upon the 
uplands has swollen the stream and filled up the channel, till 
the banks are all but overflowing. Then, those who have 
seen some of the finest cascades in foreign parts as well as in 
Britain, declare that, save the falls of Terni, no other can be 
compared, for romantic beauty, with those of F>ers. — "In 
its medium fulness," observes Chambers, "it pours through 
a narrovv gullet in the rock in a round unbroken stream, 
which gradually whitens as it descends, till it falls into a 
halt-seen profound, upwar is of two hundred feet below the 
point of descent. About a quarter of a mile furtht-r up the 
ravine, there is another cascade, usually called the Upper 



The Tay, meand'ring sweet in infant pride, 
The palace, rising on its verdant side ; [taste ; 
The lawns, wood-fring'd in Nature's native 
The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless haste ; J 
The arches, striding o'er the new-born stream ; 
The village, glitt'ring in the noon-tide beam — 

* * * * 
Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 

Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell : 
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 
Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods- 

* * * * 
Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, 
And look through Nature with creative fire ; 
Here, to die wrongs of Fate half-reconcil'd, 

| Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ; 
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to soothe her bitter — rankling 
wounds : [stretch her scan, 

Here heart -struck Grief might heav'n-ward 
And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. 



LINES 

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, 

^tanttmg fci> tlje dfall of dfjms, § 

NEAR LOCH-NESS 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods, 
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, [sounds, 
Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream re- 



fail — a fearful gulph, down which the water descends by three 
leaps , and over which a mean-looking: bridge lias been thrown, 
by way of station for a sight of the cataract." These falls 
are but a short distance from Inverness. 

The following description of the same scenery, in a storm, 
is by the hand of a master : — 

" Here is solitude with a vengeance — stern grim dungeon 
solitude! How ghostlike those white skeleton pines, stripped 
of iheir rhind by tempest and lightning, ana dead to the din 
of the raging cauldron ! That cataract, if descending on a 
cathedral, would shatter down the pile into a million o£ frag- 
ments. But it meets the black foundations of the cliff, and 
flies up to the starless heaven in a storm of spray. We are 
drenched, as if leaning in a hurricane over the gunwale of a 
ship rolling under bare poles, through a heavy sea. The very 
solid globe of earth quakes through her entrails. The eye, 
reconciled to the darkness, now sees a glimmering and gloomy 
light — and lo, a bridge of a single arch hung across the chasm 
just high enough to let through the triumphant torrent. Has 
some hill-loch burst its barrier? For what a world of waters 
comes now tumbling into the abyss ! Niagara ! hast thou a 
fiercer roar? Listen — and you think there are momentary 
pauses of the thunder, filled up with goblin groans ! All the 
military music bands of the army of Britain would here be 
dumb as mutes— trumpet, cymbal, and the great drum ! 
There is a desperate temptation in the hubbub to leap into 
destruction. Water horses and kelpies, keep stabled in your 
rock stalls— for if you issue forth, the river will sweep you 
down before you have finished one neigh, to Castle Urquhart, 
and dash you on a sheet of foam to the top of her rocking 
battlements. A pretty place indeed for a lunar rainbow ! 
But the moon has been swept away from heaven, and no 
brightness may tinge the black firmament that midnight builds 
over the liquid thunder. What a glorious grave for the last 
Man ! a grave without a resurrection ! Oh Nature ! Nature! 
art thou all in all ? And is there no God ? The astounded 
spirit shrinks from superstition into atheism — and all erueiit 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



high in air the bursting torrents flow, 
As deep-recoiling surges foam below, [cends, 
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet des- 
And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. 
Dim seen through rising mists and ceaseless 

show'rs, 
The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs. 
Still, thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 
And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils — 



POETICAL ADDRESS 



0Lx. Militant CytXcr,* 

WITH A PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE. 

Edinburgh, i;8/. 

Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 
Of Stuart, a name once respected, — 

A name which to love was the mark of a true 
But now 'tis despis'd and neglected, [heart, 

Fho' something like moisture conglobes in my 
Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; [^ye, 

A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a 
Still more, if that wand'rer were royal, [sigh, 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ; 

My fathers have fallen f to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 

That name should he scoffingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily 
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry, [join, 

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine ; 
Their title's avow'd by my county. 



are dashed into oblivion, by the appalling war. But a still 
small voice is heard within the heart — the voice of conscience 
— and its whisperings shall be heard, when all the waters of 
the earth are frozen into nothing, and the earth itself shrivel- 
led up like a scroll ! " — Professor Wilson.] 

* [William Tytler, Esq. of Woodhouselee to whom these 
lines are addressed, wrote, as the verses intimate, an elegant 
and elaborate defence of Mary Queen of Scots, which dis- 
persed a little the dark cloud of calumny which had hung 
for centuries over her head. His son is well known, in Scot- 
tish law and literature, by the title of Lord Woodhouselee ; 
his taste in poetry was of the first order, nor was he unskil- 
ful in music : he is placed by Lord Byron at the head of the 
Scottish literati of that period. His grandson, Patrick Fraser 
Tytler, is still more distinguished : his Biographies of emi- 
nent Scotsmen are full of research and new intelligence ; 
but his chief work is his " History of Scotland," which sur- 
passes all other works on the subject for accuracy, and equals 
the best of them in eloquence of narrative and true deline- 
ation of character. 

In the letter enclosing these stanzas, Burns says, " My 
muse jilted me here, and turned a corner on me, and I have 
not got again into her good graces." The father of William 
Tytler, who was from Aberdeen, inherited much of the High- 
land love for our old line of princes. The margins of his 
books bore evidence of his regard for the " line of Bruce." 
The feeling is not yet quite extinct: When George IV. left 
Edinburgh, and the songs in his praise had ceased, a High- 
land piper ventured out, and playing up " Ye're welcome, 
Charlie Stuart ! " was much cheered by the crowd, who soon 
bought up his ballads.] 



But why of this epocha make such a fuss, 
That gave us the Hanover % stem ; 

If bringing them over was lucky for us, 
I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them.\ 

But, loyalty, trace ! we're on dangerous ground, 
Who knows how the fashions may alter ? 

The doctrine to-day that is loyalty sound, 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care : 
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard, 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye, 
And ushers the long dreary night ; 

But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky, 
Your course to the latest is bright. 



LINES 
Written m dfrtarsvCai^e Hermitage, 

ON THE BANKS OF NITH. 
[first COPY.] [j 

Thou whom chance may hither lead, 

Be thou clad in russet weed, 

Be thou deckt in silken stole, 

; Grave these maxims on thy soul : — 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Day, how rapid in its flight — 
Day, how few must see the night ; 
Hope not sunshine every hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 



f Var. Died. — MS. in Burns's own writing, and altered 
apparently by Mr. Tytler. 

% Var. Electoral, in Burns's own hand, but altered by 
Mr. Tytler into Hanover. 

§ Through the kindness of Patrick Fraser Tytler, Esq. 
these three lines are now restored to the text. They were 
omitted by Dr. Currie, but they seem harmless enough, and 
the royal stock to which they refer would have smiled at 
them. 

|| ["The kindness of my friend Mrs. Hyslop has enabled me 
to give, from the interleaved volume which belonged to Dr. 
Geddes, the original rough draught of this poem. It is sel- 
dom, indeed, that Burns bestowed B5 much labour on his 
compositions : he thought so well, however, of this, that he 
preserved the variations, as eminent painters preserve the 
first and second thoughts of their best pictures. He wrote 
the first version in June, 1783 : the amended and enlarged 
copy follows, in the manuscript, with this heading — 
" Altered from the foregoing. December, 1/88." Some of 
the changes are curious, and will be felt by the reader. Had | 
the poem been in his native dialect, it would have come full 
and finished from his fancy ; liis sentiments, when he wrote 
in the Scottish language, put on at once their proper costume 
of words, and he had few changes to make. So highly did 
the Poet think of this poem that he wrote out many copies, 
and forwarded them to his friends — a number of these are 
still in existence. He looked upon it as an attempt to rise 
out of rustic Scotch into classic English ; the gentle praise 
bestowed showed him what was felt— that he had not equalled 
the happiness of expression in some of his earlier pieces." — 
Allan Cunningham.! 



FRIAR'S-CARSE HERMITAGE. 



279 



Happiness is but a name, 

Make content and ease thy aim 

Ambition is a meteor gleam; 

Fame an idle * restless dream : 

Pleasures, insects on the wing 

Round Peace, the tend'rest flower of Spring 

Those that sip the dew alone, 

Make the butterflies thy J own ; 

Those that would the bloom devour, 

Crush the locusts — save the flower. 

For the future be prepared, 

Guard whatever thou can'st guard ; 

But thy utmost duly § done, 

Welcome what thou can'st not shun. 

Follies past give thou to air, 

Make their consequence thy care : 

Keep the name of man in mind, 

And dishonour not thy kind. 

Reverence, with lowly heart, 

Him whose wondrous work thou art ; 

Keep His goodness still in view, 

Thy Trust — and thy Example, too. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ; 
Quoth the Beadsman on Nithside 



Written in dTriars^Cat^e fimmtage, 

ON NITHSIDE. 
[second copy.] 

Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
? Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 

As Youth and Love, with sprightly dance, 
Beneath thy morning-star advance, 
Pleasure, with her siren air, 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup, 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 



* Var.— Airy.— MS. 

t Var. — Peace, the tenderest flower of Spring ; 
Pleasures, insects on the wing. — MS. 

t Var. Their.— MS. § Var. Duty.— MS. 

|| [" The hermitage in which these elegant lines were 
written was the property of Captain Riddel, a distinguished 
antiquarian, who lived in Friars-Carse some mile or so above 
Ellisland. A small door admitted the Poet, at his own plea- 
sure, into the wood where the Hermitage was built ; there he 
found such seclusion as he loved ; flowers and shrubs were 
thickly planted round the place, and in the interior were 
chairs and a table for the accommodation of visiters. The 
first six lines of the poein were inscribed with a diamond, 
which Burns ever carried about with him, on a pane of glass 
in the window. While Riddel lived, and even during the life 
of Burns, the verses were respected ; the proprietor, how- 
ever, at length removed thim and had them secured in a 
frame. Friars-Carse is altogether one of the loveliest spots 
in the Nith : the natural beautj of the place was much im- 
proved by the taste of the antic uarian. He formed pictu- 



As thy day grows warm and high, 

Life's meridian flaming nigh, 

Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 

Life's proud summits would' st thou scale? 

Check thy climbing step, elate, 

Evils lurk in felon wait : 

Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold, 

Soar around each cliffy hold, 

While cheerful Peace, with linnet song, 

Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of ev'ning close, 

Beck'ning thee to long repose ; 

As Life itself becomes disease, 

Seek the chimney-neuk of ease, 

There, ruminate with sober thought ; 

On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought; 

And teach the sportive younkers round, 

Saws of experience, sage and sound. 

Say, man's true, genuine estimate, ^ 

The grand criterion of his fate, 

Is not — Art thou high or low ? 

Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 

Wast ** thou cottager or king ? 

Peer -ft or peasant 1 — no such thing ! 

Did many talents gild thy span? 

Or frugal nature grudge thee one ? 

Tell them, and press it on their mind, 

As thou thyself must shortly find, 

The smile or frown of awful Heav'n, 

To Virtue or to Vice is giv'n. 

Say, " To be just, and kind, and wise, 

There solid Self-enjoyment lies ; 

That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 

Lead to the wretched, vile, and base." 

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 

To the bed of lasting sleep ; 

Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 

Night, where dawn shall never break. 

'Till future life — future no more, 

To light and joy the good restore, 

To light and joy unknown before ! 



■e! J 



Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide ! 
Quoth the beadsman of Nith-side. 



resque lines of road ; planted elegant shrubberies ; raised a 
rude Druidic temple on the summit of a rough precipitous 
hill, which over-towers the Nith, and in all the chief walks 
of his grounds he placed many rare and valuable reliques of 
Scotland's elder day : such as sculptured troughs, orna- 
mented crosses, and inscribed altars, which he had collected 
at much outlay from all parts of Scotland- — " I shall 
transcribe for you," says Burns to Mrs. Dunlop, " a few 
lines I wrote in a hermitage, belonging to a gentleman in 
my Nithsdale neighbourhood. They are almost the only 
favours the muses have conferred on me in this country ;" 
and to Miss Chalmers, he writes, in September, 1783, " One 
day in a Hermitage, on the banks of the Nith, belonging to a 
gentleman in my neighbourhood, who is so good as to give 
me a key at pleasure, I wrote the above, supposing myself 
the sequestered venerable inhabitant of the lonely mansion,"] 

% Var. — Say, the criterion of their fate, 

The important query of their state. 

** Wert.— MS. ft Prince— MS. 



280 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Co Captain BitfM, 

OF 6LENKIDDEL, 
EXTEMPORE LINES ON RETURNING A NEWSPAPER. 

Ellisland, Monday Evening. 

Your news &review,* Sir, I've read through & 
With little admiring or blaming ; [through, Sir, 

The papers are barren of home-news or foreign, 
No murders or rapes worth the naming. 

Our friends, the reviewers, those chippers and 
Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir ; [hewers, 

But of meet or unmeet in a fabric complete, 
I boldly pronounce they are none, Sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is to tell all yourgood- 
Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet ; [ness 

Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun, 
And then all the world, Sir, should know it ! 



a ^otljer'S Haimnt,t 

FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON. 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 

And pierc'd my darling's heart ; 
And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart. 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonour'd laid : 
So fell the pride of all my hopes, 

My age's future shade. 

The mother-linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live-day long. 
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow. 

Now, fond, I bare my breast, 
O, do thou kindly lay me low 

With him I love, at rest ! 



* [" The review which Captain Riddel sent to the Bard 
contained sharp strictures on his poetry. Burns estimated 
at once the right value of all such criticisms ; he felt that true 
genius had nothing to dread, and that dulness and stupidity 
would sink, from their own weight, without the aid of satire. 
In another place, when speaking of the 'chippers and hew- 
ers,' he questions their jurisdiction, and claims to be tried by 
his peers. His peers could not easily be found ; so the Poet 
was safe. Burns was a frequent guest at the board of Glen- 
riddel, and, as he returned to Ellisland, he loved to linger 
on Nithside, 

' Delighted with the dashing roar/ 

when the river, swollen, perhaps, with rains on the moun- 
tains, was rough and raging, and 

' Chaf'd against the scaur's red side,' 

on the summit of which he had built his abode." — Allan 
Cunningham.] 

t ["'The Mother's Lament," says the Poet, in one copy of 
the poem, " was composed partly with a view to Mrs. Fer- 
gusson of Craigdarrock, and partly to the worthy patroness 
of my early unknown muse, Mrs. Stewart, of Afton." It 
was also inserted in the Musical Museum to the tune of 
" Finlaysvon House."— See Burns's Remarks on Scottish 
Song, under this title.] 

% [R bert Graham, Esq., of Fintray, was one of the Com- 
missioners of Exci-e, and having met the Poet at the Duke 
of Athole's, he became interested in his behalf, and shewed 
him many kindnesses. In August, 1788, Burns sent Mrs. 
Dunlop fourteen lines of this Epistle, beginning with : — 



dftvSt SEptetle to 3&. ^ral^am, ISSij. 

OF FINTRAY. J 

When Nature her great master-piece design'd, 
And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind, 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She form'd of various parts the various man. 

Then first she calls the useful many forth ; 
Plain plodding industry, and sober worth : 
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, 
And merchandise' whole genus take their birth : 
Each prudent cit a warm existence finds, 
And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds. 
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 
The lead and buoy are needful to the net ; 
The caput mortuum of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and squires ; 
The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, 
She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough, 
Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave de- 
Law, physic, politics, and deep divines : [signs, 
Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles, 
The flashing elements of female souls. 

The order' d system fair before her stood, 
Nature, well pleas'd, pronounc'd it very good ; 
But ere she gave creating labour o'er, 
Half-jest, she try'd one curious labour more. 
Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter, 
Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter ; 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
( Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it) 
She forms the thing, and christens it — a poet, 
Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow, 
When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow. 
A being form'd t' amuse his graver friends, 
Admir'd and prais'd — and there the homage ends : 



" Pity the tuneful muses' helpless train," 
saying, " Since I am in the way of transcribing, the follow- 
ing lines were the production of yesterday, as I jogged through 
the wild hills of New Cumnock. I intend inserting them, 
or something like them, in an Epistle, which I am going to 
write to the gentleman on whose friendship my Excise hopes 
depend, Mr. Graham, ot Fintray, one of the worthiest and 
most accomplished gentlemen, not only of this country, but, 
I will dare to say, of this age." To Dr. Moore, the Poet thus 
writes, in January, 1789 : — " I enclose you an Essay of mine, 
in a walk of poesy tome entirely new. I mean the Epistle 
addressed to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintray, a gentleman 
of uncommon worth, to whom I lie under very great obliga- 
tions. This story of the Poem, like most of my Poems, is 
connected with my own story, and to give you the one, I 
must give you something of the other."] 

[To Professor Stewart, he said, a few weeks afterwards : — 
This Poem is a species of composition new to me ; but I do 
not intend it shall be my last essay of the kind, as you will 
see by the " Poet's Progress." These fragments, if my de- 
sign succeeds, are but a small part of the intended whole. I 
propose it shall be the work of my utmost exertions, ripened 
by years. On a subsequent occasion, the P> et wrote to Mrs. 
Graham, sending her the "' Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots," 
and expressing the warmest gratitude to her husband. It is 
singular that the Poet did not insert this Address to Mr. 
Graham in the last two editions of the Poems, published 
during his life-time. The manuscript of the poem is united 
with the " Lines on the Hermitage," and the " Lament of 
Mary,'' and endorsed thus:— "The three foregoing poems 
are the favour of the Nithsdale muses.'] 






EPISTLE TO GRAHAM, OF FINTRAY, ETC. 



28? 



A mortal quite unfit for fortune's strife, 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live ; 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, 
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work. 
Pitying the propless climber of mankind, 
She cast about a standard tree to find ; 
And, to support his helpless woodbine state, 
Attach' d him to the generous truly great, 
A title, and the only one I claim, [ham. 

To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Gra- 

Pity the tuneful muses' hapless* train, 
Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main ! 
Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff, 
That never gives — tho' humbly takes enough ; 
The little fate allows,f they share as soon, 
Unlike sage, proverb'd, wisdom's hard-wrung 

boon. 
The world were blest did bliss on them depend, 
Ah, that " the friendly e'er should wanta friend !" 
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son, 
Who life and wisdom at one race begun, 
Who feel by reason and who give by rule, 
(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool !) 
Who make poor will do wait upon I should — 
We own they're prudent, but avIio feels they're 

good ? 
Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloj^ ! 
But come ye, who the godlike pleasure know, 
Heaven's attribute distinguished — to bestow ! 
Whose arms of love would grasp the human race : 
Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace ; 
Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 
Prop of my dearest hopes for future times. 
Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid, 
Backward, abash' d to ask thy friendly aid ? 
I know my need, I know thy giving hand, 
I crave thy friendship at thy kind command ; 
But there are such who court the tuneful nine — 
Heavens ! should the branded character be mine ! 
Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows, 
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 
Mark, how their lofty independent spirit 
Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit ! 
Seek not the proofs in private life to find ; 
Pity the best of words should be but wind ! 
So toheav'n's gates the lark's shrill song ascends, 
But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. 



* Var.— Helpless.— MS. 

f Var.— Bestows.— MS. 

+ [In one of the Poet's memorandum-books these verses 
were written with a pencil : he intimated that he had just 
composed them, and noted them down lest they should 
esc ipe from his memory. They were admitted into the first 
Liverpool edition, but excluded from others ; they are now 
piaced among the works of Burns. Sir James Hunter Blair 
was born at Ayr in 1741, and died July 1, 1/87, in the 



In all the clam'rous cry of starving want, 
They dun benevolence with shameless front ; 
Oblige them, patronize their tinsel lays, 
They persecute you all your future days ! 
Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain, 
My horny fist assume the plough again ; 
The pie-bald jacket let me patch once more ; 
On eigh teen-pence a week I've liv'd before. 
Tho' thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift ! 
I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift : 
That, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height, 
Where, man and nature fairer in her sight, 
My muse may imp her wing for some sublimer 
flight. 



ON THE DEATH ( 



£tr $anu* punter 23lau\ | 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, 
Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath § the western wave ; 

Th'inconstant blast howl'd thro' the dark'ning air, 
And hollow whistl'd in the rocky cave. 

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell, 

Once thelov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ; || 
Or mus'd where limpid streams, once hallow 'd 

wdi,ir 

Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred Fane.*"' 

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling 
rocks, [sky, 

The clouds, swift- wing'd, flew o'er the starry 
The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, 

And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. 

The paly moon rose in the livid east, 

And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form, 

In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast, 
And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm . 

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 

'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd : 

Her form majestic droop' d in pensive woe, 
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. 

Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, 

Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl' d, 

That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar, 
And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the 
world. — 

" My patriot son fills an untimely grave !" 
With accents wild and lifted arms she cried , 

" Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to 

save, [pride ! 

Low lies the heart that swell' d with honesttl 



forty-seventh year of his age. He rose to eminence as a 
member of the banking-house of Sir William Forbes and 
Company, of Edinburgh.] 

§ Var.— Beyond.— MS. 

[| The King's Park, at Holyrood-house.— K. B. 

\ St. Anthony's Well.— R. B. Burns wrote originally, 
Or mus'd where erst revered waters well. 

** St. Anthonv's Chapel. — R. B. 

ft Var.— Honour's.— MS. 



282 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



4t A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 
The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 

The drooping arts surround their patron's bier, 
And grateful science heaves the heart-felt 
sigh ! — 

u I saw my sons resume their ancient fire ; 

I saw fair freedom's blossoms richly blow : 
But ah ! how hope is born but to expire ! 

Relentless fate has laid their guardian low. — 

" My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, 
While empty greatness saves a worthless name ? 

No ; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 
And future ages hear his growing fame. 

" And I will join a mother's tender cares, 
Thro' future times to make his virtues last ; 

That distant years may boast of other Blairs !" — 
She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping 
blast. 



IHptetl* ti3 Hu($ barker.* 

In this strange land, this uncouth clime, 

A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 

Where words ne'er crost the muse's heckles, 

Nor limpet in poetic shackles ; 

A land that prose did never view it, 

Except when drunk he stacher't thro' it; 

Here, ambush' d by the chimla cheek, 

Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 

I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 

I hear it — for in vain I leuk. — 

The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 

Snhusked by a fog infernal : 

Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 

I sit and count my sins by chapters ; 

For life and. spunk like ither Christians, 

I'm dwindled down to mere existence ; 

Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 

Wi' nae kenn'd face but Jenny Geddes.f 

Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 

Dowie she saunters down Nithside, 

And aye a westlin leuk she throws, 

While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose ! 

Was it for this, wi' canny care, 

Thou bure the Bard through many a shire ? 

At howes or hillocks never stumbled, 

And late or early never grumbled ? — 

0, had I power like inclination, 

I'd heeze thee up a constellation, 

To canter with the Sagitarre, 

Or loup the ecliptic like a bar ; 

Or turn the pole like any arrow ; 

Or, when auld Phcebus bids good-morrow, 

Down the zodiac urge the race, 



* [This lively epistle, dated June, 1/88, was addressed to 
Mr. Hugh Parser, merchant in Kilmarnock, one of the 
Poet's earliest friends and patrons. Burns had then just com- 
menced house-keeping in Ellisland. Parker subscribed for 
thirty copies of the Poet's Works, when he first brought them 
out at the Kilmarnock press — a fact honourable to his 
memory.] 

t The Poet's mare. 



And cast dirt on his godship's face j 
For I could lay my bread and kail 
He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail. — 
Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 
And sma', sma' prospect of relief, 
And nought but peat-reek i' my head, 
How can 1 write what ye can read ? — 
Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 
Ye'll find me in a better tune ; 
But till we meet and weet our whistle, 
Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 

Robert Burns 



ELEGY 
<©tt tfje fear 1788 

A SKETCH. 

For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die — for that they're born ! 
But oh ! prodigious to reflec' ! 
A Towmont, Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events ha'e taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint a-head, 
An' my auld teethless Bawtie's dead ; 
The Tulzie's sair 'tween Pitt an' Fox, 
And our guid wife's wee birdie cocks j \ 
The tane is game, a bluidie devil, 
But to the hen-birds unco civil : 
The tither's something dour o' treadin', § 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden. 

Ye ministers, come mount the pu'pit, 
An' cry till ye be hearse an' roupit, 
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
An' gied you a' baith gear an meal ; 
E'en niony a plack, and mony a peck, 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck ! — 

Ye bonnie lasses, dight your een, 
For some o' you ha'e tint a frien' ; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en, 
What ye'll ne'er ha'e to gie again. 

Observe the very nowte an' sheep, 
How dowff and dowie now they creep ; 
Nay, even the yirth itsel' does cry, 
For Embrugh wells are grutten dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, 

An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 

Thou beardless boy, I pray tak' care, 

Thou now hast got thy daddy's chair, 

Nae hand-cuff d, muzzl'd, half-shack? d Regent, 



% Var. — An' 'tween our Maggie's twa wee cocks. — MS. 

[Truly has the ploughman Bard described the natures of 
those illustrious rivals, Fox and Pitt, under the similitude of 
the "birdie cocks." Nor will the allusion to the "hand- 
cuffed, muzzled, half-shackled Regent" be lost on those who 
remember the alarm into which the nation was thrown by 
the King's illness. — Cunningham.] 

§ Var. — The tither's dour has nae sic breedin'. 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE, ETC. 



283 



But, like himsel', a full, free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur than he did, honest man ! 
As muckle better as you can. 

January I, 1/89. 



SfoforetfS to tljc €ootI>ad)e,* 

WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY TOR- 
MENTED BY THAT DISORDER. 

My curse upon thy venom'd stang, 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang ; 
And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance ; 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, 

Like racking engines ! 

When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ; 
Our neighbours' sympathy may ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases, 

Aye mocks our groan ! 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
I kick the wee stools o'er the mickle, 
As round the fire the giglets keckle, 

To see me loup ; 
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle 

Were in their doup. 

O' a' the num'rous human dools, 
111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, 
Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools, 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree. 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell, 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 

In dreadfu raw, 
Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell, 

Amang them a' ! 

thou grim mischief-making chiel, 
That gars the notes of discord squeel, 
'Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick ; — 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmond's Tooth-ache ! 



* [The tooth-ache attacked Burns soon after he took up 
his abode at Ellisland : like other sufferers, he was any thing 
but patient under it. In a letter from Ellisland, in May 
1789, he complains of " an Omnipotent tooth-ache engrossing 
all his inner man."] 

f [The origin of this bitter effusion is thus related by the 
Poet to Dr. Moore :— Ellisland, March 23d, 1789. — li The 
enclosed Ode is a compliment to the memory of the late 
Mrs. [Oswald], of [Auchincruive] . You, probably, knew 
her personally, an honour which I cannot boast, but I spent 
my early years in her neighbourhood, and among her serv- 
ants and tenants. I know that she v. as detested with the 
most heartfelt cordiality. However, in the particular part of 
her conduct which roused my poetic wrath, she was much 
less blamable. In January last, on my road to Ayr-shire, I 
had to put up at Bailie Whigham's, in Sanquhar, the only 
tolerable inn in the place. The frost was keen, and the grim 



ODE 

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OP 

Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation ! mark 
Who in widow-weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonour'd years, 
Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse ! 

STROPHE. 

View the wither'd beldam's face — 

Can thy keen inspection trace 

Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace? 

Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows,' 

Pity's flood there never rose. 

See these hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 

Hands that took — but never gave. 

Keeper of Mammon's iron chest. 

Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest — 

She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest ! 

ANTISTROPE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 

(Awhile forbear, ye tort' ring fiends ;) 

Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends ? 

No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies j 

'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 

Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, 

She, tardy, hell-ward plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 

Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a-year ? 

In other worlds can Mammon fail, 

Omnipotent as he is here ? 

O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier, 

While down the wretched vital part is driv'n ! 

The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear, 

Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n. 



SKETCH 



How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
How virtue and vice blend their black and their 
white ; 



evening and howling wind were ushering in a night of snow 
and drift. My horse and I were both much fatigued with 
the labours of the day ; and just as my friend the bailie and 
I were bidding defiance to the storm, over a smoking bowl, 
in wheels the funeral pageantry of the late Mrs. Oswald ; 
and poor I am forced to brave all the terrors of the tem- 
pestuous night, and jade my horse— my young favourite 
horse, whom I had just christened Pegasus, further on, 
through the wildest hills and moors of Ayrshire, to New 
Cumnock, the next inn ! The powers of poesy and prose sink 
under me when I would describe what I fell. Suffice it to 
say that, when a good fire, at New Cumnock, had so far 
recovered my frozen sinews, I sat down and wrote the 
enclosed ode." The Poet lived to think more favourably of 
the name; one of his finest lyrics, " O wat ye wha's in 
yon town," was written in honour of the beauty of the suc- 
ceeding Mrs. Oswald. 



284 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



How genius, th' illustrious father of fiction, 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradic- 
tion — 
I sing : if these mortals, the critics, should bustle, 
I care not, not I — let the critics go whistle ! 

But now for a patron, whose name and whose 

glory 
At once may illustrate and honour my story. 

Thou first of our orators, first of our wits ; 
Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere 

lucky hits ; [strong, 

With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went far 

wrong ; 
With passions so potent, and fancies so bright, 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite 

right ;— 
A sorry, poor misbegot son of the muses, 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good L — d, what is man ! for as simple he 

looks, 
Do but try to develope his hooks and his crooks ; 
With his depths and his shallows, his good and 

his evil ; 
All in all he's a problem must puzzle the devil. 

On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely * 
labours, [up its neighbours ; 

That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats 
Mankind f are his show-box— a J friend, would 
you know him ? [shew him. 

Pull the string, ruling passion the picture will 
What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, 
One trifling particular, truth, should have miss'd 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions, [him ; 
Mankind is a science defies definitions. 

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, 
And think human nature they truly describe ; 
Have you found this, or t'other? there's more 

in the wind, [find. 

As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll 
But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan, 
In the make of that wonderful creature, call'd 

man. 
No two virtues, whatever relation they claim, 
Nor even two different shades of the same, 
Though like as was ever twin brother to brother, 
Possessing the one shall § imply you've the other. 



[The following lines are now restored to the 
text from the original MS. in the hand- writing 
of the Poet. 

This " Sketch " was not printed in any 



* Var.— Warmly.— MS. ii Burns's writing. 

t Var. — Human nature's. — MS. 

t Var— Your.— MS. § Var.— Must.— MS. 

II Var. — This verse originally stcnd thus : 

Seek, mangled innocent, some wonted form; 
That wonted form, alas ! thy dying bed, 
The sheltering rushes whistling o er thy head, 
The cold earth with thy biood-stained bosom warm. 



edition of the Poet's works, revised by himself. 
For these lines we are indebted to the beautiful 
edition of the Poetic Works of Burns, published 
by Mr. Pickering in 3 Vols. London, 1839.] 

In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, dated Eliisland, 
4th April, 1789, the Poet says, " I have a 
poetic whim in my head, which I at present 
dedicate, or rather inscribe, to the Bight Hon. 
Charles James Fox ; but how long that fancy 
may hold, I cannot say. A few of the first 
lines I have just rough sketched." 

But truce with abstraction, and truce with a 

muse, [to peruse ; 

Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, Sir, ne'er deign 
Will you leave your justings, your jars, and 

your quarrels, [laurels. 

Contending with Billy for proud- nodding 
My much honour'd patron, believe your poor 

Poet, [.you show it; 

Your courage much more than your prudence 
In vain with Squire Billy for laurels you struggle, 
He'll have them by fair trade, if not, he will 

smuggle ; 
Not cabinets even of Kings would conceal 'em, 
He'd up the back-stairs, and by G — he would 

steal 'em. [achieve 'em, 

Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er can 
It is not, outdo him, the task is, out-thieve him. j 



% Wotmfceti flare 

LIMP BY ME, 
WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT. 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field ! 
The bitter little that of life remains : [plains 
No more the thickening brakes and verdant 

To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted 

rest, || 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

H Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn ; 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruffian's aim,** and mourn thy 
hapless fate. 



\ In his first rough-draught the following fine verse stands 
between the third and fourth stanzas . 

Perhaps a mother's anguish adds its woe ; 

The playful pair crowd fondly by tly side ; 

Ah ! helpless nurslings, who will now provide 
That life a mother only can bestow ? 

** Var. — And curse the ruthless wretch, &c — MS. 



EPISTLE TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 



28o 



[This poem, like must of the productions of 
Burns, is founded on fact. James Thomson, 
whose father occupied a farm adjoining to that 
of Ellisland, has stated that once in the gloam- 
ing he shot at, and hurt, a hare, which, like 
that of Gay, had come forth 

"To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn." 

Burns was walking on Nithside, the hare ran 
bleeding by him ; " upon which," said Thom- 
son, " he cursed me, and said he would not 
mind throwing me into the water ; and I'll war- 
rant he could hae don't, though I was both 
young and strong." 

Burns copied out these verses, and laid them 
before the critical eye of Dr. Gregory. The 
boor of Nithside hardly used the hare worse 
than the critic of Edinburgh used the poem : — 
" 'The wounded hare/ " said he, "is a pretty 
good subject ; but the measure or stanza you 
have chosen for it is not a good one — it does 
not flaio well, and the rhyme of the fourth line 
is almost lost by its distance from the first, and 
the two interposed close rhymes. If I were you, I 
would put it into a different stanza yet. 

" Stanza 1. — The execrations in the first two 
lines are too strong or coarse ; but they may 
pass. Murder - aiming is a bad compound 
epithet, and not very intelligible ; blood-stained 
in the third stanza, line 4, has the same fault ; 
bleeding-bosom is infinitely better. You have 
accustomed yourself to such epithets, and have 
no notion how stiff and quaint they appear to 
others, and how incongruous with poetic fancy 
and tender sentiments. Suppose Pope had 
written, — 

" Why that blood-stained bosom gored?'' 

how would you have liked it ? Form is neither 
a poetic, nor a dignified, nor a plain common 
word : it is a mere sportsman's word — unsuit- 
able to pathetic or serious poetry. 

li Mangled is a coarse word. Innocent, in this 
sense, is a nursery word j but both may pass. 

Stanza 4. — 

" Who will now provide 
That life a mother only can bestow ?" 

will not do at all : it is not grammar : it is not 
intelligible. Do you mean, ' provide for that 
life which the mother has bestowed, and used 
to provide for ? ' 

"There was a ridiculous slip of the pen, feeling 
(I suppose) for fellow, in the title of your copy 



* [The exertions of this gentleman in favour of the Poet 
prevented his exiling himself to Jamaica at the commence- 
ment of his career. Dr. Blacklock was an enthusiast in his 
admiration of an art which he had practised himself with 
applause. He felt the claims of a poet with paternal sym- 
pathy ; and he had in his constitution a tenderness and 
sensibility that would have engaged his beneficence for a 
youth in the circumstances of Burns, even though he had 
not been indebted to him for the delight which he received 



of verses ; but even ' fellow ' would be wrong : 
it is but a colloquial and vulgar word, unsuit- 
able to your sentiments. Shot is improper too. 
On seeing a person (or a sportsman) wound a 
hare, it is needless to add with what weapon ; 
but if you think otherwise, you should say, 
with a fowling-piece." 

" It must be admitted," says Dr. Currie, 
"that this criticism is not more distinguished by 
its good sense than by its freedom from cere- 
mony. It is impossible not to smile at the man- 
ner in which the poet may be supposed to have 
received it. In fact it appears, as the sailors 
say, to have thrown him quite aback. In a 
letter which the Poet wrote soon after, he says, 
' Dr. Gregory is a good man, but he crucifies 
me: I believe in his iron justice ; but, like the 
devils, I believe and tremble.' However, he 
profited by these criticisms, as the reader will 
find, by comparing this first edition of the poem 
with that subsequently published." 

" From the feelings expressed in this little 
piece for the wounded hare, and the indignant 
terms in which the Poet rates its ruthless assail- 
ant, it is evident that he was not like the keen 
sportman, who, while defending the humanity 
of hunting, coolly maintained that it being as 
much the nature of a hare to run away, as of a 
dog to run after her, consequently the hare must 
receive as much pleasure from being coursed as 
the dog from coursing ; but this was not the 
philosophy of the Poet : like the prioress of 
Chaucer, he felt for all inferior animals." — 
Motherwell.] 



IHptetle to Dr. 33IachIoi-fe,* 

IN ANSWER TO A LETTER. 

Ellisland, 21st Oct. 1/8! 

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie ! 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send you ay as weel's I want ye, 

And then ye'll do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heronf south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tauld mysel' by word o' mouth, 

He'd tak' my letter ; 
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth, 

And bade J nae better. 



from his works. ***** He was not of a disposition 
to discourage with feeble praise, and to shift off ihe trouble 
of future patronage, by bidding him relinquish poetry, and 
mind his plough." — Professor Walker.] 

t " Heron, author of the History of Scotland, published 
in 1800; an , among various other works, of a respectable 
life of our Poet hims«lf." — Currie. 

% Expected. 



■jO 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



But aiblins honest Master Heron, 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
To ware his tlieologic care on, 

And holy study ; 
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on, 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 
I'm turn'd a ganger — Peace be here ! 
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear, 

Ye'll now disdain me ! 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wha, by Castalia's wimplin' streamies, 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbics, 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 

They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies ; 

Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is — 

I need na vaunt, 
But I'll sued besoms — thraw saugh woodies, 

Before they want. 

Lord, help me thro' this world o' care ! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air ! 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than mony ithers ; 
But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers ? 

Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van, 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man ! 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair : 
Wha does the utmost that he can, 

Will whyles do mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 
To make a happy fire-side clime 

To weans and wife ; 
That's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
I wat she is a dainty chuckie, 

As e'er tread clay ! 
And gratefully, my guid auld cockie, 

I'm yours for ay, 

Robert Burns. 



[The letter which called forth these verses 
from Burns was in rhyme, and dated from Edin- 
burgh, 24th August, 1789. It is here subjoined: 

£< Dear Burns, thou brother of my heart. 
Both for thy virtues and thy art ; 
If art it may be call'd in thee, 
Which nature's bounty large and free 



With pleasure in thy breast diffuses, 
And warms thy soul with all the Muses. 
Whether to laugh with easy grace, 
Thy numbers move the sage's face, 
Or bid the softer passions rise, 
And ruthless souls with grief surprise, 
'Tis nature's voice distinctly felt, 
Thro' thee, her organ, thus to melt. 

" Most anxiously I wish to know 
With thee of late how matters go ; 
How keeps thy much lov'd Jean her health? 
What promises thy farm of wealth ? 
Whether the Muse persists to smile, 
And all thy anxious cares beguile ? 
Whether bright fancy keeps alive? 
And how thy darling infants thrive ? 

" For me, with grief and sickness spent, 
Since I my journey homeward bent, 
Spirits depress'd no more I mourn, 
But vigour, life, and health return. 
No more to gloomy thoughts a prey, 
I sleep all night, and live all day; 
By turns my book and friend enjoy, 
And thus my circling hours employ ; 
Happy while yet these hours remain, 
If Burns could join the cheerful train, 
With wonted zeal, sincere and fervent, 
Salute once more his humble servant, 

:i Thomas Blacklock. 

"There was never, perhaps," says Heron, 
" one among all mankind whom you might 
more truly have called an angel upon earth 
than Dr. Blacklock. He was guileless and 
innocent as a child, yet endowed with manly 
sagacity and penetration. His heart was a per- 
petual spring of benignity. His feelings were 
all tremblingly alive to the sense of the sub- 
lime, the beautiful, the tender, the pious, the 
virtuous. Poetry was to him the dear solace of 
perpetual blindness. 

Such was the amiable old man whose life 
Mackenzie has written, and on whom Johnson 
' looked with reverence.' ' This morning,' says 
the great lexicographer, in a letter to Mrs. 
Thrale, dated August 17, 1773, ' I saw at 
breakfast Dr. Blacklock, the blind poet, who 
does not remember to have seen light, and ib 
read to by a poor scholar, in Latin, Greek, and 
French. He was, originally, a poor scholar 
himself. I looked on him with reverence." 

" The writings of Blacklock," says Lockhart, 
with great eloquence, "are forgotten, though 
some of his songs in the Museum deserve ano- 
ther fate ; but the memory of his virtues will 
not pass away, until mankind shall have ceased 
to sympathise with the misfortunes of genius, 
and to appreciate the poetry of Burns." 

The unfortunate Heron, of whom such un- 
ceremonious mention is made in this epistle 
of Burns, after undergoing great privations, 
sought shelter in London, and died there in 
misery in 1807. His own " unmerited sorrows 
and sufferings," says Lockhart, "would not have 
left so dark a stain on the literary history of 
Scotland, had the kind spirit of Blacklock been 
common among; his lettered countrvmen." 



=& 



DELIA, AN ODE. — PROLOGUE, ETC. 



287 



©clra. 

AN ODE. 

Fair the face of orient day, 
Pair the tints of op'ning rose ; 
But fairer still my Delia dawns, 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay, 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 
But, Delia, more delightful still, 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 

The flower-enamour'd busy bee, 
The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip ; — 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove ! 
O, let me steal one liquid kiss ! 
For, oh ! my soul is parch'd with love ! 



One day when the Poet Avas at Brownhill, in 
Nithsdale, a friend read some verses, composed 
after the pattern of Pope's song, by a person of 
quality, and said, " Burns, this is beyond you ; 
the muse of Kyle cannot match the muse of 
London City." The Poet took the paper, 
hummed the verses over for a minute or two, 
and then recited, " Delia, an Ode." He after- 
wards sent the MS. to the Publisher of the 
London Star — in which paper it first appeared, 
with the following characteristic letter : — 

" Mr. Printer, — If the productions of a sim- 
ple ploughman can merit a place in the same 
paper with Sylvester Otway,* and the other 
favourites of the Muses, who illuminate the 
Star with the lustre of genius, your insertion of 
the enclosed trifle will be succeeded by future 
communications from, 

Yours, &c. 

Robert Burns. 

Ellisland, near Dumfries, May 18t7i, 1789. 

["The inn of Brownhill, in the parish of Close- 
burn, was a favourite resting-place for Burns. 
Dalgarnock, where the heroine of one of his 
songs went on a tryste, forms part of the parish, 
and its old burial ground has since become 
famous as the place where Old Mortality em- 
ployed his chisel : Creehope-Lynn, too, where 
the Cameronians sought shelter, is in the neigh- 
bourhood ; moreover, the landlord, Mr. Bacon, 
was a well-informed and very facetious person 
— loved a dram and a joke, and had the art of 
making his presence acceptable to very polite 
visiters. The diamond of the Poet had not 
been idle on the windows ; but accident and 
curiosity have now removed all marks of his 
hand." — Cunningham.] 



* The assumed name of a Mr. Oswald, an Officer of the 



Co $oi)n ffij&mliQ, 3£sfg. 

O, could I give thee India's wealth 

As I this trifle send ! 
Because thy joy in both would be 

To share them with a friend. 

But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream ; 
Then take what gold could never buy — 

An honest Bard's esteem. 

Co tl)e J^amc. 

Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day' 
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray ; 
No wrinkle furrowed by the hand of core. 
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair ! 
O, may no son the father's honour stain, 
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain ! 



[John M'Murdo, Esq., was steward to the 
Duke of Queensberry, and the faithful friend of 
Burns during the whole period of his residence 
in Nithsdale. At his fireside he enjoyed many 
happy hours. The daughters of his friend 
were beautiful and accomplished, and inspired 
some exquisite lyrics. The first two verses ac- 
companied a present of books or verse. After- 
wards, when on a visit, he took out a diamond, 
and wrote the additional six- lines on a pane 
of glass.] 

prologue, 

SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, 
ON NEW TEARS-DAY EVENING. 

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 
That queen's it o'er our taste — the more's the 

pity: 
Tho', by-the-bye, abroad why will you roam ? 
Good sense and taste are natives here at home : 
But not for panegyric I appear, 
I come to wish you all a good new-year ! 
Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, 
Not for to preach, but tell his simple story : 
The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say, 
" You're one year older this important day." 
If wiser, too — he hinted some suggestion, 
But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the 

question ; 
And with a would-be roguish leer and wink, 
He bade me on you press this one word — 

"think!" 

Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope 
and spirit, 
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, 
To you the dotard has a deal to say, 
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ! 



army, whofrequently contributed verses to the Star newspaper. 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
That the first blow is ever half the battle ; [him, 
That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch 
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; 
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, tho' not least in love, ye faithful fair, 
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care ! 
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, 
And humbly begs you'll mind the important 

now ! 
To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
And offers bliss to give and to receive. 

For our sincere, tho' haply weak, endeavours, 
With grateful pride we own your many favours ; 
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 

[Burns at one period turned his thoughts on 
the drama, and even went so far as to select a 
subject, and compose some verses. To enable 
him to give a proper effect to his musings, he 
visited sometimes the Dumfries theatre, even 
while he lived at Ellisland, and appeared to 
take pleasure in the performances. 

On the 11th of January, 1790, he thus writes 
to his brother Gilbert : " We have gotten a set 
of very decent players here just now : I have 
seen them an evening or two. David Camp- 
bell, in Ayr, wrote to me by the manager of (he 
company, a Mr. Sutherland, who is a man of 
apparent worth. On New-year's-day I gave 
him the above prologue, which he spouted to 
his audience with applause." And on the 9th 
of February following, he said, " I have given 
Mr. Sutherland two prologues, one of which 
was delivered last week." The theatre of 
Dumfries is small and neat, and there is not a 
little taste for the drama among the people of 
the vale of Nith.l 



ikct£ prologue, 

FOR 

mr. Sutherland's benefit night, 

DUMFRIES. 

What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
How this new play an' that new sang is comin' ? 
Why is outlandish stuff sae ineikle courted ? 
Does nonsense mend like whiskey, when 

imported ? 
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame, 
Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame ? 
For comedy abroad he need na toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every soil ; 
Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enow in Caledonian story, 
Would shew the tragic muse in a' her glory. — 

Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell ? 



Where are the muses fled that could produce 

A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 

How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the 

sword, 
'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
And after mony a bloody, deathless doing, 
Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of 
ruin ? 

for a Shakespeare or an Otway scene, 

To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen ! 
Vain all th' omnipotence of female charms 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms 
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
To glut the vengeance of a rival woman : 
A woman — tho' the phrase may seem uncivil — 
As able and as cruel as the Devil ! 
One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 
But Douglases were heroes every age : 
And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life, 
A Douglas followed to the martial strife, 
Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, 
Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads ! 

As ye hae generous done, if a' the land 
Would take the muses' servants by the hand ; 
Not only hear, but patronize, befriend them, 
And where ye justly can commend, commend 

them ; 
And aiblins when they winna stand the test, 
Wink hard and say the folks hae done their 

best 1 
Would a' the mnd do this, then I'll be caution 
Ye '11 soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation, 
Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet crack, 
And warsle time, and lay him on his back ! 
For us and for our stage should ony spier, 
a Whase aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle 

here ? " 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, 
We have the honour to belong to you ! 
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, 
But like good mithers, shore before ye strike. — 
And gratefu' still I hope ye '11 ever find us, 
For a' the patronage and ineikle kindness 
We've got frae a' professions, sets and ranks : 
God help us! we're but poor — ye'se get but 

thanks. 

[The Scots prologue was accompanied with 
the following letter to Mr. Sutherland : — 

Monday Morning. 
" I was much disappointed in wanting your 
most agreeable company yesterday. However, 

1 heartily pray for good weather next Sunday ; 
and whatever aerial being has the guidance of 
the elements, he may take any other half dozen 
of Sundays he pleases, and clothe them with 

Vapours, and clouds, and storms, 

Until he terrify himself 

At combustion of his own raising. 

I shall see you on Wednesday forenoon. In the 
greatest hurry, R. B. 



NEW YEAR'S DAY. 



281' 



In a letter to William Nicol, dated the 9th 
of February, 1790, Burns wrote — "For the 
last two or three months, on an average, I have 
not ridden less than two hundred miles per 
week. I have done little in the poetic way. I 
have given Mr. Sutherland two prologues, one 
of which was delivered last week." 

" The themes which Barns points out for the 
tragic muse are noble ones: — but the heroic 
Wallace and the beauteous Mary would require 
sentiment and pathos such as are rare in the 
modern drama. James Grahame, the author 
of the Sabbath, and Thomas Doubleday, of 
Newcastle, have composed dramas on the sub- 
ject of Queen Mary, and both have produced 
scenes which cannot be perused without emo- 
tion. Scott, too, has thrown the charms of his 
genius around a life already sufficiently roman- 
tic. The words which Grahame ascribes to 
Mary when she looks from England towards 
her native land, are touching : — 

Mary. — O England! England! grave of murdered princes ! 
Why did I leave thee, Scotland, dearest land 1 
In thee I had some friends — they died for me : 

were I on the side of yon dim mountain ! 
Though wild and bleak it be, it is in Scotland. 

Adelaide. — Alas ! 'tis but a cloud. 

Mary. — No ! 'tis a mountain of sweet Annandale. 

Adelaide. — Ah, no! 'tis but a cloud; you know our distance. 

Mary. — Well, then, it is a cloud that hovers o'er 
My dear, my native land : I love that cloud, 
That misty robe of spirits. O, Adelaide, 

Come soothe me with that mournful song 

'Tis an old thing ; we heard it in the days 

Of happiness, and yet it filled our eyes 

With tears : we heard it in the vale of Morven : 

'Twas something — 'Twas about the voice of Cona 

Adelaide.— The maiden with the distaff by the stream 
'Twas she that sung it. 

1 do remember— and after she had sung it, 
She tried to tell it o'er in broken Scottish. 

Mary. — Let me hear it. 

Adelaide.— I feel my heart so full that but one note, 
A single note, sung even by myself, 
Would quite untune my voice. 

Mary. — The weary rook hies home — my home's a prison, 
All things are free but me. Why did I leave 
Lochleven's beauteous isle ? There I could range 
Along the shore, or, seated on the bank, 
Hope still for better days." 

Mary's woes still await some future Shak- 
speare, or pathetic Otway." — Cunningham. 

»«fo gear'* 23at>.— % &kttd). 

TO MRS. DTJNLOP. 

This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain, 
To run the twelvemonth's length again : 
I see the old, tald-pated fellow, 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine, 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 



* Major, afterwards General Andrew Dunlop, Mrs. Dunlop's 
second son. He died, unmarried, in the West Indies, in 1804, 
vhile obeying the call of his professional duty. 



The absent lover, minor heir, 
In vain assail him with their prayer ; 
Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press, 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's* with the hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila's fair Rachel's f care to-day, 
And blooming Keith 'sj engaged with Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute borrow — 
— That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow— 
And join with me a-moralizing, 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver ? 
"Another year is gone for ever !" 
And what is this day's strong suggestion ? 
" The passing moment's all we rest on !" 
Rest on — for what ? what do we here I 
Or why regard the passing year ? 
Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd lore, 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may — a few years must — 
Repose us in the silent dust. 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
Yes — all sucli reasonings are amiss ! 
The voice of Nature loudly cries, 
And many a message from the skies, 
That something in us never dies : 
That on this frail, uncertain state. 
Hang matters of eternal weight : 
That future life, in worlds unknown, 
Must take its hue from this alone ; 
Whether as Heavenly glory bright, 
Or dark as Misery's woeful night. — 

Since then, my honor'd, first of friends, 
On this poor being all depends, 
Let us th' important now employ, 
And live as those who never die. — 

Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd, 
Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight, life's sorrows to repulse, 
A sight, pale Envy to convulse,) 
Others now claim your chief regard ; 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 



[The picture contained in this sketch of the 
fire-side of Mrs. Dunlop is equally true and 
beautiful. That lady herself had not only a 
fine taste for poetry, but she wrote verses ele- 
gant and flowing : her son, the late Genera] 
Dunlop, exhibited all the courage of his house, 
and it has been remarked that, for fiery and 
persevering impetuosity of attack, few officers 
equalled him. Her daughter Rachel, whose 
skill in drawing was considerable, employed 
her pencil on the Coila of the Vision. To this 
Burns refers in one of his letters, — "I am 
highly flattered by the news you tell me of 



t Miss Rachel Dunlop, who afterwards married Robert 
Glasgow, Esq. 

% Miss Keith Dunlop, the voungest daughter. 

U 



290 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Coila. I may say to the fair painter who does 
me so much honour, as Dr. Beattie says to 
Ross the poet, of his muse Scota — from which, 
by-the-by, I took the idea of Coila — 

' Ye shake your head, but by my fegs, 
Ye've set auld Scota on her legs ; 
Lang had she lien wi' beffs an' flegs. . 

Bum-baz'd and dizzie ; 
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs, 

Wae's me, poor hizzie !' " 

The Scota of Ross, described by Burns as 
the forerunner of Coila, figures in the Invo- 
cation to "The Fortunate Shepherdess." On 
the original MS. of these lines, in the poet's 
hand- writing, Burns wrote as follows : — 

" On second thoughts I send you this extem- 
pore blotted sketch. It is just the first random 
scrawl ; but if you think the piece worth while, 
I shall retouch it, and finish it. Though I have 
no copy of it, my memory serves me.]" 

WRITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN 

WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND OFFERED 

TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE. 

Kind Sir, I've read your paper through, 

And, faith, to me 'twas really new ! 

How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted ? 

This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted 

To ken what French mischief was brewin' ; 

Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin' ; 

That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph, 

If Venus yet had got his nose off; 

Or how the collieshangie works 

Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 

Or if the Swede, before he halt, 

Would play anither Charles the Twalt : 

If Denmark, any body spak o't ; 

Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't ; 

How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin' ; 

How libbet Italy was singin' ; 

If Spaniards, Portuguese, or Swiss 

Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 

Or how our merry lads at hame, 

In Britain's Court, kept up the game : 

How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him ! 

Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ; 

If sleekit Chatham Will was livin', 

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin', 

If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin' ; 

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd, 

Or if bare a — s yet were tax'd ; 



* [The Poet here took the opportunity of making a hasty 
summary of important matters, on which even a solitary 
newspaper had thrown light, and this he has done with both 
knowledge and humour. We know now — to the shame of 
Europe — who has the "tack of Poland." We also know 
that Warren Hastings triumphed over the eloquence of his 
opponents, and is now looked upon by many as a sort of 
martyr in the cause of our empire in the East. The favour- 
able change which took place respecting him in public opi- 
nion has been ascribed to a pamphlet written by Logan, the 
minister of Leith. Burns was not solitary in his sarcastic 
strictures on the wild course of life pursued by some of our 



The news o' princes, dukes, and earls, 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera girls ; 
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, 
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails ; 
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. — 
A' this and mair I never heard of; 
And but for you I might despair'd of. 
So gratefu', back your news I send you, 
And pray, a' guid things may attend you ! * 

Ellisland, Monday Morning, 1/90. 

Wfyz aattmrtf J&aftra Xammt. 

Oh meikle do I rue, fause love, 

Oh sairly do I rue, 
That e'er I heard your flattering tongue, 

That e'er your face I knew. 

Oh I hae tint my rosy cheeks, 

Likewise my waist sae sma' ; 
And I hae lost my lightsome heart 

That little wist a fa'. 

Now I maun thole the scornfu' sneer 

O' mony a saucy quean ; 
When, gin the truth were a' but kent, 

Her life's been waur than mine. 

Whene'er my father thinks on me, 

He stares into the wa' ; 
My mither, she has ta'en the bed 

Wi' thinkin on my fa'. 

Whene'er I hear my father's foot, 

My heart wad burst wi' pain ; 
Whene'er I meet my mither's ee, 

My tears rin down like rain. 

Alas ! sae sweet a tree as love 

Sic bitter fruit should bear ! 
Alas ! that e'er a bonnie face 

Should draw a sauty tear ! 

But Heaven's curse will blast the man 

Denies the bairn he got ; 
Or leaves the painfu' lass he lov'd 

To wear a ragged coat.t 
. $ 

ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR 

DRUMLANRIG. J 

I. 

As on the banks o' wandering Nith, 
Ae smiling simmer-morn I stray'd, 

And traced its bonnie howes and haughs, 
Where linties sang and lambkins play'd, 

young princes. His sallies are not ill-natured, nor is he un- 
willing to believe that the folly of youth will sober down into 
sedateness and wisdom. — Cunningham.] 

f [These touching verses first appeared in Hogg and 
Motherwell's edition of the Poet's works.] 

% [The Duke of Queensberry stripped his domains of 
Drumlanrig in Dumfries -shire, and Neidpath in Peebles- 
shire, of all the wood fit for being cut, in order to enrich the 
Countess of Yarmouth, whom he supposed to be his daughter, 
and to whom, by a singular piece of good fortune on her 
part, Mr. George Sclwyn, the celebrated wit, also left a fortune, 
under the same, and probably equally mistaken, impression.] 



THE RUINS OF L1NCLUDEN ABBEY. 



291 



I sat me down upon a craig, 

And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, 
When, from the eddying deep below, 

Uprose the genius of the stream. 
ii. 
Dark,. like the frowning rock, his brow, 

And troubled like his wintry wave, 
And deep, as sughs the boding wind 

Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave — 
' And came ye here, my son," he cried, 

" To wander in my birken shade ? 
To muse some favourite Scottish theme, 

Or sing some favourite Scottish maid ? 
nr. 
" There was a time, it's nae lang syne, 

Ye might hae seen me in my pride, 
"When a' my banks sae bravely saw 

Their woody pictures in my tide ; 
When hanging beach and spreading elm 

Shaded my stream sae clear and cool ; 
And stately oaks their twisted arms 

Threw broad and dark across the pool ; 

IV. 

"When glinting, through the trees, appear' d 

The wee white cot aboon the mill, 
And peacefu' rose its ingle reek, 

That slowly curled up the hill. 
But now the cot is bare and cauld, 

Its branchy shelter's lost and gane, 
And scarce a stinted birk is left 

To shiver in the blast its lane." 
v. 
" Alas !" said I, "what ruefu' chance 

Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees 1 
Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 

Has stripp'd the deeding o' your braes ? 
Was it the bitter eastern blast, 

That scatters blight in early spring ? 
Or was't the wil' fire scorch'd their boughs, 

Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ?" 

VI. 

u Nae eastlan' blast," the sprite replied ; 

" It blew na here sae fierce and fell, 
And on my dry and halesome banks 

Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell : 
Man ! cruel man !" the genius sigh'd — 

As through the cliffs he sank him down — 
'* The worm that gnaw'd my bonnie trees, 

That reptile wears a ducal crown !" 



STANZAS 
<&\\ tl)t ©ufee of (©uwnsfcerrg. * 

How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace — 
Discarded remnant of a race 

Once great in martial story ? 



* [_On being rallied for frequently satirising persons un- 
worthy of his notice, and the Duke of Queensberry being 
instanced as an example of a higher kind of game. Burns 
instantly drew out his pencil and handed to his friend the 
above bitter stanzas.] 

t TOn the banks of the river Cluden, and at a short dis- 



His forbears' virtues all contrasted — 
The very name of Douglas blasted — 
His that inverted glory. 

Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore ; 
But he has superadded more, 

And sunk them in contempt ; 
Follies and crimes have stain'd the name : 
But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim, 

From aught that's good exempt. 
+ 

ON AN 

©bniwg Wizbn of tyz %\uin$ of 
LINCLUDEN ABBEY, f 

Y"e holy walls, that, still sublime, 
Resist the crumbling touch of time ; 
How strongly still your form displays 
The piety of ancient days ! 
As through your ruins, hoar and grey, — 
Ruins, yet beauteous in decay, — 
The silvery moon-beams trembling fly : 
The form of ages long gone by 
Crowd thick on fancy's wond'ring eye, 
And wake the soul to musings high. 
Ev'n now, as lost in thought profound, 
I view the solemn scene around, 
And, pensive, gaze with wistful eyes, 
The past returns, the present flies ; 
Again the dome, in pristine pride, 
Lifts high its roof, and arches wide, 
That, knit with curious tracery, 
Each Gothic ornament display. 
The high-arclrd windows, painted fair, 
Show many a saint and martyr there. 
As on their slender forms I'd gaze, 
Methinks they brighten to a blaze ! 
With noiseless step and taper bright, 
What are yon forms that meet my sight ? 
Slowly they move, while every eye 
Is heav'n-ward rais'd in ecstasy. 
'Tis the fair, spotless, vestal train, 
That seek in pray'r the midnight fane. 
And, hark ! what more than mortal sound 
Of music breathes the pile around ? 
'Tis the soft chanted choral song, 
Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong ; 
Till, thence return'd, they softly stray 
O'er Cluden's wave, with fond delay ; 
Now on the rising gale swell high, 
And now in fainting murmurs die ; 
The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream, 
That glistens in the pale moon-beam, 
Suspend their dashing oars to hear 
The holy anthem, loud and clear ; 
Each worldly thought awhile forbear, 
And mutter forth a half-form'd prayer. 



tance from Dumfries, are the beautiful ruins of the Abbey 
of Lincluden, which was founded in the time of Malcolm, 
the fourth King of Scotland. The above splendid lines by 
the great national Poet of Scotland first appeared in Hogg 
and Motherwell's edition of the works of Burns, published at 
Glasgow in 1837, in 5 vols., small Svo.] 

U2 



292 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



But, as 1 gaze, the vision fails, 

Like frost-work touch'd by southern gales ; 

The altar sinks, the tapers fade, 

And all the splendid scene's decay'd ; 

In window fair the painted pane 

No longer glows with holy stain, 

But, through the broken glass, the gale 

Blows chilly from the misty vale ; 

The bird of eve flits sullen by, 

Her home, these aisles and arches high ! 

The choral hymn, that erst so clear 

Broke softly sweet on fancy's ear, 

Is drown' d amid the mournful scream, 

That breaks the magic of my dream ! 

Rous' d by the sound, I start and see 

The ruin'd sad reality ! 



%\)z Btecmt fKnt. 

Lass, when your mither is frae hame, 

May I but be sae bauld 
As come to your bower- window, 

And creep in frae the cauld ? 
As come to your bower-window, 

And when it's cauld an' wat, 
Warm me in thy fair bosom, — 

Sweet lass, may I do that ? 

Young man, gin ye should be sae kind, 

When our gudewife's frae hame, 
As come to my bower-window, 

Whare I am laid my lane, 
To warm thee in my bosom, — 

Tak' tent, I'll tell thee what, 
The way to me lies through the kirk :— 

Young man, do ye hear that? 



CI;e €m of 3Ltbn*t».* 



Heard ye o' the tree o' France, 

I watna what's the name o't ; 
Around it a' the patriots dance, 

Weel Europe kens the fame o't. 
It stands where ance the Bastile stood, 

A prison built by kings, man, 
When superstition's hellish brood 

Kept France in leading strings, man. 
n. 
Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit, 

It's virtues a' can tell, man ; 
It raises man aboon the brute, 

It maks him ken himsel, man. 
Gif ance the peasant taste a bit, 

He's greater than a lord, man, 
An' wi' the beggar shares a mite 

O' a' he can afford, man. 

[* This poem is taken from a MS. in the Poet's hand-writ- 
ing in the possession of Mr. James Duncan, Mosesfield, 



This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth, 
To comfort us 'twas sent, man : 

To gi'e the sweetest blush o' health, 

' An' mak' us a' content, man. 

It clears the een, it cheers the heart, 
Maks high and low guid friends, man ; 

And he wha acts the traitor's part 
It to perdition sends, man. 

IV. 

My blessings aye attend the chiel 

Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man, 
And staw'd a branch, spite o' the deil, 

Frae yont the western waves, man. 
Fair virtue water' d it wi' care, 

And now she sees wi' pride, man, 
How weel it buds and blossoms there, 

Its branches spreading wide, man. 

v. 
But vicious folks aye hate to see 

The works o' virtue thrive, man ; 
The courtly vermin's bann'd the tree, 

And grat to see it thrive, man ; 
King Loui' thought to cut it down, 

When it was unco' sma', man ; 
For this the watchman crack' d his crown, 

Cut aff his head and a', man. 

VI. 

A wicked crew syne, on a time, 

Did tak' a solemn aith, man, 
It ne'er should flourish to its prime, 

I wat they pledg'd their faith, man ; 
Awa they gaed wi' mock parade, 

Like beagles hunting game, man, 
But soon grew weary o' the trade, 

And wish'd they'd been at hame, man. 

VII. 

For Freedom, standing by the tree, 

Her sons did loudly ca', man ; 
She sang a sang o' liberty, 

Which pleas' d them ane and a', man. 
By her inspir'd, the new-born race 

Soon drew the avenging steel, man ; 
The hirelings ran — her foes gied chase, 

And bang'd the despot weel, man. 

VIII. 

Let Britain boast her hardy oak, 

Her poplar and her pine, man, 
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke, 

And o'er her neighbours shine, man. 
But seek the forest round and round, 

And soon 'twill be agreed, man, 
That sic a tree cannot be found, 

'Twixt London and the Tweed, man. 

IX. 

Without this tree, alake, this life 

Is but a vale o' woe, man ; 
A scene 0' sorrow mix'd wi' strife, 

Nae real joys we know, man. 



near Glasgow, and first printed in Mr. Robert Chambers*!! 
edition of the Poetical Works of Robert Burns, I838.J 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. 



293 



We labour soon, we labour late 
To feed the titl'd knave, man , 

And a' the comfort we're to get 
Is that ayont the grave, man. 

x. 

Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow, 

The waiid would live in peace, man ; 
The sword would help to mak' a plough, 

The din o' war wad cease, man. 
Like brethren in a common cause, 

We'd on each other smile, man ; 
And equal rights and equal laws 

Wad gladden every isle, man. 

XI. 

Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat 

Sic halesome dainty cheer, man; 
I'd gie my shoon frae afF my feet, 

To taste sic fruit, I swear, man. 
Syne let us pray, auld England may 

Sure plant this far-fam'd tree, man ; 
And blythe we'll sing, and hail the day 

That gave us liberty, man. 



Ucrs'cg to mp 23etL* 

Thou bed, in which I first began 
To be that various creature — Man ! 
And when again the fates decree, 
The place where I must cease to be ; — 
When sickness comes, to whom I fly, 
To soothe my pain, or close mine eye ;— 
When cares surround me where I weep, 
Or lose them all in balmy sleep ; — 
When sore with labour, whom I court, 
And to thy downy breast resort — 
Where, too, ecstatic joys I find, 
When deigns my Delia to be kind — 
And full of love, in all her charms, 
Thou giv'st the fair one to my arms. 
The centre thou, where grief and pain, 
Disease and rest, alternate reign. 
Oh, since within thy little space, 
So many various scenes take place j 
Lessons as useful shalt thou teach, 
As sages dictate — churchmen preach ; 
And man, con vine' d by thee alone, 
This great important truth shall own : — 
That thin partitions do divide 
The bounds where good and ill reside; 
That nought is perfect here below ; 
But bliss still bordering upon woe. 



* [These verses seem to have been suggested by a qua- 
train of Dr. Johnson, of which they are simply an expan- 
sion : — 

In bed we laugh, in bed we cry, 
And, born in bed, in bed we die : 
The near approach abed may show 
Of human bliss and human woe.] 

t [Peg Nicholson was the successor of Jenny Geddes : the 
latter took her name from the zealous dame who threw a stool 



iSlegg on ;Pcg fitdjolson.t 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 

As ever trode on airn ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

And past the mouth o' Cairn. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
And rode through thick and thin ; 

But now she's floating down the Nith, 
And wanting even the skin. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 

And ance she bore a priest ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

For Solway fish a feast. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
And the priest he rode her sair ; 

An ' much oppress'd and bruis'd she was, 
As priest -rid cattle are. 



[" One of the men of skill whom Burns brought 
to the aid of Peg Nicholson was the eccentric 
Samuel Colan ; a person eminently skilled in 
the ailments of four-footed creatures, but who 
believed that all diseases among cattle or horses 
proceeded from witchcraft or the malice of elves I 
and fairies. The swelling of a cow from eating 
dewy clover was caused, he said, by a spell : 
pains in the limbs arose, he was certain, from elf- 
arrows, and with regard to witches, he declared 
that the Cauldside of Dunscore was swarm- 
ing with them. Little was to be hoped from 
honest Samuel's skill, if his employer chanced 
to smile as he laid down the rustic law regard- 
ing murrain, mooril, and other ailments. "-=— 
Cunningham.] 



lEItgp on Captain Platt^tio ^mtaSon, 

A GENTLEMAN 

WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY 

FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 



" Should the poor be flattered ? " 

Shakspeare. 
But now his radiant course is run, 

For Matthew's course was bright ; 
His soul was like the glorious sun, 

A matchless heav'nly light ! J 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 



at the Dean of Edinburgh's head, when the ritual of the 
Episcopal Church was introduced ; and the former acquired 
the name of Peg Nicholson froin that frantic virago who at- 
tempted the life of George III. Peg was lent to P»urns by his 
friend William Nicol. The Poet enclosed the above verses 
in a letter to hisfriend, in February, 1790, with a long account 
of the deceased mare, which letter will be found in the cor- 
respondence of that year.] 

t Var. In the original MS. this motto formed the last 
verse of the Epitaph, and closed the subject very bea utifully. 



294 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



O'er hurcheon hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 
Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He's gane ! he's gane ! he's frae us torn 2 

The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd !* 

Ye hills ! near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns S 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, f 

Where echo slumbers ! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! 

Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens ! 

Ye burnies, wirnplin' down jonr glens, 

Wi' toddlin' din, 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae lin to lin ! 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea j 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie 

In scented bow'rs ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' fiow'rs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 

Droops with a diamond at its head, 

At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed., 

I' th' rustling gale, 
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, 

Come, join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover; 
An' mourn ye whirring J pai trick brood !- 

He's gane for ever. 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals ; 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair§ for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our caulcl shore, 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 



woods and wilds should r 

Wi' a' their birth ; 

For whunstane man to grieve wou'd scorn, 
For poor plain worth. — MS 



Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, 

In some auld tree, or eldritch || tow'r, 

What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r, 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 

'Till waukrife morn ! 

O, rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ? 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear 

For him that's dead I 

Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare, 

The worth we've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source ot light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

Oh, Henderson ! the man — the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ? 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find another 

The world around ? 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 

THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger ! — my story's brief, 

And truth I shall relate, man ; 
I tell nae common tale o' grief — 

For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man, 

A look of pity hither cast — 
For Matthew was a poor man. 



t "Eagles, so called, from their flying without that motion 
of the wings, common to most other birdg. 
t Var. Birring.— Afton MS. 
§ Var. Rowte.— Afton MS. 
|| Var, Aulder.— Afton MS. 



THE FIVE CARLINS, 



295 



If thou a noble sodger art, 

That passest by this grave, man, 

There moulders here a gallant heart — 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, man, 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise— 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 

Wad life itself resign, man, 
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa' — 

For Matthew was a kind man ! 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man, 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain — 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man, 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire* — 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish whin gin' sot, 

To 'blame poor Matthew dare, man, 
| May dool and sorrow be his lot ! 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



[The original MS. of this poem, written in 
Dumfries-shire, in 1790, in the Poet's hand- 
writing, not only supplies some interesting vari- 
ations, but is accompanied by the following 
characteristic note : — " JNow that you are over 
with the sirens of flattery, the harpies of cor- 
ruption, and the furies of ambition — those in- 
fernal deities that, on all sides and in all parties, 
preside over the villanous business of politics — 
permit a rustic muse of your acquaintance to do 
her best to soothe you with a song. You knew 
Henderson ? I have not flattered his memory." 

" The Elegy on Captain Henderson," says 
the Poet to Dr. Moore, in February, 1791, "is 
a tribute to the memory of a man I loved much. 
Poets have in this the same advantage as Roman 
Catholics ; they can be of service to their friends 
after they have passed that bourne where all other 
kindness ceases to be of any avail. "Whether, 
after all, either the one or the other be' of any 
real service to the dead is, I fear very problem- 
atical ; but I am sure they are highly gratify- 
ing to the living." Captain Henderson was 
a retired soldier, of agreeable manners and up- 
right character, who had a lodging in Carruber's 
Close, Edinburgh, and mingled with the best 
society of the city : he dined regularly at 
Fortune's Tavern, and was a member of the 

* Vae. These bones a brother's tears require. — MS. 
t " Bonnie Dumfries," as the Duchess of Gordon de- 
lighted to call it. 



CapUlaire Club, which was composed of all 
who inclined to the witty and the joyous."] 

[" This Elegy is in Burns's very best style. 
He brings the scenes, the birds, and the flowers,, 
quite before the eyes of our imagination. I 
remember Sir Walter Scott once shewing me a 
very old metrical tale in heroic measure, as old 
apparently as Gawin Douglas's day, in which 
all the birds and beasts of the forest are called 
on, in the same manner as here, and with a great 
deal of characteristic humour. He said this 
poem of Burns's was taken from that ; but as 
far as I remember, if there is an imitation, it is 
but as a shade, and hardly traceable. 1 have 
never been able to find that poem again, having 
forgot its name and all relating to it, save that 
I liked it, and that all the animals of my ac- 
quaintance were brought before my eyes with 
something characteristic about them, even the 
Toddis and the Widcattis, &c. There is like- 
wise a poem by the Earl of Stirling, published 
about the time of King James the Sixth, a very 
curious one of the same sort, wherein he de- 
scribes the peculiarities of many beasts and 
birds, and the horrid surprise each of them will 
get when the day of judgment comes on them." 
—Hogg.] 

[Perhaps Mr. Hogg alludes to "The Passage 
of the Pilgremmer," by John Burell, a poem 
which contains a goodly catalogue of beasts and. 
birds ; or, to the " Houlate," another ancient 
poem. — Motherwell.] 



Cfje dftbe Cavlutf. 
A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 



There were five carlins in the south ; 

They fell upon a scheme, 
To send a lad to Lunnun town, 

To bring them tidings hame. 
ii. 
Not only bring them tidings hame, 

But do their errands there ; 
And aiblins gowd and honour baith, 

Might be that laddie's share, 
in. 
There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith,f 

A dame wi' pride eneugh ; 
And Marjory o' the mony lochs,! 

A carlin auld. and teugh. 

IV. 

And blinkin' Bess of Annandale, § 
That dwelt near Solway-side ; 

And whiskey Jean, that took her gill 
In Galloway sae wide.|| 



t Loch-maben, the residence of king Robert Bruce, the 
p eat restorer of Scottish independence. 
§ The small thriving borough of Annan. 
fl The borough uf Kirkcudbright. 



296 THE POEMS OF BURNS. 


v. 
And black Joan, frae Crichton-peel,* 


XVI. 

li The Lunnon Court set light by me — U 


0' gipsy kith an' kin ; — 


I set as light by them ; 


Five weightier carlins were na foun' 


And I will send the sodger lad 


The south countrie within. 


To shaw that Court the same." ** 


VI. 


XVII. 


To send a lad to Lunnon town, 


Then up sprang Bess of Annandale, 


They met upon a day ; 


And swore a deadly aith, 


And mony a knight, and niony a laird, 


Says, " I will send the border-knight 


Their errand iain wad gae. 


Spite o' you carlins baith. f f 


VII. 


XVIII. 


mony a knight, and mony a laird, 


" For far-aff fowls hae feathers fair, 


This errand fain wad gae ; 


And fools o' change are fain ; 


But nae ane could their fancy please, 


But I hae try'd this border -knight, 


ne'er a ane but twae. 


An' I'll try him yet again." 


VIII. 


XIX. 


The first he was a belted knight, t 


Then whiskey Jean spak owre her drink, 
" Ye weel ken, kimmers a', 


Bred o' a border-clan ; 


And he wad gae to Lunnon town, 


The auld guidman o' Lunnon Court, 


Might nae man him withotan' ; 


His back's been at the wa'. 


IX. 

And he wad do their errands weel, 


XX. 

" And mony a friend that kiss'd his caup, 


And meikle he wad say ; 


Is now a fremit wight ; 


And ilka ane at Lunnon Court 


But it's ne'er be said o' whiskey Jean, — %% 


Wad bid to him guid-day. 


I'll send the border-*knight." 


X. 

Then niest cam in a sodger youth, J 


XXI. 

Says black Joan frae Crichton-peel 


And spak' wi' modest grace, 


A carlin stoor and grim, — 


And he wad gae to Lunnon town, 


" The auld guidman, an' the young guidman, 


If sae their pleasure was. 


For me may sink or swim. 


XI. 


XXII. 


He wad na hecht them courtly gifts, 


" For fools will prate o' right and wrang, 


Nor meikle speech pretend ; 


While knaves laugh in their sleeve ; 


But he wad hecht an honest heart, 


But wha blows best the horn shall win, 


Wad ne'er desert his friend. 


I'll speir nae courtier's leave." §§ 


XII. 


XXIII. 


Now, wham to chuse, and wham refuse, 


Sae how this weighty plea may end 


At strife thir carlins fell ; 


Nae mortal wight can tell : 


For some had gentlefolks to please, 


God grant the king, and ilka man, 


And some wad please themsel'. 

XIII. 

Then out spak' mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, 


May look weel to himsel' ! 


" The Five Carlins" are the five boroughs of 


And she spak' up wi' pride, 


Dumfries- shire and Kirkcudbright, which unite 


And she wad send the sodger youth, 


in sending a member to Parliament. The per- 


Whatever might betide. 


sonifications are considered happy by all who 


XIV. 


are acquainted with the places. 


For the auld guidman § o' Lunnon Court 


The duty which these five ladies met in Dum- 


She dinna care a pin ; 


fries to perform was to decide Avhether Patrick 


But she wad send a sodger youth 


Miller, younger, of Dalswinton, or Sir James | 


To greet his eldest son.|| 


Johnstone of Westerhall, should be preferred as 


XV. 


their representative in the House of Commons. 1 


Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs, 


On the side of the former all the Whig interest 


And wrinkled was her brow ; 


of the Duke of Queensberry was mustered : and 


Her ancient weed was russet grey, 


on that of the latter all the interest which the 


Her auld Scots bluid was true. 


Tories could command among the Hopes, the 


* Sanquhar, noted for its carpet manufacture, and that 
species of comfortable stockings called Sanquhar hose. Its 


ft Var. Then started Bess O'Annandale, 


And a deadly aith she's ta'en', 


castle was besieged in person by Edward I. 


That she wad vote the border-knight, 


t Sir J. Johnstone. J Major Miller. 


Tho' she should vote her lane. — MS. 


$ George III. || The Prince of Wales. 


XX Var. Brand// Jean (throughout.)— MS. 


% Var, There's some great folks set light by me. — MS 


$§ laugh them to scorn . 


** Var. But I will send to Lunnon town. 


But the sodger's friends hae blawn the best 


Wham I like best at hame.— MS. 

© _ , 


So he shall bear the horn. — MS. 

@ 



ELECTION BALLADS. 



297 



Jardines, and the Johnstones. The contest was 
fierce and acrimonious. The young, active 
men of Nithsdale, Annandale, and Eskdale, 
together with the youth of Galloway, marched 
into Dumfries, all armed with oak sticks, which 
in those days they were taught how to use in 
case of a fray ; and, had not prudent and sensi- 
ble men on both sides interposed and directed 
their eyes and minds elsewhere, confusion and 
strife would have ensued. 

The election was at the hottest, when Burns 
wrote the " Five Carlins :" he sent a copy of 
it to Mr. Graham of Fintray, saying, " The 
election ballad, as you will see, alludes to the 
present canvass in our string of boroughs. I do 
not believe there will be such a hard-run match 
in the whole general election. Sir James John- 
stone does what man can do, but yet he doubts 
his fate." The contest was decided in favour 
of Captain Miller, whose cause the Poet so 
powerfully supported by his pen. The poem is 
printed from a copy in the Poet's own hand- 
writing.] 

. -* 

AN ELECTION BALLAD.* 

Tune. — Up and waur them a'. 

The laddies by the banks o' Nith, 

Wad trust his Grace wi' a', Jamie, 
But he'll sair them as he sair'd the king, 
Turn tail and rin awa, Jamie. 
Up and waur them a', Jamie, 
Up and waur them a' ; 



* [This is an additional ballad on the election of Dumfries 
burghs in 1790: it should follow "The Five Carlins." In 
the poem just named, and in the ensuing one, entitled 
" Second Epistle to Mr. Graham of Fintray,'' Burns describes 
the contest in impartial terms, as if he took no side. To a 
neutral course he was in some degree forced by his connec- 
tions, public or private, notwithstanding the all-pervading fer- 
vour which the election occasioned in the district. But it is 
nevertheless evident, in the two former poems, that he in- 
clined to the cause of Sir James Johnstone, the Tory can- 
didate, while he was mainly prevented from speaking out 
against the Whigs by his being the tenant of Mr. Miller, 
father to the candidate on that side. In the poem, which 
has only of late come before the public, we have stronger 
evidence of his Tory inclinations : he may here be said fairly 
to speak out. That Burns should have at any period of his 
life been a Tory, may be surprising to many of his admirers ; 
but there can be no doubt that, while his feelings were at 
many times of a very undecided nature, veering from Jaco- 
bitism to Whigism, and from Whigism to Toryism, he was 
for a certain space, to say the least of it, much more of a 
partisan of Pitt's ministry than of the opposition. This 
space seems to have extended from the time of the Regency 
question in 1788, to the time when the principles of the 
French Revolution began to affect the public mind in Bri- 
tain. How far the conduct of the Whigs on that question 
may have operated in alienating Burns from their ranks we 
cannot tell : probably it was the leading cause of his becom- 
ing a more than usually decided Tory," which he was at the 
time of the composition of this election song. On the sub- 
ject of Burns's politics, we find the following passage in a 
letter of Sir Walter Scott, in the recent biography of that 
distinguished Poet:— "In one of them (certain letters of 
Burns, sent by Scott to Mr. Lockhart) to that singular old 
curmudgeon, Lady Winifred Constable, you will seehe plays 
high Jacobite, and, on that account, it is curious : though I 
imagine his Jacobitism, like my own, belonged to the fancy 



The Johnstones hae the guidin' o't, 
Ye turncoat whigs, awa. 

The day he stude his country's friend, 
Or gied her faes a claw, Jamie, 

Or frae puir man a blessin' wan, 

That day the duke ne'er saw, Jamie. 

But wha is he, the country's boast ? 

Like him there is na twa, Jamie ; 
There's no a callant tents the kye, 

But kens o' Westerha', Jamie. 

To end the wark here's Whistlebirck,t 
Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie ; 
And Maxwell true o' sterling blue, 
And we'll be Johnstones a', Jamie. 
Up and waur them a' Jamie, 
Up and waur them a' ; 
The Johnstones hae the guidin' o't, 
Ye turncoat Whigs, awa. 



OF FINTRAY : 

ON THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED ELECTION BETWEEN 

SIR JAMES JOHNSTONE AND CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR 

THE DUMFRIES DISTRICT OF BOROUGHS. 

I. 

Fintray, my stay in worldly strife, 
Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life, 

Are ye as idle's I am ? 
Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg, 
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg, 

And ye shall see me try him. 



rather than the reason. He was, however, a great Pittite 
down to a certain period. There were some passing stupid 
verses in the papers, attacking and defending his satire on a 
certain preacher, whom he termed ' an unco calf.' In one 
of them occurred these lines in vituperation of the adversary — 
' A Whig, I guess. But Rab's a Tory, 
And gies us mony a funny story.' 
This was in 1787." More probably, we suspect, a little later- 
There can of course be no doubt of the general truth of thi~ 
doggrel allegation ; but its limitation as to the time ought to 
be kept in mind. Burns only too certainly reverted at a sub- 
sequent period to Whig, or to more than Whig politics. 

In the above short piece, the author first speaks of the 
great influence of the Duke of Queensberry as the chief pro- 
prietor in Nithsdale. He then adverts to the tergiversation 
of which this once Court nobieman was guilty on the Regency 
question, when he supported the right of the Prince of Walts 
to assume the government without the consent of parliament, 
and signed the protest to that effect, December 26, 1788 ; for 
which he was immediately deprived of his place as a lord of 
the bedchamber. The Poet also speaks indignantly of the 
worthless personal character of the Duke — a man who spent 
a long life of eighty-five years in one continued series of 
selfish debaucheries and amusements, without gracing one 
day of it with a good action. The contrasted virtue of 
Westerhall is beautifully introduced in the third stanza. It 
may be mentioned, for the benefit of the southern reader, 
that the line, 

" The Johnstones hae the guidin' o't," 

is an old border proverb, relating to the immense influence 
once exercised in the district by this great Annandale clan.— 
Chambers.] 

t Mr. Birtwhistle, a gentleman of the stewartry of Kirk- 
cudbright, alluded to in the second of the Heron Ballads. 



298 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig* bears, 
"Wha left the all -important cares 

Of princes and their darlin's ; f 
And, bent on winning J borough touns, 
Came shaking hands wi' wabster louns, 

And kissing barefit carlins. § 
in. 
Combustion thro' our boroughs rode, 
Whistling his roaring pack abroad, 

Of mad, urimuzzl'd lions ; 
As Queensberry "buff and blue " unfurl'd, 
And Westerha' || and Hopeton hurl'd 

To every Whig defiance. 

IV. 

But cautious, Queensberry left the war, 
Th' unmanner'd dust might soil his star ; 

Besides, he hated bleeding : 
But left behind him heroes bright, 
Heroes in Coesarean fight, 

Or Ciceronian pleading, 
v. 
O ! for a throat like huge Mons-meg, 
To muster o'er each ardent Whig 

Beneath Drumlanrig's banners 5 
Heroes and heroines commix, 
All in the field of politics, 

To win immortal honours. 

VI. 

M'Murdo 51 and his lovely spouse, 
(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows !) 

Led on the loves and graces : 
She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
While he, all-conquering, play'd his part 

Among their wives and lasses. 

VII. 

Craigdarroch** led a light-arm'd corps; 
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour, 

Like Hecla streaming thunder : 
Glei)ridclel,tt skill'd in rusty coins, 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs, 

And bar'd the treason under. 

VIII. 

In either wing two champions fought, 
Redoubted Staig H, who set at nought 

The wildest savage Tory : 
And Welsh, §§ who ne'er yet flinch' d his ground, 
High-wav'd his magnum-bonum round 

With Cyclopean fury. 

IX. 

Miller brought up th' artillery ranks, 
The many-pounders of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation ! 
While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
'Mid Lawson's || || port entrench'd his hold, 

And threaten'd worse damnation. 

* The fourth Duke of Queensberry, of infamous memory, 
t Vak.— Of fiddles, wh-res, and hunters.— Af ton MS. 
t Buying.— MS. § Bunters.— Ibid. 

H Sir James Johnstone, the Tory Candidate. 
^ The Chamberlain of the Duke of Queensberry at Drum- 
lanrig, and a friend of the Poet. 
** Ferguson of Craigdarroch. 

ft Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, another friend of the Poet, 
it Frovost Staig of Dumfries. §$ Sheriff Welsh. 



To these, what Tory hosts oppos'd ; 
With these, what Tory warriors clos'd, 

Surpasses my descriving : 
Squadrons extended long and large, 
With furious speed rush'd to the charge. 



What verse can sing, what prose narrate, 
The butcher deeds of bloody fate 

Amid this mighty tulzie ! 
Grim Horror grinn'd — pale Terror roar'd, 
As Murther at his thrapple shor'd, 

And Hell mix'd in the brulzie ! 

XII. 

As highland crags by thunder cleft, 
When light' nings fire the stormy lift, 

Hurl down wi' crashing rattle : 
As flames amang a hundred woods ; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods ; 

Such is the rage of battle ! 

XIII. 

The stubborn Tories dare to die ; 
As soon the rooted oaks would fly 

Before th' approaching fellers : 
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan Bullers.lFIT 

XIV. 

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night, 
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight, 

And think on former daring : 
The muffled murtherer *** of Charles 
The Magna Charta flag unfurls, 

All deadly gules its bearing, 
xv. 
Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame, 
Bold Scrimgeourftf follows gallantGrahame, 

Auld Covenanters shiver. 
(Forgive, forgive, much wrong'd Montrose i 
While death and hell engulph thy foes, 

Thou liv'st on high for ever !) 

XVI. 

Still o'er the field the combat burns, 
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns ; 

But Fate the word has spoken j 
For woman's wit and strength o' man, 
Alas ! can do but what they can — 

The Tory ranks are broken ! 

XVII. 

O that my een were flowing burns ! 
My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cubs' undoing ! 
That I might greet, that I might cry, 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly, 

And furious Whigs pursuing ! 

II || Lawson, a wine merchant in Dumfries. 

Tffl The " Bullers of Buchan" is an appellation given to g 
tremendous rocky recess on the Aberdeen-shire coast, near 
Peterhead — having an opening to the sea, whiie the top 
open. The sea, constantly raging in it, gives it the appcs 
ance of a pot or boiler, and hence the name. 

*** The executioner of Charles I. was masked. 

ttt John Earl of Dundee. 

++J The great Marquis of Montrose. 



CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS. 



299 



XVIII. 

What Whig bat wails the good Sir James ? 
Dear to his country by the names 

Friend, patron, benefactor ! 
Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save ! 
And Hopeton falls, the generous brave ! 

And Stewart,* bold as Hector. 

XIX. 

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow ; 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe : 

And Melville melt in wailing 1 
Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
And Burke shall sing, ',' O Prince, arise ! 

Thy power is all prevailing." 
xx. 
For your poor friend, the Bard, afar 
He hears, and only hears, the war, 

A cool spectator purely : 
So, when the storm the forest rends, 
The robin in the hedge descends, 

And sober chirps securely. 

[The upshot of the election contest is related 
in this epistle : Miller of Dalswinton triumphed, 
and Johnston of Westerhall was defeated. 
There are two copies of the poem extant, both 
in the Poet's hand- writing ; the one belonging 
to Mrs. M'Murdo seems the most correct : 
from the other, the property of Miss Stewart of* 
Afton, some curious and characteristic varia- 
tions appear. Burns, in these poems, had a 
difficult part to play, and he seems to have 
taken the wisest course — he laughed on both 
sides, taking part with neither : his friends in 
Nithsdale were chiefly Whigs, and he looked 
to the Tories for getting forward in the Excise, 
"lam too little a man," he says to Graham, of 
Fintray, " to have any political attachments : 
I am deeply indebted to, and have the warmest 
veneration for, individuals of both parties ; but 
a man who has it in his power to be the father 
of a country, and who acts like his Grace of 
Queensberry, is a character that one cannot 
speak of with patience." As M'Murdo was 
the Duke's friend, the copy belonging to that 
family is moderate on " the Douglas" in the 
second verse : not so the Afton copy ; the Poet 
speaks out freely : — 
Now for my friends and brethren's sakes, 
And for my dear-lov'd land o' cakes, 
I pray with holy fire : 



* Stewart of Hillside, 

f The above characteristic verse is added in the Afton 
manuscript. With this poem closes the first series of the 
Poet's election ballads ; he appears, in an after contest of 
the same kind, in a rougher mood. 

X [Captain Grose, the hero of this facetious poem, was a 
zealous antiquary and fond of wit and wine. He had served 
in the army, and, retiring from it, dedicated his leisure and 
his talents to investigate the antiquities of his country. 
He found his way to Friars- Carse where some of the ablest 
antiquaries of Scotland occasionally met ; and at the "board 
of Glenriddel," he saw Burns for the first time. The Eng- 
lishman heard with wonder the sarcastic sallies, epigram- 
matic remarks, and eloquent bursts of the Scot ; while the 
latter was struck with the remarkable corpulency of the 
learned antiquary, and the most poetic feeling with which he 



Lord send a rough-shod troop o'hell, 
O'er a' wad Scotland buy or sell, 

To grind them in the miref. 



CAPTAIN GROSE'S^ 
3Pu*eg;rinatt£m£ tljrcttglj J^cetlanfc, 

COLLECTING THE 
ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk § to Johnny Groat's ; 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it: 
A chiel's amang you takin' notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent it ! 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 

Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, 

O' stature short, but genius bright, 

That's he, mark weel — 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel. 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin, J j 
Or kirk deserted by its riggin', 
It's ten to one ye'll find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' deils, they say, L — d save J s ! colleagum' 

At some black art. — 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaamer, 

Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamour, 

And you deep read in hell's black grammar, 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight b es ! 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he's quat the spurtle- blade 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And ta'en the — Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : 
Rusty aim caps and jinglin' jackets, If 
Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, 

A towmount guid ; 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, 

Afore the flood. 

talked of ancient allies.-- The wine of Glenriddel, too, aided 
in tightening the bands of acquaintanceship. The poem 
flew before Grose over Scotland---he was not pleased to be 
so heralded, and, above all, little relished the allusions to his 
corpulency---he thought, too, that his researches were treated 
with too little gravity. These sentiments had not, however, 
reached the Poet when he wrote to Captain Grose, at the 
earnest request of his friend Dugald Stewart, — that he 
would honour the learned professor with a visit. --The meeting 
took place at Catrine, as the antiquary was on his way to ex- 
amine the ruins of Lorn Castle. Captain Grose died in Dub- 
lin, of an apoplectic fit, May 12, 1791, in his 52nd year,] 

§ An inversion of the name of Kirkmaiden, in Wigton- 
shire, the most southerly parish in Scotland. 

|| Vide his Antiquities of Scotland. — 11. B. 

% Vide his Treatise on Ancient Armour andWeapons. — K.B. 



300 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld Tubal-Cain's fire-shool and fender ; 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch o' Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg, 
The cut of Adam's philibeg : 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully 
It was a faulding jocteleg, 

Or lang-kail gully. — 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Guid fellows wi' him; 
And port, O port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye' 11 see him ! 

Now, by the powers o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose ! — 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Shame fa' thee ! 



LINES 

WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER, 



ENCLOSING 



% %ztUx to Captain <^ro£e.* 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 

I go and ago, 
If he's amang his friends or foes ? 

Irani, coram, dago. 

Is he south or is he north ? 

I go and ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

Irani, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highlan' bodies ! 
Igo and ago, 



* [Burns made out some antiquarian and legendary me- 
moranda respecting: the ruins in Kyie, and addressed them to 
his late facetious gossip, Grose, under cover to Cardonnel, a 
well-known northern antiquary. As his mind teemed with 
poetry, he could not 'et this opportunity pass, but humming, 
as he folded up the letter, the well-known air of " Sir John 
Malcolm, ' wrote these lines on the envelope. Here, again, 
he touched on the captain's corpulency, and raised a laug-h 
louder than the latter liked. Cardonnel read the verses 
wherever he went, and the condoling inquiry over all Edin- 
burgh was — 

" Is he slain by Highlan' bodies? 
And eaten like a wether-haggis ?" 

Tne old song of " Sir John Malcom," which the Poet had 
in his mind when he wrote to Cardonnel, is to be found in 
" Yair'a Charmer. "---A former baronet of Lochore and his 
ne ; ghbour "Sandie Don," being in the habit of romancing 
too much over the bottle, a f . iend, who had a knack at rhyme, 
lepioved tbem in these facetious lines : 

*' O keep ye weel frae Sir John Malcolm. 
Igo and ago, 



And eaten like a wether -haggis ? 
Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abram's bosom gane ? 

Igo and ago, 
Or haudin' Sarah by the wame ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the L — d be near him ! 

Igo and ago, 
As for the deil, he daur na - steer him ! 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit the^ enclosed letter, 

Igo and ago, 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo and ago, 
The very stanes that Adam bore, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo and ago, 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

Iram, coram, dago. 



Cam <&' Ranter, 



' Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this buke." 

Gawin Douglas. 



When chapman billies leave the street, 
An' drouthy neebors neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearin' late, 
An' folk begin to tak' the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' gettin' fou an' unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, an' styles, 
That lie between us an' our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 



If he's a wise man I mistak' him, 
Iram, coram, dago. 

keep ye weel frae Sandie Don, 

Igo and ago, 
He's ten times dafter than Sir John, 
Iram, coram, dago. 

To hear them of their travel talk, 

Igo and ago, 
To gae to London's but a walk, 

Iram, coram, dago, 

1 hae been at Amsterdam, 

Igo and ago, 
Where* I saw mony a braw madam, 
Iram, coram, dago. 

To see the wonders of the deep, 

Igo and ago, 
Wad Gar a man both wail and weep, 

Iram, coram, dago. 
To see the leviathans skip, 

Igo and ago, 
And wi' their tail ding owre a ship, 

Iram, coram, dago. ,s ] 



TAM O' SHANTER. 



301 



Gath'rin' her brows like gath'rin' storm, 
Nursin' her wrath to keep it warm , 

This truth fand honest Tarn o' Shanter,* 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men an' bonny lasses.) 

O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, 
A bletherin', blusterin', drucken blellum ; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober ; 



* ["The original of Tamo' Shanter was an individual 
named Douglas Grahame, a Carrick farmer. Shanter is a 
farm on the Carrick shore, near Kirkoswald, which Grahame 
long possessed. The man was, in sober truth, the " blethe- 
rin', blusterin' blellum" that the poet has described; and 
his wife was as veritably a lady who most anxiously discour- 
aged drinking in her husband. Burns, when a boy, spent 
some time at Kirkoswald, in the house of a maternal uncle, 
who at once practised the craft of a miller, and sold home- 
brewed ale To this house, Grahame and his brother-in-law, 
the farmer of Duquhat (which lies between Kirkoswald and 
Shanter), used to resort ; and finding in Burns some quali- 
ties which, boy as he was, recommended him to their atten- 
tion, they made him every thing but their drinking com- 
panion. Sometimes, the two topers, tired of ale, which they 
said was rather cold for the stomach, would adjourn to 
Duquhat, and correct their native liquor with good brandy, 
which at that time was supplied by smugglers to every house 
in Carrick at a price next to nominal. Burns would accom- 
pany them in these migrations, an observant boy, inspecting 
the actions of his dotard seniors. After spending half a 
night at Duquhat, the farmer of that place, with Burns, 
would accompany Grahame to Shanter : but as the idea of the 
" sulky sullen dame " rose in their minds, a debate would 
arise as to the propriety of venturing, even in full strength, 
into the house, and Grahame would, after all, return to 
Duquhat, and continue the debauch till next day ; content 
to put off the present evil, even at the hazard of encounter- 
ing it in an accumulated form afterwards. Such were the 
opportunities afforded to the poet of observing the life of 
the Carrick farmers of those days. 

Regarding the identity of the hero of the tale, the follow- 
ing conclusive evidence is given : — 

Swindridge Muir, 13th January, 1829. 

Sir, 

As I understand you wish to be informed of what I 
know of the identity of the person designated Tarn o' Shan- 
ter, in Burns' celebrated poem of that name, I shall cheer- 
fully communicate all I know on the subject. Having met 
with the poet at the house of Sir W. Cunningham of Robert- 
land, which I was frequently in the way of doing, he (Burns) 
at request produced the poem. All the company present 
seemed to have some previous knowledge of it excepting 
myself. I asked who was the person therein represented as 
Tarn. Bums replied, " Who could it be but the .guidman 
o' Shanter ? — a man well acquainted with the freaks and 
pranks of the infernal crew ; ' ' and in the course of conver- 
sation I found this person to be Douglas Grahame. This 
was previous to his having sent a copy to Captain Grose, for 
whom it was particularly intended. Next morning I received 
a copy from the poet himself ; and to the best of my recol- 
lection there were also present at the time the late Dr. Hamil- 
ton, Kilmarnock, and Dr. M'Kenzie, then in Mauchline, 
now in Edinburgh. And I am, Sir, Yours, &c. 

JOHN SMITH. 

To Mr. David Auld, \ 
Merchant, Ayr. / 

From Major Wm, Neill, of Barnwell, 

Ayr, 28th January, 1829. 
Mr. David Auld, 

Sir, — In corroboration of what Mr. Smith states relat- 
ing to the identity of Tarn o' Shanter, I have had a conver- 
sation with Mrs. Jean Doak, a person of great respectability ; 
she was brought up with an aunt, who lived at the farm of 
Fornca'.loch in the neighbourhood of Kirkoswald. She was 



That ilka melder, wi' the miller, 

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 

That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 

The smith and thee gat roarin' fou on ; 

That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 

Thou drank wi' Kirkton f Jean till Monday. 

She prophesy'd that, late or soon, 

Thou wad be found deep drown' d in Doon ! 

Or catch'd wi' warlocks i' the mirk, 

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.J 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 



there at the time Burns attended Mr. Rodger's school at 
Kirkoswald, and resided with his uncle Mr. Samuel Brown 
in Ballochmyle. 

Douglas Grahame, then, and for some time afterwards, 
lived in the farm of Shanter. He was currently known in 
the neighbourhood as the Tarn of the Poet ; an appellation, 
however, no one durst apply to his face, as whatever honour 
may attach to it now, it was not a joke at all relished by the 
honest farmer. Mrs. Doak has known Shanter all her life. 
I am, dear Sir, Your most obedient servant, 

Wm. Neill.] 

t [The village where a parish church is situated is usually 
called the Kirkton in Scotland. A certain Jean Kennedy, 
who kept a reputable public-house in the village of Kirk- 
oswald, is here alluded to.] 

% ["Alloway Kirk, with its little enclosed burial-ground, 
next demands the pilgrim's attention. It has long been 
roofless, but the walls are pretty well preserved, and it still 
retains its bell at the east end. Upon the whole, the spec- 
tator is struck with the idea that the witches must have had 
a rather narrow stage for the performance of their revels, as 
described in the poem. The inner area is now divided by a 
partition-wall, and one part forms the family burial-place of 
the late Mr. Cathcart, who may perhaps be better known 
by his judicial designation of Lord Alloway. The ' winnock 
bunker in the east,' where sat the awful musician of the 
party, is a conspicuous feature, being a small window, divided 
by a thick mullion. Around the building are the vestiges of 
other openings, at any of which the hero of the tale may be 
supposed to have looked in upon the hellish scene. Within 
the last few years the old oaken Tafters of the kirk were 
mostly entire, but they have now been entirely taken away, 
to form, in various shapes, memorials of a place so remark- 
ably signalized by genius. It is necessary for those who sur- 
vey the ground, in reference to the poem, to be informed that 
the old road from Ayr to this spot, by which Burns supposed 
his hero to have approached Alloway Kirk, was considerably 
to the west of the present one, which, nevertheless, existed 
before the time of Burns. Upon a field about a quarter of a 
mile to the north-west of the kirk, is a single tree enclosed 
with a paling, the last remnant of a group which covered 

' the cairn 

Whare hunters fand the murder' d bairn ; ' 

and immediately beyond that object is 

' the foord, 

Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ; ' 
(namely, a ford over a small burn which soon after joins the 
Doon) ; being two places which Tarn o' Shanter is described 
as having passed on his solitary way. The road then made a 
sweep towards the river, and, passing a well which trickles 
down into the Doon, where formerly stood a thorn, on which 
an individual, called in the poem " Mungo's mither," com- 
mitted suicide, approached Alloway Kirk upon the west. It 
is surprising with what interest any visiter to the real scene 
inquires into and beholds every part of it which can be asso- 
ciated, however remotely, with the poem of ' Tarn o' Shan- 
ter.' The churchyard contains several old monuments, of a 
very humble description, marking the resting-places of un- 
distinguished persons, who formerly lived in the neighbour, 
hood, and had the usual hereditary title to little spaces of 
ground in this ancient cemetery. Among those persons rests 
William Burness, father of the Poet, over whose grave the 
son had piously raised a small stone, recording his name and 
the date of his death, together with the short poetical tribute 
to his memory which is inserted in the works of the Bard. 



302 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : — Ae market night, 
Tam had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; 
An' at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou' for weeks thegither ! 
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter ; 
An' aye the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious ; 
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious ; 
The Souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
The storm without might rair and rustle — 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy ! 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ! 
Or like the snowfall in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever ; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form, 
Evanishing amid the storm. — 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; — 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
An' sic a night he tak's the road in 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd : 
That night, a child might understand, 
The De'il had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 



This monument has been long ago destroyed and carried 
away piece-meal, and there is now substituted for it one of 
somewhat finer proportions. But the churchyard of Alloway 
has now become fashionable for the dead as well as the living. 
Its little area is absolutely crowded with modern monuments, 
referring to persons, many of whom have been brought from 
considerable distances to take their rest in this doubly conse- 
crated ground. Among these is one to the memory of a person 
named Tyrie, who, visiting the spot some years ago, happened 
to express a wish that he might be laid in Alloway churchyard, 
and, as face would have it, was interred in the spot he had 
pointed out within, a fortnight. Nor is this all ; for even the 
neighbouring gentry are now contending for compartments in 
this fold of the departed, and it i- probable that the elegant 
rnausolea of rank and wealth will -oon be jostling with the 
stunted obelisks of humble worth and noteless poverty. 



Tam skelpit on thro' dub an' mire, 
Despising wind, an' rain, an' fire ; 
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet ; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; 
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares; 
Kirk- Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists an' houlets nightly cry. — 

By this time he was cross the foord, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd j 
An' past the birks an' meikle stane, 
Whare drucken Charlie brak 's neck-bane ; 
An' thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
An' near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. — 
Before him Doon pours a' his floods ; 
The doubiin' storm roars thro' the woods ; 
The lightnings flash frae pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimmerin' thro' the groanin' trees, 
Kirk- Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancin' , 
An' loud resounded mirth an' dancin'. — 

Inspirin' bold John Barleycorn ! 

What dangers thou can'st mak us scorn ! 

Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 

Wi' usquabae we'll face the Devil ! — 

The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 

Fair play, he car'd na de'ils a boddle. 

But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 

'Till, by the heel an' hand admonish'd, 

She ventur'd forward on the light ; 

An', wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 

Warlocks an' witches in a dance ; 

Nae cotillon brent new frae France, 

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, an' reels, 

Put life an' mettle i' their heels : 

At winnock-bunker i' the east, 

There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 

A towzie tyke, black, grim, an' large, 

To gie them music was his charge ; 

He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, 

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 

Coffins stood round, like open presses ; 

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 

And by some dev'lish cantraip slight 

Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 



" The Monument alluded to was erected many years ago 
by subscription, and has subsequently been surrounded by a 
garden of evergreens. Hardly any object of the kind could 
be more truly beautiful, or worthy of its purpose, than this 
happily designed and happily situated building ; nor could 
any thing be more truly entitled to praise than the manner in 
which it is kept and managed. The interior contains a capi- . 
tal copy of the original portrait of the Poet, by Nasmyth, 
besides various other objects of less moment. In a grotto 
apart are now placed the celebrated statues o-f Tam o' Slian- 
ter and Souter Johnny, executed by Mr. James Thom, the 
selft- aught sculptor. After performing the tour of the 
United Kingdom, and gathering a sum little short of five 
thousand pounds, these singularly felicitous grotesques have 
been permanently fixed here, being, in fact, the property of 
the Monument Committee." — Chambers.] 



TAM O' SHANTER. 



303 



By which heroic Tam was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns ; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted, 
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ;' 
A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft : 
[Three lawyers' tongues turn*d inside out, 
Wi' lies seam'd, like a beggar's clout : 
And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk.]* 
Wi' mair o' horrible an' awfu', 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, an' curious, 
The mirth an' fun grew fast an' furious : 
The piper loud an' louder blew, 
The dancers quick an' quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
'Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
An' coost her duddies to the Avark, 
An' linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tam ! O Tam ! had thae been queans 
A' plump an' strappin', i' their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw- white seventeen hunder linen ! 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies, 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But wither'd beldams, auld an' droll, 
Kigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal, 
Lowpin' an' flingin' on a cummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie, 
"There was ae winsome wench an' walie,"f 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
An' perish'd mony a bonnie boat, 
An' shook baith meikle corn an' bear, 
An' kept the country-side in fear.) 



* [These additional four lines were, in the original MS., in 
this place. The Poet omitted them at the suggestion of Mr. 
Tytler, of Woodhouselee, who observed to him, in a letter, 
dated March, 1791 : — "The descriptive part might perhaps 
have been better closed after the two following lines — 

' Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu' 
Which ev'n to name would be unlawfu',' 

than the four lines which succeed 

1 The grey hairs yet stack to the heft,' 
v.'hijh, though good in themselves, yet, as they derive all 
their merit from the satire they contain, are here rather 
misplaced, among the circumstances of pure horror." To 
which Burns replied, "As to the faults you detected in the 

S)--r- 



Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, 
That, while a lassie, she had worn, 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty, 
It was her best, an' she was vauntie. — 

Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend Grannie, 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches,) 
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! 

But here my muse her wing maun cour , 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
To sing how Nannie lap an' flang, 
(A souple jade she was, an' Strang,) 
An' how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
An' thought his very een enrich'd ; 
Ev'n Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, 
An' notch' d an' blew wi' might an' main : 
'Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither, 
An' roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark ! " 
An' in an instant a' was dark : 
An' scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plunderin' herds assail their byke, 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When " Catch the thief! " resounds aloud ; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' mony an eldritch screech an' hollow. 

Ah, Tam ! ah, Tam ! thou 'It get thy fairin' 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin' ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' ! 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
An' win the key-stane J of the brig ; § 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they darena cross ; 
But ere the key-stane she could make 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
An' flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain grey tail : 



piece, they are truly there. One of them, the hit at the 
Lawyer and the Priest, I shall cut out."] 

f Allan Ramsay. 

t It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, 
have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the 
middle of the next running stream. It may be proper like- 
wise to mention to the benighted traveller that, when he 
falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going 
forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. — R. B. 

§ The Auld Brig of Doon, which is approached by a steep 
way, forming Tarn's line of march when pursued by the 
witches, and which is connected with the road by a sharp 
turn that may be conceived to have given that hero some 
trouble in a gallop, is a fine old arch, of apparently very 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



The carlin claught her by the rump, 
An' left poor Maggie scarce a stump.* 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed : 
Whane'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run i' your mind, 
Think ! ye may buy the joys o'er dear- 
Remember Tarn o' Shanter's mare. 



[The Poet in his manuscript thus intimates 
the localities of the tale. — " Alloway Kirk, the 
scene of the following poem is an old ruin in 
Ayr-shire, hard by the great road from Ayr to 
Maybole, on the banks of the river Doon, and 
near the old bridge of that name." 

" In the inimitable tale of Tam o' Shanter," 
says Sir Walter Scott, " Burns has left us suffi- 
cient evidence of his ability to combine the 
ludicrous with the awful, and even the horrible. 
No Poet, with the exception of Shakspeare, 
ever possessed the power of exciting the most 
varied and discordant emotions with such rapid 
transitions." 

" I shall not presume to say," observes Lord 
Byron, in his controversy with Bowles, " that 
Pope is as high a poet as Shakspeare and Mil- 
ton. I would no more say this than I would 
assert in the mosque — that Socrates was a 
greater man than Mahomet. But if I say that 
he is very near them, it is no more than has 
been asserted of Burns, who is supposed 

' To rival all but Shakspeare's name below.' 

I say nothing against this opinion. But of 



durable workmanship, and, though disused, except for foot 
passengers, is kept in excellent order. Some years ago the 
parapets had suffered considei'able injury by many of the 
coping-stones being thrown into the water by idle boys ; but 
at the instigation of Mr. David Auld, of Ayr, a poetical 
petition to the Trustees was written by the Rev. Mr. Paul, 
of Broughton, author of a Life of Burns, with the view of 
obtaining the means of repairing it. On this document 
being presented to a meeting of the Trustees at Ayr, it was 
found that they had no power to devote the public money to 
the repair of a disused road ; but the eight or ten gentlemen 
present were so much amused by the petition, and at the 
same time so convinced by its arguments, that they sub- 
scribed, on the spot, a sum sufficient to put all to rights. 
The document is here subjoined in full form ; — 

" Unto the Honourable the Trustees of the Roads, 
in the County of Ayr ; the Petition and com- 
plaint of the Auld Brig of Doon. 

Must I, like modern fabrics of a day, 

Decline, unwept, the victim of decay ? 

Shall my bold arch, that proudly stretches o'er 

Doon's classic streams, from Kyle to Carrick's shore, 

Be suffer'd in oblivion's gulf to fall, 

And hurl to wreck my venerable wall ? 

Forbid it ! every tutelary power ! 

That guards my key-stane at the midnight hour ; 

Forbid it ! ye who, eharm'd by Burns's lay, 

Amid these scenes can linger out the day! 

Let Nannie's sark, and Maggie's mangled tail, 

Plead in my cause, and in that cause prevail. 

The man of taste who comes my form to see, 

And curious asks, but asks in vain, for me, 

With tears of sorrow will my fate deplore, 

When he is told, ' The Auld Brig is no more.' 



what ' order,' according to the poetical aristo- 
cracy, are Burns's poems ? There are his 
opus magnum ' Tam o' Shanter,' a tale : ' The 
Cotter's Saturday Night,' a descriptive sketch : 
some others in the same style ; the rest are 
songs. So much for the rank of his produc- 
tions : the rank of Burns is the very first of 
his art." 

" Burns has given an elixir of life to his 
native dialect. The Scottish Tam o' Shanter will 
be read as long as any production of the same 
century. The impression of his genius is deep 
and universal. Into Tam o' Shanter he has 
poured the whole witchery of song, — humour- 
ous, gay, gloomy, terrific, and sublime." — 
Campbell. 

" Who but some impenetrable dunce," ob- 
serves Wordsworth, "or narrow-minded puritan 
in works of art, ever read without delight the 
picture which he has drawn of the convivial 
exaltation of the rustic adventurer, Tam o' 
Shanter ? The Poet fears not to tell the reader 
in the outset, that his hero was a desperate and 
Scottish drunkard, whose excesses were fre- 
quent as his opportunities. This reprobate 
sits down to his cups while the storm is roaring 
and heaven and earth are in confusion ; the 
night is driven on by song and tumultuous noise 
— laughter and jest thicken as the beverage 
improves upon the palate ; conjugal fidelity 
archly bends to the service of general benevo- 
lence : selfishness is not absent, but wearing 
the mask of social cordiality — and while these 
various elements of humanity are blended into 
one proud and happy composition of elated 
spirits, the anger of the tempest without doors 



Stop, then — O, stop the more than Vandal rage 
That marks this revolutionary age, 
And bid the structure of your fathers last, 
The pride of this, the boast of ages past ; 
Nor ever let your children's children tell, 
'By your decree, the fine Oid Fabric fell.' 

May it therefore please your Honours to consider 
this Petition, and grant such sum as you may 
think proper for repairing and keeping up the 
Auld Brig of Doon. 

(Signed) DAVID AULD, 

For the Petitioner." 

* ["Among the facts, which must have gone to the com- I 
position of "Tam o' Shanter," there is one which probably | 
suggested the tail-piece with which the diabolic panorama j 
is concluded. Douglas Grahame had, it seems, a good grey 
mare, which was very much identified with his own appear- 
ance. One day, being in Ayr, he tied the animal to a ring 
at the door of a public-house, where, contrary to his original 
intentions, he tarried so long, that the boys, in the mean- 
time, plucked away the whole of his mare's tail, for the 
purpose of making fishing lines. It was not till the next 
morning, when he awoke from a protracted bouse, that the 
circumstance was discovered by his son, who came in, crying 
that the mare had lost her tail. Grahame, when he com- 
prehended the amount of the disaster, was, it seems, so 
much bewildered as to its cause that he could only attribute 
it, after a round oath, to the agency of witches. There can 
be no doubt, we think, that this affair, working in Burns's 
recollection, was seized upon to serve as the catastrophe 
of a story, of which the main part, it is well known, was 
a fire-side legend, respecting a person of unknown name and 
character." — Cunningham.] 



ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB. 



305 



only heightens and sets off the enjoyment within. 
— I pity him who cannot perceive that -in all 
this, though there was no moral purpose, there 
is a moral effect : — 

' Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills of life victorious.' " 

"When my father," says Gilbert Burns, 
" feued his little property near Alloway Kirk, 
the wall of the church-yard had gone to ruin. 
My father, with two or three other neighbours, 
joined in an application to the town council of 
Ayr, who were superiors of the adjoining land, 
for liberty to rebuild it, and raised by subscrip- 
tion a sum for enclosing this ancient cemetery 
with a wall ; hence he came to consider it as 
his burial-place, and we learned that reverence 
for it that people generally have for the burial 
place of their ancestors. My brother was living 
in Ellisland, when Captain Grose, on his pere- 
grinations through Scotland, staid some time 
at Carse-House in the neighbourhood, with 
Captain Robert Riddel, of Glenriddel, a parti- 
cular friend of my brother. The antiquarian 
and the Poet were ' unco pack and thick the- 
gither.' Robert requested of Captain Grose, 
when he should come to Ayr-shire, that he 
would make a drawing of Alloway Kirk, as it 
was the burial place of his father, and where 
he himself had a sort of claim to lay down his 
bones when they should be no longer service- 
able to him ; and added, by way of encourage- 
ment, that it was the scene of many a good 
story of witches and apparitions, of which he 
knew the Captain was very fond. The Captain 
agreed to the request, provided the Poet would 
furnish a witch story, to be printed along with 
it. ' Tarn o' Shanter' was produced on this 
occasion, and was first published in Grose's 
Antiquities of Scotland. 

"The poem is founded on a traditional story. 
The leading circumstances of a man riding home 
very late from Ayr, in a stormy night, his seeing 
a light in Alloway Kirk, his having the curio- 
sity to look in, his seeing a dance of witches, 
with the devil playing on the bagpipes to them, 
the scanty covering of one of the witches, which 
made him so far forget himself as to cry out : — 
' Weel loupen, short sark ! ' — with the melan- 
choly catastrophe of the piece ; — it is all a true 
story, that can be well attested by many re- 
spectable old people in that neighbourhood."] 

The Poet has, however, himself related the 
story on which this inimitable production was 
founded in a letter to Francis Grose, the face- 
tious antiquary. — (See Correspondence, 1792.) 

[Tam o' Shanter was composed in November 
1 790. It was his own favourite poem, and is 
admitted by universal consent to be the happiest 
of all his works. 

The circumstances were strongly impressed 
on the mind of Mrs. Burns. The Poet had 
lingered longer than his wont by the river side, 



and, taking her children Avith her, she went out 
to join him. He was busily engaged crooning 
to himself, she informed Cromek, and, perceiv- 
ing that her presence was an interruption, she 
loitered behind with her little ones among the 
broom. Her attention was presently attracted 
by the strange and wild gesticulations of the 
bard, who now at some distance was agonized 
with an ungovernable excess of joy. He was 
reciting very loud, and with the tears rolling 
down his cheeks, those animated verses which 
he had just conceived : — 

" Now, Tam ! O, Tam ! had thae been queans, 
A' plump and strappin' in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannin, 
Been snaw-white se'enteen hunder linen ; 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies, 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies !" 

On going home he embodied the loose frag- 
ments which he had pencilled down, with the 
passages composed in his mind, and the result 
was the inimitable story as it now stands — ad- 
mitted by universal consent to be the happiest of 
all his works. The walk on Nithside, where 
his wife found him warmed with the inspiration 
of his subject, and reciting aloud, is kept in 
kindly remembrance by the people of the valley.] 



TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 

Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours, 
Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland boors ; 
Lord grant nae duddie desperate beggar, 
Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger, 
May twin auld Scotland o' a life 
She likes — as lambkins like a knife. 

Faith, you and A s were right 

To keep the Highland hounds in sight ; 

I doubt na ! they wad bid nae better 

Than let them ance out owre the water ; 

Then up amang thae lakes and seas 

They'll mak' what rules and laws they please : 

Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 

May set their Highland bluid a-ranklin' ; 

Some Washington again may head them, 

Or some Montgomery, fearless, lead them, 

Till God knows what may be effected 

When by such heads and hearts directed — 

Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 

May to Patrician rights aspire ! 

Nae sage North, now, nor sager Sackvil]e, 

To watch and premier o'er the pack vile, 

An' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons 

To bring them to a right repentance, 

To cowe the rebel generation, 

An' save the honour o' the nation ? 

They an' be d d ! what right hae they 

To meat or sleep, or light o' day ? 
Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom, 
But what your lordship likes to gie thpni 1 



306 



THE POEMS OF BUKNS. 



But hear, my lord ! Glengarry, hear ! 
Your hand's owre light on them, I fear ! 
Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies, 
I canna' say but they do gaylies ; 
They lay aside a' tender mercies, 
An' tirl the hallions to the birses ; 
Yet while they're only poind' t and herriet, 
They'll keep their stubborn Highland spirit ; 
But smash them ! crash them a' to spails ! 
An' rot the dy vors i' the jails ! 
The young dogs, swinge them to the labour ; 
Let wark an' hunger mak' them sober ! 
The hizzies, if they're aughtlins fawsont, 
Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd ! 
An' if the wives an' dirty brats 
E'en thigger at your doors an' yetts, 
Flaffan wi' duds an' grey wi' beas', 
Frightin' awa your deucks an' geese, 
Get out a horsewhip or a jowler, 
The langest thong, the fiercest growler, 
And gar the tatter'd gypsies pack 
Wi' a' their bastards on their back ! 
Go on, my Lord ! I lang to meet you, 
An' in my house at hame to greet you ; 
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle, 
The benmost neuk beside the ingle, 
At my right han' assign'd your seat 
'Tween Herod's hip an' Polycrate, — ■ 
Or if you on your station tarrow, 
Between Almagro and Pizarro, 
A seat, I'm sure ye're weel deservin't ; 
An' till ye come — Your humble servant, 

Beelzebub.* 

Jicne 1st, Anno Mundi, 5790. 

With Pegasus upon a day, 
Apollo weary flying, 

* [" The Address of Beelzebub" made its first appearance 
in the Scots Magazine for February, 1818, printed from the 
manuscript of Burns, and headed thus; — "To the Right 
Honourable the Earl of Breadalbane, President of the Right 
Honourable and Honourable the Highland Society, which 
met on the 23d of May last, at the Shakspeare, Covent- 
Garden, to concert ways and means to frustrate the designs 
cf five hundred Highlanders, who, as the society were in- 
formed by Mr. M , of A s, were so audacious 

as to attempt an escape from their lawful lords and masters, 
whose property they were, by emigrating from the lands of 
Mr.M'Donald, of Glengarry, to the wilds of Canada, in search 
of that fantastic thing Liberty. " 

Tne communication was made by a person under the 
signature of R. W., who wrote from Ayr; — "The Address 
of Beelzebub " has never been printed before, and I consider 
it a duty to preserve from oblivion every production which 
the public has a claim to inherit, as the legacy of departed 
genius, unless its publication be offensive to right feeling, 
or derogatory to the talents and character of the author. 
You will recognise in it something cf the compound vigour 
of Burns's genius ; the rustic but keen severity of his 
sarcasm, and the manly detestation of oppression, real or 
supposed, which so strongly characterized him. For your 
entire satisfaction, I enclose the original in his own hand- 
writing : it was given to me by a friend who got it many 
years ago from the well-known 'ready-witted Rankine,' the 
Poet's early and intimate acquaintance."] 

f ["The Poet, it seems, during one of his journeys over 
his ten parishes as an exciseman, had arrived at Wanlock- 
liead on a winter-day, when the roads were slippery with ice, 
and Jenny Geddes (or Peg Nicholson) kept her feet with 



Through frosty hills the journey lay, 
On foot the way was plying. 

Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus 

Was but a sorry walker ; 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes, 

To get a frosty calker. 

Obliging Vulcan fell to work, 
Threw by his coat and bonnet, 

And did Sol's business in a crack ; 
Sol paid him with a sonnet. 

Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 

Pity my sad disaster ; 
My Pegasus is poorly shod — 

I'll pay you like my master.f 

Robert Burns. 

Ramages, 3 o'clock, (no date.) 



Eammt of $tflar}> OHumi oi Ikotg, 

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.T. 
I. 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, 

And glads the azure skies ; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 



Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis, wild wi' mony a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 



difficulty. The blacksmith of the place was busied with 
other pressing matters in the forge, and could not spare 
time for 'frosting ' the shoes of the Poet's mare, and it is 
likely he would have proceeded on his dangerous journey, had 
he not bethought himself of propitiating the son of Vulcan 
with verse. He called for pen and ink, wrote these verses 
to John Taylor, a person of influence in Wanlockhead ; and 
when he had done, a gentleman of the name of Sloan, who 
accompanied him, added these words: — "J. Sloan's best 
compliments to Mr. Taylor, and it would be doing him and 
the Ayr-shire Bard a particular favour, if he would oblige 
them instanter with his agreeable company. The road has 
been so slippery that the riders and the brutes were equally 
in danger of getting some of their bones broken. For the 
Poet, his life and limbs are of some consequence to the 
world ; but for poor Sloan, it matters very little what may 
become of him. The whole of this business is to ask the 
favour of getting the horses' shoes sharpened." On the re- 
ceipt of this, Taylor spoke to the smith ; the smith flew to 
his tools, sharpened the horses' shoes, and, it is recorded, 
lived thirty years to say he had never been ' weel paid but 
ance, and that was by the poet, who paid him in money, paid 
him in drink, and paid him in verse." 

Communicated by John Brown, \ A T r , ^ n TT „, r ,, T „„ . ., -i 
Esq., Ayr. to S Allan Cunningham.] 

t [The Lady Winifred Maxwell Constable, having expressed 
a wish for a poem on the woes of Queen Mary, Burns, 
touched with the pathos of Lord Maxwell's " Good Night," 
composed the " Queen Mary's Lament," with his thoughts 
on that fine ballad. The Poet was well pleased with his per- 
formance. — " Whether it is," he says to Graham of Fintray, 
" that the story of our Mary Queen of Scots has a peculiar 



LAMENT OF QUEEN MARY.— THE WHISTLE. 



307 



In love and freedom they rejoice, 
Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 

in. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae ; 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang ! 
IV. 
I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, 

As blythe lay down at e'en : 
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 

And never-ending-care. 
v. 
But as for thee, thou false woman ! — 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 

That thro' thy soul shall gae ! 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor the balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 

VI. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ! 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee : 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, 

Remember him for me ! 

VII. 

Oh ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Nae mair light up the morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flow'rs, that deck the spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 



Clje »¥)tette. 

J sing of a whistle, a whistle of worth, 
I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North, 



effect on the feelings of a poet, or whether I have, in the 
enclosed ballad, succeeded beyond my usual poetic success, 
I know not, but it has pleased me beyond any effort of my 
muse for a good while past." Lady Winifred rewarded the 
Poet by the present of a valuable snuff-box, with the portrait 
of Queen Mary on the lid. Bums acknowledged the gift 
in a letter to the donor, dated Ellisland, January 11th, 1791. 
Lady Winifred was the daughter and sole heiress of William 
Maxwell, commonly called Earl of Nithsdale, only son of 
William, fifth Earl of Nithsdale, who was attainted of high 



Was brought to the court of our good Scottish 

king, [ rm g- 

And long with this whistle all Scotland shall 

Old Loda,* still rueing the arm of Fingal, 

The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 

" This whistle's your challenge — to Scotland 

get o'er, [more !" 

And drink them to hell, sir, or ne'er see me 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell," 
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the 
Scaur, 
Unmatched at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
He drank his poor godship as deep as the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has 
gain'd ; 
Which now in his house has for ages remain' d ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear 
of flaw ; 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; [oil, 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

" By the gods of the ancients ! " Glenriddel 

" Before I surrender so glorious a prize, [replies, 

I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,f 

And bumper his horn with him twenty times 

o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pre- 
tend, [friend, 
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe — or liis 
Said, toss down the whistle, the prize of the field, 
And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 

But for wine and for welcome not more known 

to fame, [dame. 

Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely 

A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 

treason in 1718. She died in 1810. When Burns visited 
Terreagles house, he was shown the bed in which that prin- 
cess slumbered during one troubled night — an original letter 
from Charles I., requesting the Earl of Nithsdale to arm and 
join him in England— and the account written by the Coun- 
tess of Nithsdale of the last Earl's escape from the Tower„ 
in 1715.] 

* See Ossian's Caric-thura.— R. B. 

f See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides.— R. B. 



308 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
I And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 
! And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy ; 
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they 
were wet. 

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Phoebus ne'er witness' d so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he was quite 

forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the 
night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestors did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and 
sage, 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage ; 
A high-ruling Elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the 
end ; [tend ? 

But who can with fate and quart-bumpers con- 
Though fate said — a hero shall perish in light ; 
So up rose bright Phoebus — and down fell the 
knight. 

Next up rose our bard, like a prophet in drink : 
" Craigdarroch, thou 'It soar when creation shall 

sink ! 
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
Come — one bottle more — and have at the sub- 
lime ! 

"Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with 
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : [Bruce, 
So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 
The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of 
day !" 



As the authentic prose history of the "Whis- 
tle " is curious, I shall here give it. — In the 
train of Anne of Denmark, when she came 
to Scotland with our James the Sixth, there 
came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic 
stature and great prowess, and a matchless 
champion of Bacchus. He had a little ebony 
whistle, which at the commencement of the 
orgies he laid on the table, and whoever was the 
last able to blow it, every body else being dis- 



* [The jovial contest took place in the dining-room of 
Fr.ar J s Carse, in the presence of the Bard, who drank bottle 
for bottle about with them, and seemed quite disposed to take 
up the conqueror when the day dawned. The peasants of the 
neighoourhood hearing of the pleasant strife, went in groups 
to inquire how matters went, and all wished that Glenriddel 
might win, though they lamented that an elder should engage 
n such a business. Friar's Carse is one of the loveliest spots 



abled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry 
off the whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane 
produced credentials of his victories, without a 
single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, 
Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the 
petty courts in Germany 5 and challenged the 
Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying 
his prowess, or else of acknowledging their infe- 
riority. — After many overthrows on the part of 
the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir 
Robert Lawrie, of Maxwelton, ancestor of the 
present worthy baronet of that name ; who, after 
three days and three nights' hard contest, left 
the Scandinavian under the table, 

" And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill." 

Sir Walter, son of Sir Robert before-men- 
tioned, afterwards lost the whistle to Walter 
Riddel, of Glenriddel, who had married a sister 
of Sir Walter.— On Friday, the 16th of October, 
1790, at Friar's- Carse,* the whistle was once 
more contended for, as related in the ballad by 
the present Sir Robert Lawrie, of Maxwelton ; 
Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, lineal 
descendant and representative of Walter Kidael, 
who won the whistle, and in whose lamiiy it 
had continued ; and Alexander Ferguson, Esq. 
of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great 
Sir Robert ; which last gentleman carried off 
the hard-won honours of the field. — Burns. 

[The whistle is still kept as a great curiosity, 
and was last in the possession of the late Right 
Honourable R. Cutlar Ferguson, of Craigdar- 
roch, M. P., son of the victor.] 



Clegj) on JMfetf J3 timet, 

OF MONBODDO. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ; 
Nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow, 
As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget ? 
In richest ore the brightest jewel set ! 
In thee, high Heav'n above was truest shown, 
As by his noblest work the Godhead best is 
known. 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves j 
Thou crystal streamlet with thy liow'rf 
shore, 

Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, 
Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more ! 



on Nithside, The Poet states that the contest took place on 
16th October, 1790 ; but it is evident, from a letter which he 
wrote to Captain Riddel from Ellisland, on the same day in 
the preceding year, that it was then intended to be held. 
Besides, the l6tn October, 1/90, fell on a Saturday, and not on 
a Friday. It is probable that the ballad was written in 1789, 
even if the contest itself did not occur until the following 
year.] 



LAMENT FOR GLENCAIRN. 



309 



Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens ; 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge & rushes stor'd ; 
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens, 

To you I fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes, whose cunib'rous pride was all their 
worth, 

Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail ? 
And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth, 

And not a muse in honest grief bewail ? 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the 
spheres ; 

But, like the sun eclips'd at morning tide, 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care ; 

So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree ; 
So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare.* 



LAMENT 



$amc£, 5Earl at tfMmcatut.t 



The wind blew hollow frae the hills, 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream : 
Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 
ii. 
He lean'd him to an ancient aik, 

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years ; 
His locks were bleached white with time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 



* [The father of the beautiful and accomplished Elizabeth 
Burnet was Lord Monboddo, a very eccentric nobleman : he 
was at once whimsical and acute ; odd in his manners and 
elegant. Ke asserted, in his Origin and Progress of Lan- 
guage, that men were originally no better than brutes : alike 
destitute of reason, language, conscience, and social affection. 
He had the reputation of giving the most elegant entertain- 
ments during his day in the northern metropolis ; he had 
flowers of all hues, and wines of all qualities : odours as well 
as light were diffused by lamps, nor were his entertainments 
without the charm of music. In domestic circumstances, 
Monboddo was particularly unfortunate. His wife, a very 
beautiful woman, died in child-bed. His son, a very pro- 
mising boy, in whose education he took great delight, was 
likewise snatched from his affections by a premature death ; 
and his second daughter, in personal loveliness one cf 
the first women of the age, was cut off by consumption when 
only twenty -five years old. In his address to Edinburgh, the 
Poet thus alludes to this charming lady. — 

" Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine; 
I see the Sire of Love on high, 

And own his woik indeed divine."] 



The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, 
To echo bore the notes alang : — 



" Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year ! 
A few short months, and glad and gay, 

Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
But nocht in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 

IV. 

" I am a bending aged tree, 

That long has stood the wind and rain ; 
But now has come a cruel blast, 

And my last hold of earth is gane : 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
But I maun lie before the storm, 

And ithers plant them in my room. 

v. 
"I've seen sae mony changefu' years, 

On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
I wander in the ways of men, 

Alike unknowing and unknown : 
Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, 

I bear alane my lade o' care, 
For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

VI. 

" And last (the sum of a' my griefs !) 

My noble master lies in clay ; 
The flow'r amang our barons bold, 

His country's pride — his country's stay- 
in weary being now I pine, 

For a' the life of life is dead, 
And hope has left my aged ken, 

On forward wing for ever fled. 

VII. 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my harp " 
The voice of woe and wild despair ; 



t [With James Cunningham, Earl of Glencairn, perished 
the last hope of Burns, of obtaining " a pension, post, or 
place" in his native land. He was generous and accom- 
plished, and admired the Poet through his poetry ; the last 
of the male line of the family became extinct by the death 
of this Earl's brother ; the title has lain dormant since. The 
Glencairn Cunninghams are descended from Warnebald de 
Cunningham, a Norman, the companion of Hugh de Mor- 
ville, Constable of Scotland, who died in 1102. They were 
distinguished in the border wars ; and Alexander, tne fifth 
Earl, a warrior, a poet, and a reformer, was one of the most 
active of the leaders of the Congregation, and undertook and 
accomplished some hazardous enterprises. Another of the 
line resisted, with much gallantry, the English under the 
Parliamentary leaders, and obtained the praise of Clarendon. 
The family, never rich, became very poor, and one of the 
Earls married a musician's daughter, with a handsome for- 
tune. A son of this marriage was at a ball in Edinburgh, 
when a dispute arose between him and one of the Kennedys 
of Cassillis, regarding a suitable tune for the dance.— " I 
wish," said Cassillis, " that we had your grandfather here; 
he was skilful, I have heard."— " Yes," reiorted Cltncairn. 
"he excelled all the west in playing Johnny Faa." A duel 
was the consequence.] 



310 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Awake ! resound thy latest lay — 

Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

That fittest an untimely tomb, 
Accept this tribute from the bard 

Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom. 



" In poverty's low barren rale 

Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round j 
Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou found'st me, like the morning sun, 

That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
The friendless bard and rustic song 

Became alike thy fostering care. 



" Oh ! why has worth so short a date ? 

"While villains ripen grey with time ; 
Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ! 
Why did I live to see that day ? 

A day to me so fall of woe ! — 
Oh ! had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid mv benefactor low ! 



" The bridegroom may forget the bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen : 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
But 1*11 remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for me ! " ' 



[Bums sent this Lament to lady Elizabeth 
Cunniugkam, the sister and eventually co-heiress 
of James, 14th Earl of Glencairn, who died 30th 
January, 1791, with a letter, in which he says : 
— " My heart glows, and shall ever glow, with 
the most grateful sense and remembrance of his 
Lordship's goodness. The sables I did myself 
the honour to wear to his Lordship's memory 
were not the ' mockerv of woe.' Nor shall mv 



* [" In this poem, we have a beautiful instance how 
sweetly and sincerely Burns wrote from the heart. Love, kind- 
ness, and gratitude were congenial to his nature ; he lived 
and breathed in them. In the last stanza the poet shows 
how closely he could approach the genuine simplicity and 
touching pathos of our early song." — Ettrick Shepherd.] 

t Sir^John Whitefoord, to whom Burns enclosed a copy 
of his " Lament for the Earl of Glencairn," was one of his 
earliest and most valuable patrons. On receipt of the above, 
Sir John wrote to the poet as follows ; — 

ic Near Maybole, October 16, 1791. 

" Sir. — Accept of my thanks for your favour, with the 
Lament on the death of my much esteemed friend, and your 
worthy patron, the perusal of which pleased and affected me 
much. The lines addressed to me are very flattering. 

" I have always thought it most natural to suppose (and a 
strong argument in favour of a future existence, that, when 
we see an honourable and virtuous man labouring under 
bodily infirmities, and oppressed by the frowns of fortune in 
this world, there was a happier state beyond the grave, 



gratitude perish with me ! If, among my chil- 
dren, I shall have a son that has a heart, he 
shall hand it down to his child as a family hon- 
our, and a family debt, that my dearest exist- 
ence I owe to the noble house of Glencairn !" 
Lady Elizabeth Cunningham, died, unmarried, 
in 1804. The poet's gratitude did not die with 
his noble patron. He named his youngest son, 
James Glencairn. He is now a Major in the 
senuce of the East India Company.] 



LINES SENT TO 

&ix %q\)\x Wfyit&Qsxn, 33 art. 

OF 

WHITEFOORD ; f 

WITH THE FOREGOING POEM. 

Thou, who thy honour as thy God reverst, 
'Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly 

fear'st, 
To thee this votive offering I impart, 
The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
The friend thou valued'st, I, the patron, loved ; 
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd. 
We'll mourn till we, too, go as he has gone, 
And tread the dreary path to that dark world 

unknown. 

ADDRESS 

TO 

CI;e ^Ijafce of Cljouisfon, 

ON 

CROWDING HIS BUST, AT EDNAM, ROXBURGH-SHIRE, 

WITH BAYS, j 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 

Or tunes Eolian strains between . 

"While Summer, with a matron grace, 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade : 



where that worth and honour, which are neglected hcre r 
would meet with their just reward, and where temporal 
misfortunes would receive an eternal recompense. Let us 
cherish this hope for our departed friend, and moderate our 
grief for that loss we have sustained, knowing that he cannot 
return to us, but we may go to him. 

"Remember me to your wife, and with every good wish 
for the prosperity of you and your family, believe me, at all 
times, Your most sincere friend. 

JOHN WHITEFOORD." 

* [On this occasion the Poet was honoured with an invi- 
tation from the Earl of Buchan, "to make one at the 
coronation of the bust of Thomson, on Ednani Hill, on the 
22nd of September. 1791 ; for which day perhaps his muse 
may inspire an ode suited to the occasion." See his letter, 
together with the answer of the poet, in the Correspondence 
of that year. The poet appeared to be highly flattered by 
the invitation, but declined it, saying that a week's absence 
in the middle of the harvest was a step he durst not venture 
upon — but he sent this poem.] 



THIRD EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. 



311 



While Autumn, benefactor kind, 

By Tweed erects his aged head, 
And sees, with self-approving mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed : * 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 
The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : 

So long, sweet Poet of the year ! 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won : 
While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 



THIRD EPISTLE 
Co mofcert ©rafjam, £*$., 

OF 

FINTRAY.f 

Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, J 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg : 
Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest) ; 
Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail ? 
(It soothes poor misery, heark'ning to her tale,) 
And hear him curse the light he first surveyed, 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade ? 

Thou, Nature ! partial Nature ! I arraign ; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have found,§ 
One shakes the forests, and one spurns the 

ground : 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his ceil j 
Thy minions, kings defend, control, devour, 
In all th' omnipotence of rule and power ; 
Foxes and statesmen subtle wiles ensure ; 
The cit and polecat stink, and are secure ; 
Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug ; 



Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, || [darts. 
Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and 

But, oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard \ 
A thing unteachable in worldly skill, 
And half an idiot, too, more helpless still ; 
No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun ; 
No claws to dig, his hated H sight to shun ; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 
No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur,** 
Clad in rich dullness' comfortable fur ; — 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Critics ! — appall'd I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame : 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ! 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, 
By blockheads' daring into madness stung ; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must 

wear : 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in th' unequal strife. 
The hapless poet flounders on through life ; 
'Till, fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 
And fled each muse that glorious once inspir'd, 
Low sunk in squalid unprotected age, "} 

Dead, even resentment, for his injur'd page, f 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's C 

rage. J 

So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed deceased, 
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast, 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, 
Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son.ff 

Oh dulness ! portion of the truly blest I 
Calm shelter' d haven of eternal rest ! 



* The Poet's manuscript affords the following interesting 
variations ;— 

While cold-eyed Spring, a virgin coy, 

Unfolds her verdant "mantle sweet, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic joy, 

A carpet for her youthful feet : 
While Summer, with a matron's grace, 

Walks stately in the cooling shade, 
And oft, delighted, loves to'trace 

The progress of the spiky blade : 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 
With age's hoary honours clad, 
Surveys, with self- approving mind, 
Each creature on his bounty fed. 
Again ; — 

While Autumn, by Tweed's fruitful side, 

With sober pace, and hoary head, 
Surveys, in self-approving pride, &c. — MS. 
f The variations here introduced arc from a fragment in 
the poet's hand-writing, entitled " The Poet's Progress, a 
Poem, in embryo." 

t Burns wrote to Mrs. Dunlcp, on the /th of February, 
1791. "that, by a fall, not from my horse, but with my 



horse, I have been a cripple some time," by which he says 

he had broken his arm ; but there is no allusion in his 

correspondence to any other accident, except in Dec. 1/8?. 

$ Vab. — The peopled fold thy kindly care have found, 

The horned bull tremendous spurns the ground ; 
The lordly lion has enough and more, 
The forest trembles at his very roar. 

H Vak. — Even silly women have defensive arts — 

Their eyes, their tongues, and nameless ether 
parts. — MS. 
% Var— Dreaded,— MS. 

**Var. — No nerves olfact'ry, true to Mammon's foci ; 
Or grunting grub, sagacious evil's* root, 

Again, 

Or grunting, sage, to grub all evil's * root, 
tfln the original manuscript cf the poet, the " Sketch of a 
Character," commencing "A little upright, pert, tart, trip- 
ping wight," and the "Lines on William Smellie'' are 
here added. 

* Mooey the root of all evil. — Sc2iptubb. 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up : [serve, 
Conscious the bounteous meed* they well de- 
They only wonder " some folks " do not starve, 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the cluef of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that " fools are fortune's 

care." 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. J 

Not so the idle muses' mad-cap train, [brttin ; 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck 
In equanimity they never dwell, 
By turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell. § 

I dread thee, fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
Already one strong- hold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, 
4nd left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
Oh ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! — 
Fintray, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down 1 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life ; and soothe his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 



In a letter to Professor Stewart, dated Janu- 
ary 20th, 1789, the Poet says, "The piece 
inscribed to R. G., Esq., is a copy of verses I 
sent Mr. Graham, of Fin tray, accompanying a 
request for his assistance in a matter to me 
of very great moment. To that gentleman I 
am already doubly indebted ; for deeds of kind- 
ness of serious import to my dearest interests, 
done in a manner grateful to the delicate feel- 
ings of sensibility. This poem is a species 
of composition new to me, but I do not intend 
it shall be my last essay of the kind, as you 
will see by the * Poet's Progress.' (These 
fragments, if my design succeeds, are but a 
small part of the intended whole. I propose it 
shall be the work of my utmost exertions, 
ripened by years.)" 



^fectdj of a Character. 

A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, 
And still his precious self his dear delight : 



* Var. — Their great success. 
t Var. -Thread.— MS. 



Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets 
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets : 
A man of fashion, too, he made his tour, 
Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive V amour ! 
So travell'd monkies their grimace improve, 
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love. 
Much specious lore, but little understood ; 
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood : 
His solid sense — by inches you must tell, 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell ; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend, 
Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 



"The fragment," says Barns to Dugald 
Stewart, " beginning ' A little, upright, pert, 
tart, &c.,' I have not shown to man living till I 
now send it to you. It forms the postulata, the 
axioms, the definition of a character, which, if 
it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of 
lights. This particular part I send you merely 
as a sample of my hand at portrait sketch- 
ing."] 



FOURTH EPISTLE 

Co 2ftoI)nt (glraljam, €3cr., 

OF 

FINTRAY. 

I call no goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled muse may suit a bard that feigns ; 
Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new, 
The gift still dearer, as the giver, you. 

Thou orb of day ! thou other paler light ! 
And all the other sparkling stars of night ; 
If aught that giver from my mind efface ; 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 
Then roll to me along your wandering spheres, 
Only to number out a villain's years ! 



[These verses were written on receiving the 
favour which the previous epistle prayed for. 
Robert Graham of Fintray had the merit of 
doing all that was done for Burns in the way 
of raising him out of the toiling humility of his 
condition, and enabling him to serve the muse 
without dread of want. Fintray had indeed 
little in his power ; but he exercised his power 
willingly, and not only obtained the Poet an 
appointment in the excise, but was instrumental 
in removing him to a district requiring less per- 
sonal exertion. Nor should it be forgotten that 
he defended him with eloquence when imputa- 
tions were thrown upon his loyalty.] 



+ Var. — Hangs the seeming ox. — MS. 
§ All the rest of this poem is yet without form, and void in 
the pericranium of the Poet. — MS. 



THE VISION.— VERSES TO MAXWELL. 



313 



As I stood by yon roofless tower,* 
Where the wa' -flower scents the dewy air, 

Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 
And tells the midnight moon her care ; 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 
The stars they shot alang the sky ; 

The fox was howling on the hill, 
And the distant-echoing glens reply. 

The stream, adown its hazelly path, 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's, 

Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 

Whose distant roaring swells and fa's.f 

The cauld blue north was streaming forth 
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din : 

Athort the lift they start and shift, 
Like fortune's favours, tint as win. 

By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, 
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see 

A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. J 

Had I a statue been o' stane, 

His daring look had daunted me ; 

And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, 
The sacred posie — " Liberty !" 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 

Might rous'd the slumb'ring dead to hear : 

But, oh ! it was a tale of woe, 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sang wi' joy this former day, 

He, weeping, wail'd his latter times ; 



* The ruins of Lincluden Church near Dumfries, 
f Var. — The burn, adown its hazelly path, 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa', 
(To join yon river on the Strath,) 

Whase roarings seem'd to rise and fa'. 
X Var. — Now looking over firth and fauld, 

Her horn the pale-fac'd Cynthia rear'd; 
When, Id ! in form of minstrel auld, 
A stern and stalwart ghaist appear'd. 
The above fragment was founded on a Poem by Allan 
Ramsay. The variations, which are taken from a copy in 
Burns's autograph, agree with the version printed in John- 
son's Museum, with the exception of the fifth and sixth 
verses in the text, which occur neither in the MS. nor in 
the Museum. In the latter, the Vision is printed to the tune 
of Cumnock Psalms, and has the following chorus ; — 
A lassie, all alone, was making her moan, 

Lamenting our lads beyond the sea ; 
In the bluidy wars they fa', an' our honours gane an' a', 

An' broken-hearted, we maun die. 
§ [This splendid vision of Liberty Burns evoked among 
the ruins of old Lincluden. The scene is chiefly copied from 
nature ; but the wall-flower and the ivy, the distant roaring 
of the Nith, and the fox howling on the hill, seem rather to 
point to Sweetheart Abbey. Lincluden was a favourite resort 
of the Poet ; and, indeed, a lovelier spot, or one more suit- 
able for meditation, cannot well be imagined. " To the 
south," says Macdiarmid, in his pleasing account of the 
place, " appears the ancient town of Dumfries, distant little 
more than a mile, the spires of which are seen, and the 
chime of its bells distinctly heard ; the Cluden laves the 
banks of what must have formed part of the Abbey garden, 
and, at a point within view, ends its pilgrimage as a separate 
■stream, by murmuring placidly into the bed of the Nith. 
R-'neath, is a fertile haugh or holm, bounded by the newly 
mited streams around : pointing to the south-east are the 



But what he said it was nae play,- 
I winna ventur't in my rhymes. § 



VERSES 



%sfyn Ptejfoell of Cmaugfjtp. || 

ON HIS BIBTH-DAY. 

Health to the Maxwell's vet'ran chief ! 
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief: 
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf 

This natal morn ; 
I see thy life is stun o' prief, 

Scarce quite half worn.— 
This day thou metes three score eleven, 
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka Poet) 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 

If envious buckies view wi' sorrow 

Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow, 

May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, 

Nine miles an hour, 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure — 
But for thy friends, and they are mony, 
Baith honest men and lasses bonnie, 
May couthie fortune, kind and cannie, 

In social glee, 
Wi' mornings blythe and e'enings funny, 

Bless them and thee ! 
Fareweel, auld birkie ! Lord be near ye, 
And then the Deil he daur na steer ye : 



remains of a bowling-green and flower-garden, the parterres 
and scrolls of which were visible in 1789 ; and beyond, an 
artificial mount, with its spiral walk, turf seat, and tufted 
trees, once the favourite resort of nuns and monks, and 
affording a delightful prospect of the surrounding country." 

Lincluden was founded by one of the Lords of Galloway in 
the reign of Malcolm the Fourth — very richly endowed, and 
tenanted till the year 1400 by Benedictine nuns. The licen- 
tious manners of those persons so exasperated Archibald 
Douglas, surnamed the Grim, that he turned them out, and 
changed it to a college, with a provost and twelve bedesmen. 
The structure was once a noble one — the ruins are still ma- 
jestic. It measured 162 feet from north to south, 116 from 
east to west, and its principal tower rose 100 feet in height. 
The style is pure Gothic ; the choir was rich in carving and 
sculpture ; the roof was treble, and the corbels, from which 
the ribs of the arches sprung, were grotesquely cut into ribs 
or shields.] 

|| [John Maxwell, of Terraugi ty and Munshes, to whom 
these verses are addressed, was one of the most remarkable 
men of his day. He was descended from the Earls of Niths- 
dale : he shared also in the blood of the house of Hemes ; 
but he cared little about lineage, and claimed merit only 
from a judgment sound and clear — a knowledge of business 
which penetrated into all the concerns of life, and a skill in 
handling the most difficult subjects, which was considered 
unrivalled. He cared for no one's good word— he regarded 
no one's ill will— flattery and censure were alike lost on him ; 
under an austere manner he hid much kindness of heart, and 
was in a fair way of doing an act of gentleness when he spoke 
sternly and peremptorily. He loved to meet Burns ; not that 
he either cared for, or comprehended, poetry ; but he was 
pleased with his knowledge of luman nature, and with the 
keen and piercing remarks in which he indulged. The laird 
of Terraughty was seventy-one years old when these verses 
were written. He survived the Poet twenty years." — Allas 
Cunningham.] 



314 



THE POEMS OF BUIliNl 



Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye j 
For me, shame fa' me, 

If niest my heart I dinna wear ye, 

While Burns they ca' me ! 



AN OCCASIC 



Clit m$t* of Woman, 

AL ADDRESS SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENKLLE* 
ON HER BENEFIT NIGHT. 

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, 
The fate of empires and the fall of kings ; 
While quacks of state must each produce his plan, 
And even children lisp the Rights of Man ; 
Amid this mighty fuss, just let me mention, 
The Rights of Woman merit some attention. f 
First, in the sexes' intermix' cl connexion, 
One sacred Right of Woman is, protection. 
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate, 
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form, 
Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. 
Our second Right — but needless,]: here is caution, 
To keep that right inviolate's the fashion, 
Each man of sense has it so full before him, 
He'd die before he'd wrong it — 'tis decorum. — 
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
A time, when rough, rude man had naughty ways; 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, §kick up a riot, 
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet ! — 

Now, thank our stars ! these Gothic times are fled ; 
Now, well-bred men — and ye are all well-bred ! 
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
Such conduct, neither spirit, wit, nor manners. || 
ForRight the third, our last, our best, our dearest, 
That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest, 
Which even the Rights of Kings in lowprostration 
Most humbly own IT— tis dear, dear admiration ! 
In that blest sphere alone we live and move ; 
There taste that life of life — immortal love. — ■ 
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 
; Gainst such a host what flinty savage dares — 
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms, 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 

But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions, 
With bloody armaments and revolutions ! 
Let Majesty your first attention summon, 
Ah ! ca ira ! the majesty of woman ! 



The Poet enclosed the above Prologue to Miss 
Eontenelle, in the following letter : — Madam, 



* [The lady, for whom these verses were written, was 
young and pretty, and indulged in levities both of speech 
and action. The Rights of Man had been advocated by 
Paine ; the Rights of Woman had been urged with earnest 
vehemence by Mary Wolstonecroft, and nothing was talked 
of but moral and political regenei'ation. The Poet, with 
3ome skill, availed himself of the ruling sentiment of the 
time, and made the aciress claim protection for the merits 
of tender helpless woman — protection decorously bestowed, 
unaccompanied by rudeness. The address was well received 
by the audience ; the ironical allusion to the annual Satur- 
nalia of the Caledonian Hunt was understood, and, with the 



In such a bad world as ours, those who add to 
the scanty sum of our pleasures are positively 
our benefactors. To you, Madam, on our 
humble Dumfries boards, I have been more 
indebted for entertainment than ever I was in 
prouder theatres. Your charms, as a woman, 
would insure applause to the most indifferent 
actress, and your theatrical talents would secure 
admiration to the plainest figure. This, Madam, 
is not the unmeaning or insidious compliment 
of the frivolous or interested ; I pay it from the 
same honest impulse that the sublime of Nature 
excites my admiration, or her beauties give me 
delight. 

Will the enclosed lines be of any service to 
you on your approaching benefit night ? If 
they will, I shall be prouder of my muse than 
ever. They are nearly extempore : I know they 
have no great merit ; but, though they shall add 
but little to the entertainment of the evening, 
they give me the happiness of an opportunity 
to declare how much I have the honour to be, 
&c, Robert Burns. 

MONODY 
& Eatti) Umzn for fjer Capvtce. 

How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd, 

How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately 

glisten'd ! [tir'd, 

How silent that tongue which the echoes oft 

How dull is that ear which to flattery so lis- 

ten'd ! 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest affection remov'd : 

How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate, 

Thou diedst unwept as thou livedst unlov'd. 

Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you ; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear : 
But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true, 

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier, j 

We'll search through the garden for each silly j 
flower, [weed ; | 

We'll roam through the forest for each idle j 
But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, [deed. 

For none e'erapproach'd her but ru'd the rash 

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the 
Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; [lay,- 

There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 
Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from 
his ire. 



exception of a solitary hiss or two, was rapturously applauded ' 
by pit and galleries. The public mind was then in a feverish I 
state, and very easily moved : the line — 

"But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions," 
was eagerly caught up, and had some sharp disapprobation j 
bes!o\ved on it, till the happy turn of the succeeding line; j 
restored harmony. — Cunningham.] 

t Var. — Claim some small attention. — MS 

J Var.— Idle.— MS. 

§ Var. — Got drunk, would swagger, swear — MS. 

|| Ironical allusion to the Saturnalia of th ?. Caledonian Hunt. j 

% Var.— Must fall before.— MS. 



EPISTLE FROM JESOPUS TO MARIA. 



315 



THE EPITAPH. 

Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 
What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam : 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect, 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem.* 



©pts'tle ivmn 3£3optt£ to iBaria.t 

From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells, 
Where infamy with sad repentance dwells ; 
Where turnkeys make the jealous mortal fast, 
And deal from iron hands the spare repast ; 
Where truant 'prentices, yet young in sin, 
Blush at the curious stranger peeping in ; 
Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar, 
Resolve to drink, nay, half to whore, no more; 
Where tiny thieves, not destin'd yet to swing, 
Beat hemp for others, riper for the string : 
From these dire scenes my wretched lines I date, 
To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 

"Alas! I feel I am no actor here !" 

'Tis real hangmen real scourges bear ! 

Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 

Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale ; 

Will make thy hair, tho' erst from gipsy poll'd, 

By barber woven, and by barber sold, 

Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care, 

Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 

The hero of the mimic scene, no more 

I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar ; 

Or haughty chieftain, 'mid the din of arms, 

In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's charms ; 



* [In this sharp lampoon, Burns satirizes a young and 
beautiful lady : a wit and a poetess — Mrs. Riddel of Woodlee- 
Park. now Goldielee. She had incurred his, displeasure by 
smiling upon those " epauletted coxcombs," more than he 
thought respectful to his own deserts. On one occasion the 
Poet attempted to salute her, but she punished the insult by 
withdrawing her friendship for a lime. He had his revenge 
by charging her in these verses with caprice. In the copy of 
this lampoon which Burns sent to John M'Murdo of Drum- 
Ian iig, the name is written Maria ; it differs in nothing, save a 
single word, from the version now given. The lady lived to for- 
give and forget the bitterness of the Bard. Mrs. Riddel was the 
lady whom Burns, in his last illness at Brow, asked mourn- 
fully if she had any commands for the other world. She 
possessed a fine library, and was in the habit of lending him 
books. She was an elegant scholar, and sometimes translated 
from French or Italian, or Latin verse for his amusement. In 
the inscription which she wrote for a hermitage in one of the 
West India Isles, of which she was a native, there are many 
beautiful lines : — 

" Soon as Aurora wakes the dawn, 
I press with nimble feet the lavi n, 
Eager to deck the favourite bower 
With every opening bud and flower ; 
Explore each short and balmy sweet, 
To scatter o'er my mossy seat ; 
And teach around in wreaths to stray 
The rich pomegranates pliant spray ; 
At noon reclin'd in yonder glade, 
Panting beneath the tamarind's shade ; 
Or where the palm-tree's nodding head 
Guards from the sun my verdant bed, 
I quaff, to slake my thirsty soul, 
The cocoa's full nectareous bowl. 
At eve beneath some spreading tree, 
I read the inspired poesie 



Whilst sans culottes stoop up the mountain high, 
And steal from me Maria's prying eye, 
Blest Highland bonnet ! Once my proudest dress, 
Now prouder still, Maria's temples press. 
I see her wave thy towering plumes afar, 
And call each coxcomb to the wordy war ; 
I see her face the first of Ireland's sons, J 
And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze; 
The crafty colonel § leaves the tartan'd lines, 
For other wars, where he a hero shines ; 
The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred, 
AVho owns a Bushby's heart without the head ; 
Comes, 'mid a string of coxcombs, to display 
That veni, vidi, vici, is his way ; 
The shrinking bard adown an alley skulks, 
And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich 

hulks : 
Though there, his heresies in church and state 
Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate : 
Still she undaunted reels and rattles on, 
And dares the public like a noontide sun. 
(What scandal called Maria's janty stagger 
The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger ? 
Whose spleen e'en worse than Burns' venom 
He dips in gall unmix'dhis eager pen, — [when 
And pours his vengeance in the burning line, 
Who christen' d thus Maria's lyre divine ; 
The idiot strum of vanity bemused, 
And even th' abuse of poesy abused ! 
Who call'd her verse a parish workhouse, made 
For motle}^, foundling fancies, stolen or stray 'd ?) 
A workhouse ! ha, that sound awakes my woe?, 
And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose ! 
In durance vile here must I wake and weep, 
And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep ! 



Of Milton, Pope, or Spenser mild, 
And Shakspeare, Fancy's brightest child: 
To tender Sterne I lend an ear, 
Or drop o'er Heloise the tear ; 
Sometimes with Anna tune the lay, 
And doze in song the cheerful day." 
Mrs. Riddel deeply lamented the fate of Burns, as ap- 
pears by the following verses, dated Nithside, 1/98; which 
point to his grave : — 

" Despairing I rove by this still running stream, 
While Corin's sad fate is for ever my theme ; 
For 'twas here we oft wander'd the long summer days, 
And each vale then harmonious re-echo'd his lays ; 
The woods with delight bow'd their tops to his song, 
While the streamlet responsive ran murmuring along; 
The songsters were mute when he tun'd his soft reed, 
And fays dane'd round on the green chequer'd mead. ''j 

t [The Esopus of this str-ange epistle was Williamson the 
actor, and the Maria to whom it is addressed was Mrs. Rid- 
del, a lady whose memory will beheld in grateful remen.- 
brance, not only for her having forgiven the Poet for his 
lampoons, but for her having written a sensible, clear, heai i - 
warm account of him when laid in the grave. Nor did her 
kindness stop there : she stirred herself actively in promoti;; g 
the welfare of his widow and children ; she maintained a long 
correspondence with the eminent sculptor, Banks, respecr,- 
ing a proper memorial to the memory of Burns— on which 
she displayed much good sense and good feeling, and she 
communicated to Currie many traits of his character and 
habits of composition. 

It must be confessed that neither the subject nor the style 
of this parody, on the beginning of Pope's version of 
Eloise's Epistle to Abelard, appear to be particularly suited 
for a lady s perusal.] 

X Gillespie. § Cc lonel M'Dowall < f Logan. 



=32) 



316 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore, 
And vermin' d gipsies litter'd heretofore. 

Why, Lonsdale, thus, thy wrath on vagrants 
Must earth no rascal save thyself endure ? [pour, 
Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell, 
And make a vast monopoly of hell ? [worse, 
Thou know'st the virtues cannot hate thee 
The vices also, must they club their curse ? 
Or must no tiny sin to others fall, 
Because thy guilt's supreme enough for all ? 

Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares ; 
In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. 
As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls, 
Who on my fair one satire's vengeance hurls ? 
Who calls thee pert, affected, vain coquette, 
A wit in folly, and a fool in wit ? 
Who says, that fool alone is not thy due, 
And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true ? 
Our force united on thy foes we'll turn, 
And dare the war with all of woman born : 
For who can write and speak as thou and I ? 
My periods that decyphering defy, [reply. 

And thy still matchless tongue that conquers all 



;Poem mx itatorat *Poctn>. 

Hail, Poesie ! thou nymph reserv'd ! 

In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd 

Frae common sense, or sunk ennerv'd 

'Mang heaps o' clavers ; 
And och ! owre aft thy joes hae starv'd, 

Mid a' thy favours ! 

Say, lassie, why thy train amang, 
While loud the trump's heroic clang, 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage ; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang 

But wi' miscarriage ? 
In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
Esehylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives ; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives 

Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Even Sappho's flame. 
But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; 
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin' patches 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 
In this braw age o' wit and lear, 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian share 

A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan — 
There's ane ; come forrit, honest Allan ! 
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, 



A chiel sae clever ; 
The teeth o' time may gnaw Tantallan, 

But thou's for ever ! 
Thou paints auld nature to the nines, 
In thy sweet Caledonian lines; 
Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines, 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell ! 
In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 
W'here bonnie lasses bleach their claes ; 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns grey, 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 

At close o' day. 
Thy rural loves are nature's sel' ; 
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 

O' witchin' love; 
That charm that can the strongest quell, 

The sternest move. 

[This poem was found by Dr. Currie among 
the papers of the Poet, and in his own hand- 
writing : but Gilbert Burns says— " There is 
some doubt of its being his." The second verse 
alone would go far to remove all doubts : the 
lines, too, which characterize the Pastorals of 
Pope, and the concluding stanza of the poem, 
bear the Burns' stamp, which no one has been 
successful in counterfeiting.] 



Mxxm at a Jfabourtte Cpti. 

Now health forsakes that angel face, 
Nae mair my dearie smiles : 

Pale sickness withers ilka grace, 
And a' my hopes beguiles. 

The cruel Powers reject the prayer 

I hourly niak' for thee ! 
Ye heavens, how great is my despair, 

How can I see him die ! — 



J^mxiut, 

ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK. 

WRITTEN .TAN. 25, 179'S, THE BIRTH-DAY 

OF THE AUTHOR, R. B., AGED 34. 

Sing on, sweet Thrush, upon the leafless bough ; 
Sing on, sweet bird I listen to thy strain : 
See, aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, 

At thy blithe carol clears his furrow'd brow. 

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear, 

Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, 

Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear. 

I thank thee, Author of this opening day! 
Thou whose bright sun now gilds the orient 
skies ! 



SONNET ON THE DEATH OF RIDDEL, ETC. 



317 



Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, 
What wealth could never give nor take away ! 
Yet come, thou child of poverty and care ; 
The mite high Heav'n bestow' d, that mite with 
thee I'll share.* 



SONNET, 

ON 

Cf)e IBtati) of ^ohtxt ftffflfel, €$%. 

OF GLENRIDDEL.f 
April, 1794. 

No more, ye warblers of the wood — no more ! 
Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul : 
Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant 
stole, 
More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest 

roar. 
How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your 
dyes? 
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend ! 
How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? 
That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where 

Riddel lies ! 
Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe ! 
And soothe the Virtues weeping on his bier : 
The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer, 
Is in his "narrow house!" for ever darkly low. 

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet, 
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet. 
, 4. 

IMPROMPTU 
November 4th, 1793. 

Old Winter, with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd, — 
" What have I done, of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow ; 



* ["These lines were written opposite the College of Lin- 
cluden, close by the side of theNith — the favourite winter, as 
well as summer, resort of the Poet. In the summer he loved 
it, for then the ground was covered with daisies and wild 
hyacinths : the odour of the honey-suckle came from the 
thorn, and the song of the birds from the romantic groves, 
which, as with a garland, enclose the ruins of Lincluden ; 
and in the winter he loved to look on the mingling waters of 
the Cluden and Nith, see them swelling from bank to brae, 
bearing down trees they had rooted out, or sheets of ice which 
rains and thaws had loosened. 

" That Burns loved ' Winter, with her angry howl,' evidence 
may be almost every where found in his earlier poems. There 
was something of the farmer as well as the moralizing poet in 
this ; labour was then almost at a stand : the plough was 
frozen up, the corn was stacked, and, probably, thrashed and 
sold, and, till spring came and pushed the plough-share into 
the earth, the poet-farmer might indulge in his musings by 
leafless woods, through which the wind was howling, or by 
river-banks when the streams were red and raving ; or give 
his fancy an airing during an interval of wind and rain, when 
a thrush — 

' Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree,' 
came forth like himself to sing from "fulness of heart.' " 
Allan Cunningham-] 

On the original MS. of this Sonnet is written " To Mr. 
$yme,from the Author." 



My dismal months no joys are crowning, 
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 

Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, 
To conterbalance all this evil ; 
Give me, and I've no more to say, 
Give me Maria's natal day ! 
That brilliant gift shall so enrich me, 
Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me." 
" 'Tis done !" says Jove ; so ends my story, 
And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. \ 
o 

A FRAGMENT 

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, 
Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song, 

To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
Where is that soul ol Freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead ! 

Beneath the hallow'd turf where Wallace lies ' 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! 

Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep ; 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
Nor give the coward secret breath. 

Is this the power in Freedom's war, 

That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, 

Crushing the despot's proudest bearing, 
That arm which, nerv'd with thundering fate, 

Brav'd usurpation's boldest daring ! 
One quench'd in darkness, like the sinking- 
star, [ a c e - 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless 

This was the commencement of a poem in- 
tended to commemorate the liberty which 
America had achieved for herself under Wash- 
ington and Franklin. Fragmentary strains 
were numerous among the Poet's papers : — 
"The following lines," says Cromek, "were 
found on looking over his library, written with 



t [" Robert Riddel, Esq. of Friars-Carse, a very worthy 
chaiacter, and one to whom Burns thought himself under 
many obligations. It is a curious circumstance that the two 
concluding lines express a sentiment exactly similar to one 
of the most beautiful passages in the " Pastor Fido," from 
the 7th to the 10th line of the Monologue, at the opening of 
the 3d Act : yet Burns had no acquaintance with Guarini's 
work. Feeling dictates to genius in all ages, and all coun- 
tries, and her language must be often the same. 

" Riddel was one of those gentlemen who love to live on 
their own property, and unite the pursuits of literature with 
the improvement of their estates. He did more than this ; 
he desired to augment the happiness ana better the condition 
of his husbandmen and cotte 1 s, and also to spread knowledge 
among them. It is true that his dependants did not always 
appieciate his motives, or .-ympathize in his taste; he expe- 
rienced to the full the vulgar prejudice entertained by the 
peasantry against all who indulge in antiquaiian researches: 
the ' queer stones and hog-troughs ' collected by the Laiid 
of Friar's-Carse were matters of merriment to his neigh- 
bours." — Cunningham.] 

X [Compliments, such as these lines bestow, enabled Mrs. 
Riddel, to whom they were addressed, to endure with better 
grace the sarcastic verses "To a Lady fam'd for her Ca- 
price." It is said that she refrained from showing in any 
way the pain which the Poet's ungracious lampoons infiicte ! ; 
she knew his nature, and that the hour of reconciliation was 
nigh.] 



318 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



a pencil on a blank leaf prefixed to an edition 
of Collins' Poems. The first part of the subject 
is wholly defaced, and the Poet does not seem 
to have written more than is here given. It is 
evidently a fragment of the drama of Bruce, 
suggested by Lord Buchan, on the model of the 
* Masque of Alfred.' This had ever been a 
favourite theme of Burns' muse, and he had 
transmitted to his lordship the epic song of 
' Bruce to his troops at Bannockburn,' as 
earnest of his having commenced the under- 
taking. From so noble a specimen what might 
not have been expected ! especially when we 
reflect that the subject is not only in itself a 
grand one, but perfectly in unison with the 
Poet's character and feelings : — ■ 



His royal visage seam'd with many a scar, 
That Caledonian rear'd his martial form, 
Who led the tyrant-quelling war, 
Where Bannockburn's ensanguin'd flood 
SwelPd with mingling hostile blood, 
Soon Edward's myriads struck with deep dismay, 
And Scotia's troop of brothers win their way. 
(O, glorious deed to bay a tyrant's band ! 
O, heavenly joy to free our native land !) 
While high their mighty chief pour'd on the 
doubling storm. 



Cragu ^ragmmt.* 

All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 
A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villain, 
Still my heart melts at human wretchedness ; 
And with sincere, tho' unavailing, sighs, 
1 view the helpless children of distress. 
With tears indignant I behold th' oppressor 
Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, 
Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. 
Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you ; 
Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity ; 
Ye poor, despis'd, abandon'd, vagabonds, 
Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to Ruin. 
— Oh, but for kind, tho' ill-requited, friends, 
I had been driven forth like you forlorn, 
The most detested, worthless wretch among you ! 
O injur'd God ! thy goodness has endow'd me 
With talents passing most of my compeers, 
Which I in just proportion have abus'd 
As far surpassing other common villains, 
As Thou in natural parts hadst given me more. 



* The Poet has thus introduced the above lines in one 
of his manuscripts, printed in Cromek's Rcliques : 

In my early years nothing less would serve me than 
courting the tragic muse. I was, I think, about eighteen 
or nineteen when I sketched the outlines of a tragedy, for- 
sooth ; but the bursting of a cloud of family misfortunes, 
which had for some time threatened us, prevented my farther 
progress. In those days I never wrote down any thing ; so, 
except a speech or two, the whole has escaped my memory. 
The above, which I most distinctly remember, was an ex- 
clamation from a great character — great in occasional in- 
stances of generosity, and daring at times in villanies. He 



VERSES 

Co Pto <§rai)ant, of dfmtra|>. 

WITH A PRESENT OF SONGS. t 

Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives, 
In sacred strains and tunefulj numbers join'd, 

Accept the gift ; — tho' humble he who gives, 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 

So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast, 
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among ! 

But Peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph song ! 

Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears, 

As modest Want the tale of woe § reveals ; 

While conscious Virtue all the strain endears, 
And heaven-born Piety her sanction seals, jj 

THOUGH FICKLE FORTUNE HAS DECEIVED ME. 

Though fickle fortune has deceived me, 
She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill : 

Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me, 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. 

I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able, 
But, if success I must never find, 

Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, 
I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind. — 



[The above was written extempore, under the 
pressure of a heavy train of misfortunes, which 
iudeed, threatened to undo me altogether. It 
was just at the close of that dreadful period 
mentioned already (in common place-book, 
March 1784), and, though the weather has 
brightened up a little with me since, yet there 
has always been a tempest brewing round me 
in the grim sky of futurity, which I pretty! 
plainly see will, some time or other, perhaps ere 
long, overwhelm me, and drive me into some 
doleful dell, to pine in solitary, squalid wretch- 1 
edness. — Burns.] 



Ci)e VohitU. 






'Twas where the birch and sounding 

The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; 

Where ignorance her dark'ning vapour throws. 

And cruelty directs the thick'ning blows ; 

Upon a time, Sir Abece the great, 

In all his pedagogic powers elate, 



is supposed to meet with a child of misery, and exclaims to 
himself, as in the words of the fragment. — Buens. 

f Var.— His Poems.— MS. 

X Var. — In strains divine and sacred. — MS. 

§ Var.— Secret tale.— MS. 

|| These verses were written by the Poet on the blank side 
of the title page of a copy of Thomson's Select Scottish Songs, 
and the volume sent as a present to the daughter of " a much 
honoured and much valued friend, Mr. Graham of Fintray," 
" It were to have been wished," says Currie, " that instead 
of 'ruffian feeling,' the bard had used a less rugged epithet 
— e. g. ruder." 



VERSES TO RANKINE.— ON SENSIBILITY. 



319 



His awful chair of state resolves to mount, 
And call the trembling Vowels to account. — 

First enter' d A, a grave, broad, solemn wight, 
But, ah ! deform'd, dishonest to the sight ! 
His twisted head look'd backward on his way, 
And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted ai ! 

Reluctant, E stalk' d in ; with piteous race 
The jostling tears ran down his honest face ! 
That name, that well-worn name, and all his own, 
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne ! 
The Pedant stifles keen the Roman sound 
Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound ; 
And next, the title following close behind, 
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assigned. 

The cobweb'd Gothic dome resounded, Y ! 
In sullen vengeance, I, disdain'd reply : 
The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, 
And knocked the groaning vowel to the ground ! 

In rueful apprehension enter' d 0, 
The wailing minstrel of despairing woe ; 
Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert, 
Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art : 
So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U, 
His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew ! 

As trembling U stood staring all aghast, 
The pedant in his left hand clutch' d him fast, 
In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right, 
Baptiz'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight.* 



VtxM to $o!)tt %&mxkiw. f 

4e day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
Was driving to the tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtie, motley squad, 
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad ; 



* [The following, described by Burns as " Literary scold- 
ing and Hints," forms part of a letter sent to a critic who 
had taken him to task about obscure language and imperfect 
grammar. It was communicated by Mr. Laidlaw, Deputy 
Sheriff-Clerk of Berwick-shire, and may be added as a cha- 
racteristic note to this odd poem; "Thou eunuch of lan- 
guage ! thou Englishman, who never was south the Tweed 
thou servile echo of fashionable barbarisms ; thou quack, 
vending the nostrums of empirical elocution thou marriage- 
maker between vowels and consonants, on the Gretna-green 
of caprice ! thou cobbler, botching the flimsy socks of bom- 
bast oratory ! thou blacksmith, hammering the rivets of ab- 
surdity ! thou butcher, embruing thy hands in the bowels of 
orthography ! thou arch-heretic in pronunciation ! thou 
pitch-pipe of affected emphasis ! thou carpenter, mortising 
the awkward joints of jarring sentences ! thou squeaking 
dissonance of cadence ! thou pimp of gender ! thou Lycn 
Herald to silly etymology ! thou antipode of grammar ! thou 
executioner of construction ! thou brood of the speech-dis- 
tracting builders of the Tower of Babel ! thou lingual confu- 
sion worse confounded ! thou scape-gallows from the land 
of syntax ! thou scavenger of mood and tense ! thou murder- 
ous accoucheur of infant learning ; thou ignis fatuus, mis- 
leading the steps of benighted ignorance ! thou pickle-herring 
in the puppet-show of nonsense ! thou faithful recorder of 
barbarous idiom ! thou persecutor of syllabication ! thou 
baleful meteor, foretelling and facilitating the rapid approach 
of Nox and Erebus." — R.B. The Poet might have exclaimed 
during this fit of scolding "O for breath to utter !"] 



Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and garter, 
To him that wintles in a halter : 
Asham'd himsel' to see the wretches, 
He mutters, glowrin' at the bitches, 
" By G — I'll not be seen behint them, 
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them 
Without, at least, ae honest man, 
To grace this d — d infernal clan.'" 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
" L — G — ! " quoth he, " I have it now, 
There's just the man I want, i' faith ! " 
And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. 



<&n J*>m£tlriltti). 



MY DEAR AND MUCH HONOURED FEIEND, MRS. DUNLOP, 
OF DUNLOP. 

Sensibility, how charming, 
Thou, my friend, canst truly tell : 

But distress, with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well ! 

Fairest flower, behold the lily, 
Blooming in the sunny ray : 

Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 
See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, 

Toiling o'er his little joys : 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest. 

To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought, the hidden treasure 

Finer feelings can bestow ; 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure 

Thrill the deepest notes of woc.j 



f [The " rough, rude, ready-witted Rankin e " of Adamhill. 
These lines were suggested to Burns by the odd sarcastic 
dream about his being refused admission to the infernal re- 
gions because he was one of Lord K — 's damned brutes ! 
Cromek imagines that the first thought of the poem was sug- 
gested by Falstaff 's account of his ragged recruits, — 

" I'll not pass through Coventry with them, that's flat !" 
The conception of this invective is generally original ; death, 
in the lines before us, refuses to march his scoundrel victims 
into the other world ; and in the epigram to Grose, the devil 
is so astonished at the antiquarian's weight and rotundity 
that he resolves to want him rather than strain himself with 
such a frightful load !] 

t [The Poet one day received a letter from Mrs. Dunlop, of 
which some of the sentiments charmed him so much that he 
immediately wrote these verses on sensibility, and sent them 
to his respected friend. It was about this time that Burns 
became acquainted with the poetry of Cowper : he loved the 
Task so much that he carried a copy of it usually in his pocket. 
" Now that I talk of authors," he says to Mrs. Dunlop, " how 
do you like Cowper ; is not the Task a glorious poem ? The 
religion of the Task, bating a few scraps of Calvinistic divin- 
ity, is the religion of God and nature : the religion that exalts, 
that ennobles man." 

The Poet likewise sent the above to Thomson's Collection. 
Another copy appears in the Musical Museum, and headed 
" Sensibility how charming," to the tune of " Cornwallis's 
Lament for Colonel 31uirhead," with this slight variation of 
the second line : — "Dearest Nancy* thou canst tell."] 



C20 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



<©tx tfje !3*at!) of a dfabouvtte Cptf.* 

Oh sweet be thy sleep in the land of the grave, 

My dear little angel, for ever ; 
For ever — oh no ! let not man be a slave, 

His hopes from existence to sever. 

Though cold be the clay where thou pillow'st thy 
In the dark silent mansions of sorrow, [head, 

The spring shall return to thy low narrow bed, 
Like the beam of the day-star to-morrow. 

The flower-stem shall bloom like thy sweet 
seraph form, 
Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blossom, 
When thou shrunk frae the scowl of the loud 
winter storm, 
And nestled thee close to that bosom. 

Oh still I behold thee, all lovely in death, 
Reclin'd on the lap of thymother, [stifl'd breath, 

When the tear trickl'd bright, when the short 
Told how dear ye were aye to each other. 

My child, thou art gone to the home of thy rest, 
Where suffering no longer can harm ye, 

Where the songs of the good, where the hymns 
of the blest, 
Through an endless existence shall charm thee, 

While he, thy fond parent, must sighing sojourn, 
Through the dire desert regions of sorrow, 

O'er the hope and misfortune of being to mourn, 
And sigh for this life's latest morrow. 



SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD 
OFFENDED. 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's way, 
The fumes of wine infuriate send ; 

(Not moony madness more astray ;) 
Who but deplores that hapless friend ? 

Mine was th' insensate frenzied part ! 

Ah ! why should I such scenes outlive ! 
Sceres so abhorrent to my heart ! 

'Tis thine to pity and forgive. f 



* [An only daughter, who died in autumn, 1795, so sud- 
denly, and at so great a distance, as to prevent him from 
paying her the last sad duties.] 

t [" The insensate frenzied part," which the Poet intimates 
he had acted under the influence of wine, was at the too 
hospitable table of Mr. Riddel : he was unsparing of speech, 
and on this occasion spoke of thrones and dominions, and 
" epauletted puppies " with a sarcastic vehemence offensive 
to many. Burns had suffered much, and was then suffering 
on account of his unbridled license of speech ; the power of 
utterance was not given to him that he might conced his 
thoughts. The reparation offered in these lines was warmly 
accepted, and the current of friendship ran smooth as before.] 



SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER 
BENEFIT-NIGHT. 

December 4, 1795, at the Theatre, Dumfries. 

Still anxious to secure your partial favour, 
And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever. 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better ; 
So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies, 
Told him I came to feast my curious eyes ; 
Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
And last, my Prologue-business slily hinted. 

" Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of 

rhymes, 
" I know your bent — these are no laughing times : 
Can you — but, Miss, I own I have my fears, — 
Dissolve in pause — and sentimental tears, 
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence, 
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repent- 
ance ; 
Paint Vengeance, as he takes his horrid stand, 
Waving on high the desolating brand, [land V 
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty 
] could no more — askance the creature eyeing, 
D'ye think, said I, this face was made for cry- 
ing? [know it: 
I'll laugh, that's poz — nay more, the world shall 
And so, your servant ! gloomy Master Poet ! 

Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief, 
That Misery's another word for Grief; 
I also think — so may I be a bride ! 
That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd. 

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, 
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye ; 
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
To make three guineas do the work of five : t 
Laugh in Misfortune's face — the beldam witch ! 
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich. 

Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, 
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove ; 
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
Measur'd in desperate thought — a rope — thy 

neck — • 
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap : 



X [Some of the audience on this occasion, who knew thc- 
condition of the Bard's affairs, sympathized in these lines :- 
" Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, 
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye. " 
At this time Burns had suffered much affliction in the loss 
of a favourite child, and from ill health in his own person : 
and in his own words : — 

' In faith, sma' heart had he to sing.' 
"We have had a brilliant theatre here, this season," the 
Poet writes to Mrs. Dunlop ; " only, as all other business 
does, it experiences a stagnation of trade from the epidemical 
complaint of the country, want of cash. I mention our 
theatre merely to lug in an Occasional Address which 1 
wrote for the benefit night of one of the actresses."] 



THE HERON BALLADS. 



321 



Woulds't thou be cur'd, thy silly, moping elf 
Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at thyself : 
Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific, 
And love a kinder — that's your grand specific. 

To sum up all, be merry, I advise ; 
And as we're merry, may we still be wise ! 



IN A FAVOURITE CHARACTER. 

Sweet naivete of feature, 
Simple, wild, enchanting elf, 

Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 
Thou art acting but thyself. 

Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, 

Spurning nature, torturing art ; 
Loves and graces all rejected, 
Then indeed thou'd'st act a part. 

R. B. 
♦ 

Co CJIovte.* 

''Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 
Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few. 

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lower ; 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 
j Did nip a fairer flower.) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, 

Still much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self-approving glow, 
i On conscious honour's part ; 
And, dearest gift of heaven below, 
Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refin'd of sense and taste, 
With every muse to rove : 



d icuu u. vi ociioc emu 

u jitii every muse to rove : 
And doubly were the poet blest, 
These joys could he improve. 



* [These lines were written on the blank leaf of a copy of 
his poems, and presented to Chloris ; she retained the book 
long, and prized it much : nor was she insensible of the light 
which the muse shed around her. That she did not seem so 
lovely in the sight of others as in the eyes of Burns is well 
known ; but the Poet looked not at bloom alone ; he had 
something of the taste of an artist : he admired the elegance 
of her form, the harmony of her movements as she danced, and 
the sweetness of her voice. The lady in question was Miss 
Jean Lorimer, of Craigieburn-Wood, near Moffat. Her his- 
tory was unfortunate— she married an officer of the name of 
Whelpdale, but in consequence of his misconduct, she lived 
with him only a few months. After her separation, she re- 



;PotttcaI falnrtptum, 

FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE. 

Thou of an independent mind, 
With soul resolv'd, with soul resign' d ; 
Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave, 
Who wilt not be, nor have, a slave ; 
Virtue alone who dost revere, 
Thy own reproach alone dost fear, 
Approach this shrine, and worship here.f 



€$* Litton Vallate. 

[ballad I.] 
I. 
Whom will you send to London town, 

To Parliament and a' that ? 
Or wha in a' the country round 
The best deserves to fa' that ? 
For a' that, and a' that, 
Thro' Galloway and a' that ; 
Where is the laird or belted knight 
That best deserves to fa' that ? 

ii. 

Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, 

And wha is't never saw that ? 

Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met 

And has a doubt of a' that ? 

For a' that, and a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ; 
The independent patriot, 
The honest man, an' a' that. 

III. 

Tho' wit and worth in either sex, 
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that ; 
Wi' dukes an' lords let Selkirk mix, 
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
The independent commoner 
Shall be the man for a' that. 

IV. 

But why should we to nobles jouk t 

And it's against the law that ; 
For why, a lord may be a gouk 
Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A lord may be a lousy loun, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 



sided at Dumfries, where the Poet often met her, and she 
seems to have inspired him with admiration and esteem. He 
has touchingly adverted to her misfortunes in the above 
charming verses.] 

t [These lines were inscribed on an altar erected at the 
seat of Heron of Kerroughtree, in Galloway. It was the 
fashion of those feverish times to raise altars to Freedom, 
and plant trees to Liberty. Burns wrote the inscription 
during the summer of 1795 ; Heron was about to engage in 
an election contest, and these noble verses of the Poet served 
as an advertisement of the candidate's sentiments concerning 
freedom — a subject which was then fiercely agitating thg 
country.! 

y 



322 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, 

Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that; 
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels, 
A man we ken, an' a' that. 

For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
For we're not to be bought an' sold 
Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that. 

VI. 

Then let us drink the Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that, 
Our representative to be, 

For weel he's worthy a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A House of Commons such as he, 
They would be blest that saw that.* 



€fyt Heron 23altata. 

[ballad II.] 
THE ELECTION. 



Tune.— Fy, let us a' t* the Bridal. 



Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 

For there will be bickerin' there ; 
For Murray's light-horse are to muster, 

An' O, how the heroes will swear ! 
An' there will be Murray commander, 

An' Gordon the battle to win ; 
Like brothers they'll stand by each other, 

Sae knit in alliance an' kin. 
ii. 
An' there will be black-nebbit Johnnie, f 

The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
An' he get na hell for his haddin' 

The deil gets na justice ava' ; 
An' there will be Kempleton's birkie, 

A boy na sae black at the bane, 
But, as for his fine nabob fortune, 

We'll e'en let the subject alane. J 

in. 

An' there will be Wigton's new sheriff, 

Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped, 
She's gotten the heart of a Busby, 

But, Lord, what's become o' the head ? 
An' there will be Cardoness,§ Esquire, 

Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes ; 



* [This is the first of several ballads which Burns wrote to 
serve Patrick Heron of Kerroughtree, in two elections, in 
which he was opposed, first by Gordon of Balmaghie, and 
secondly by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart. They are known 
to the peasantry by the name of the " Heron Ballads." The 
poet seems at first to have contemplated some such harmless 
and laughable effusions as those which he wrote on Miller's 
election. The first ballad is gentle and moderate : it is a 
song of eulogy on Heron — not of reproof to his opposers. 
These ballads were printed at the time on one side of a sheet, 
and widely disseminated over the country : they were under- 
stood merely as election squibs, and none of the gentlemen 
lampooned looked otherwise upon them than as productions 



A wight that will weather damnation — 
The Devil the prey will despise. 

IV. 

An' there will be Douglasses || doughty, 

New christ'ning towns far and near ; 
Abjuring their democrat doings, 

By kissing the — o' a peer ; 
An' there will be Kenmure sae gen'rous ! 

"Whose honour is proof to the storm, 
To save them from stark reprobation, 

He lent them his name to the firm. 
v. 
But we winna mention Kedcastle, 

The body, e'en let him escape ! 
He'd venture the gallows for siller, 

An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 
An' where is our King's lord lieutenant, 

Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return ? 
The billie is gettin' his questions, 

To say in St. Stephen's the morn. 

VI. 

An' there will be lads o' the gospel, 

Muirhead, wha's as gude as he's true ; 
An' there will be Buittle's apostle, 

Wha's mair o' the black than the blue ; 
An' there will be folk frae St. Mary's, 

A house 'o great merit and note, 
The deil ane but honours them highly, — 

The deil ane will gie them his vote ! 

VII. 

An' there will be wealthy young Kichard, 

Dame Fortune should hing by the neck; 
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing, 

His merit had won him respect : 
An' there will be rich brother nabobs, 

Tho' nabobs, yet men of the first, 
An' there will be Collieston's whiskers, 

An' Quentin, o' lads not the warst. 

VIII. 

An' there will be stamp-office Johnnie, 51 

Tak' tent how ye purchase a dram ; 
An' there will be gay Cassencarrie, 

An' there will be gleg Colonel Tarn ; 
An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree, 

Whase honour was ever his law, 
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, 

His worth might be sample for a'. 

IX. 

An' can we forget the auld Major, 
Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys, 

Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some ither, 
Him only it's justice to praise. 

of poetic art. In this spirit they are included now in the 
Poet's works.] 

t John Busby, of Tinwald Downs. 

t Allusion is here made to a brother of Mr. Busby, whose 
East Indian fortune was popularly represented as having 
originated in some transactions connected with the Ayr 
Bank, before its owner went abroad. 

§ Maxwell, of Cardoness. 

|| Mr. Douglas of Corlingwark gave the name of Castle 
Douglas to a village which rose in his neighbourhood — now 
a populous town. 

*H John Syme, the poet's friend. 



r® 



THE HERON BALLADS. 



323 



An' there will be maiden Kilkerran, 

And also Barskimming's guid knight, 
An 7 there will be roarin' Birtwhistle, 

Wha, luckily, roars in the right. 

x. 

An' there, frae the Niddesdale border, 

Will mingle the Maxwells in droves ; 
Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, an' Walie 

That griens for the fishes an' loaves ; 
An' there will be Logan Mac Douall, 

Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there, 
An' also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 

Sodgerin,' gunpowder Blair. 

XI. 

Then hey the chaste int'rest o' Broughton, 

An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring ! 
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, 

In Sodom 'twould make him a king ; 
An' hey for the sanctified Murray, 

Our land wha wi' chapels has stor'd ; 
He founder'd his horse amang harlots, 

But gied the auld naig to the Lord.* 



[ballad III.] 
AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 



Tune. — Buy broom Besoms. 



Wha will buy my troggin, f 

Fine election ware ; 
Broken trade o' Broughton, 
A' in high repair. 

Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee 5 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 
There's a noble Earl's 

Fame and high renown, X 
For an auld sang — 

It's thought the gudes were stown. 
Buy braw troggin, &c\ 
Here's the worth o' Broughton § 

In a needle's ee ; 
Here's a reputation 
Tint by Balmaghie. || 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

* [When Burns wrote this second ballad, the election had 
taken a serious turn against Heron. The verses are severe 
in most instances. Worthier men than several of those 
lampooned were not then alive, but he desired to help his 
friend, and regarded not what weapons he used, provided 
they were sharp. The gentlemen named were the most 
active canvassers on both sides ; praise is lavished on the 
adherents of Heron, and satiric abuse is bestowed on the 
friends of the Gordon.] 

t A set of miscellaneous dealers, who used to travel in 
Scotland, were called troggers. Troggin is a general phrase 
for their wares. 

t The Earl of Galloway. 

§ Mr. Murray, of Broughton. 

II Gordon of Balmaghie, one of the candidates. 

5[ A bitter allusion to Mr. Busby. 

** Burns here alludes to a brother wit, the Rev. Dr. Muir- 
head, minister of Urr, in Galloway. The hit applied very 



Here's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn ; 
Frae the downs o' Tinwald — 

Sae was never born. IT 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the stuff and lining, 

O' Cardoness's head j 
Fine for a sodger 

A' the wale o' lead. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's a little wadset 

Buittle's scrap o' truth, 
Pawn'd in a gin-shop 

Quenching holy drouth. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's armorial bearings 

Frae the manse o' Urr ; 
The crest, and auld crab-apple ** 

Rotten at the core. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here is Satan's picture, 

Like a bizzard gled, 
Pouncing poor Redcastle 

Sprawlin' like a taed. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth and wisdom 

Collieston can boast j 
By a thievish midge 

They had been nearly lost. 

Buy braw troggin, &'c. 

Here is Murray's fragments 

O' the ten commands ; 
Gifted by black Jock 

To get them aff his hands. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? 
If to buy ye 're slack, 
Hornie's turnin' chapman, — 
He'll buy a' the pack. 

Buy braw troggin 

Frae the banks o' Dee ; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me.-ff 



well, for Muirheadwas a wind-dried, unhealthy looking little 
manikin, very proud of his genealogy, and ambitious of being 
acknowledged on all occasions as the chief of the Muir- 
heads ! 

tt [This third ballad refers to the contest between Heron and 
Stewart : the former was successful on the hustings, but was 
unseated by a Committee of the Commons, and died on his 
way back to Scotland. But his nature was too noble, and his 
mind too pious, to allow political disappointment to prevail 
against reason ; his health had been for some time giving way : 
he was taken ill at Grantham, and died in peace with all man- 
kind. It was one of the dreams of his day, in which Burns 
indulged, that, by some miraculous movement, the Tory 
counsellors of the king would be dismissed, and the Whigs, 
with the Prince of Wales at their head, rule and reign in their 
stead. That Heron aided in strengthening this " devout 
imagination " is certain ; but then the laird of Kerroughtrec 
was the victim of the delusion himself.] 

Y2 



324 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



€l)e Heron Vallate. 

[ballad IV..] 
JOHN BUSBY'S* LAMENTATION. 

'Twas in the seventeen hundred year 

O' Christ, and ninety-five, 
That year I was the waest man 

O' ony man alive. 

In March, the three-and-twentieth day, 

The sun raise clear and bright ; 
But O, I was a waefu' man 

Ere toofa' o' the night. 

Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land 

Wi' equal right and fame, 
And thereto was his kinsman join'd 

The Murray's noble name ! 

Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land 

Made me the judge o' strife ; 
But now yerl Galloway's sceptre 's broke, 

And eke my hangman's knife. 

'Twas by the banks o' bonny Dee, 

Beside Kirkcudbright towers, 
The Stewart and the Murray there 

Did muster a' their powers. 

The Murray on the auld grey yaud, 

Wi' winged spurs did ride, 
That auld grey yaud, yea, Nid'sdale racle, 

He staw upon Nidside. 

An' there had been the yerl himsel', 

O there had been nae play ; 
But Garlies was to London gane, 

And sae the kye might stray. 

And there was Balmaghie, I ween, 

In the front rank he wad shine ; 
But Balmaghie had better been 

Drinking Madeira wine. 

Frae the Glenken came to our aid 

A chief o' doughty deed, 
In case that worth should wanted be, 

O' Kenmore we had need. 

And there sae grave Squire Cardoness 

Look'd on till a' was done ; 
Sae, in the tower o' Cardoness, 

A howlet sits at noon. 

And there led I the Busbys a' ; 

My gamesome Billy Will, 
And my son Maitland, wise as brave, 

My footsteps followed still. 

* John Busby, Esq. of Tinwald-downs. 

t [The Poet's hopes, alas ! were not realized. He died 
a few months after these lines were written.] 

t [In this modest and affecting way Burns reminded his 
superior officer that lie was a poor man, suffering from ill 
health, and that his salary, then due, would be very accept- 
able. Collector Mitchell was a kind and generous man, 



The Douglas and the Herons' name, 
We set nought to their score : 

The Douglas and the Herons' name 
Had felt our weight before. 

But Douglasses o' weight had we, 

A pair o' trusty lairds, 
For building cot-houses sae fam'd, 

And christening kail-yards. 

And by our banners march'd Muirhead, 

And Buittle was na slack ; 
Whose haly priesthood nane can stain, 

For wha can dye the black ? 



POEM, 
&tftrc^e* to flttr. flttttcjtfl, 

COLLECTOR OF EXCISE, 

DUMFRIES, 1796. 

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal ; 
Alake ! alake ! the meikle deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skelpin' ! jig and reel, 

In my poor pouches ! 

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I sairly want it ; 
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it, 

It would be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood daunted, 

I'd bear't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come, laden, groaning 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin' 

To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket, 
And by fell death was nearly nicket ; 
Grim loun ! he gat me by the fecket, 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 

And turn'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share o't, 
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't,f 
My hael and weel I'll tak a care o't, 

A ten tier way : 
Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o't 

For ance and aye ! J 



and befriended the Poet on many occasions ; but he was 
not aware, at this time, that 

" Hungry ruin had him in the wind," 
or that his family were enduring privations such as preyed 
with double f^rce on the sensitive and feeling heart of 
Burns.] 



EPISTLE TO KENNEDY. — POEM ON LIFE. 



323 



POETICAL INVITATION 



$flr. $ofjn Wimnt&v. 

Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse 

E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corse,* 

Lord, man, there 's lasses there wad force 

A hermit's fancy ; 
And down the gate, in faith, they're worse, 

And mair unchancy. 

But, as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's, 
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews, 
Till some bit callan bring me news 

That you are there ; 
And if we dinna haud a bouze 

I'se ne'er drink mair. 

It's no I like to sit and swallow, 
Then like a swine to puke and wallow ; 
But gie me just a true good fallow, 

Wi' right ingine, 
And spunkie ance to make us mellow, 

And then we'll shine. 

Now, if ye 're ane o' warld's folk, 
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak, 
And sklent on poverty their joke, 

Wi' bitter sneer, 
Wi' you no friendship will I troke, 

Nor cheap nor dear. 

But if, as I'm informed weel, 
Ye hate, as ill's the vera deil, 
The flinty heart that canna feel — 

Come, Sir, here 's tae you ! 
Hae, there 's my haun', I wiss you weel, 

And guid be wi' you. 



The above epistle was accompanied by the 
following letter : — 

Mossgiel, March 3rd, 1786. 

Sir, — I have done myself the pleasure of 
complying with your request in sending you 
my Cottager. If you have a leisure minute, I 
should be glad if you would copy it, and 
return me either the original or the transcript, 
as I have not a copy of it by me, and I have 
a friend who wishes to see it. — R. B. 

[John Kennedy then resided at Dumfries House : 
he interested himself greatly in the success of 
the Kilmarnock edition of the poems of Burns. 
The original manuscript of the Cotter's Satur- 
day Night, inclosed in the letter, came into 
the possession of Mr. Cochrane, the publisher, 



* The market-cross. 

t [Miss Jessy Lewars watched over the poet and his little 
household during his declining days, with all the affectionate 
reverence of a daughter. For this she has received the 
silent thanks of all who admire the genius of Burns, or 
look with sorrow on his setting sun; she 1ms received more 



©s 



with other precious reliques of the immortal 
Bard. They were subsequently presented by 
him to Allan Cunningham, who was then edit- 
ing a complete edition of the Poet's works. 
They had previously been submitted to Sir 
Walter Scott, who set a very high value upon 
them.] 

Co jJfHnJ. C , 

ON RECEIVING A WORK OF 

HANNAH MORE. 

Thou flattering mark of friendship kind, 
Still may thy pages call to mind 

The dear, the beauteous donor ! 
Though sweetly female every part, 
Yet such a head, and more the heart, 

Does both the sexes honour. 
She show'd her taste refin'd and just 

When she selected thee, 
Yet deviating, own I must, 
For so approving me. 

But kind still, I mind still 

The giver in the gift, 
I'll bless her, and wiss her 
A Friend above the Lift. 



[Burns sent a copy of these lines to Mr. 
Aiken, in April, 1786.] 



Co fflite Bttey Eciyavs-,t 

DUMFRIES, 

WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS. 

Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, 
And with them take the Poet's prayer ; - 
That fate may in her fairest page, 
With every kindliest, best presage 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name ; 
With native worth, and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare. 
All blameless joys on earth we find, 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, The Bard. 



POEM ON LTFE, 

ADDRESSED 

Co Colonel 28* $t$$n. 

DUMFRIES, 1796. 

My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal : 



—the undying thanks of the Poet himself; his songs to 
her honour, and his simple gifts of books and verse, will 
keep her name and fame long in the world.] 

t [Arentz de Peystcr, Colonel of the Gentleman Volun- 
teers of Dumfries, was a rigid disciplinarian : he had dis- 
tinguished himself in the colonial war in America, and 



323 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 

Surrounded thus by bolus, pill, 

And potion glasses. 

O what a canty warld were it, 

Would pain, and care, and sickness spare it ; 

And fortune favour worth and merit 

As they deserve, 
(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret ; 

Syne, wha wad starve ?) 

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her, 
And in paste gems and fripp'ry deck her ; 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 

I've found her still, 
Aye wav'ring like the willow-wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrons by a rattan, 
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on- 

He's afF like fire. 

Ah Nick ! ah Nick ! it is na fair, 
First shewing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put as daft ; 
Syne weave, unseen, the spider snare 

O' hell's damn'd waft. 

Poor man, the flie aft bizzes bye, 
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh, 



Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi* joy, 
And hellish pleasure ; 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker treasure ! 

Soon, heels-o'er-gowdie ! in he gangs, 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murd'ring wrestle, 
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 

To plague you with this draunting drivel, 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The Lord preserve us frae the devil ! 

Amen ! Amen ! 



Co a M$&. 



Humid seal of soft affections, 
Tend'rest pledge of future bliss, 

Dearest tie of young connections, 
Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss. 

Speaking silence, dumb confession, 
Passion's birth, and infants' play, 

Dove-like fondness, chaste concession, 
Glowing dawn of brighter day. 

Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action, 

When ling'ring lips no more must join , 

What words can ever speak affection 
So thrilling and sincere as thine !* 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, 



&c. 



[The epigrams of Burns are numerous : they 
are sharp and personal, and partake of the cha- 
racter of the natural, rather than the artificial, 
man. He differs from other wits of his time 5 
and, because he does so, his invective has been 
pronounced harsh and acrimonious, and his 
sarcasms coarse and savage. He is not indeed 
one of those who 

" Hint a fault and hesitate dislike." 

He grapples at once with his enemy, and pros- 
defended Detroit against the united efforts of the Indians 
and Republicans. He was regarded by many as a person 
harsh and stern ; but this belonged rather to his manners 
than to his heart. He was in every respect a soldier. He 
thought the science of war the noblest of all sciences ; a 
parade day the most glorious of all days, save that of vic- 
tory. His voice was rough and commanding ; his eye 
brightened up whenever he looked along the glittering ranks 
which he ruled ; he forgot that he was eighty years old, 
and 

" Bold, soldier-featured, undismayed, 
He strode along." 



trates him, not so much by science as by robust 
strength.] 

I. 

®\\ t|je fUttljcr'S dfatf)er,t 

O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains, J 
Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend ! 

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 
The tender father and the gen'rous friend. 



This good old soldier befriended the Poet as far as the 
Poet would permit ; for Burns was not without friends in 
his last moments.] 

* [This exquisite little gem, of which Burns's authorship 
cannot be doubted, first appeared in a periodical paper pub- 
lished at Liverpool under the title of Kaleidoscope.] 

t [William Burness merited the eulogy of his eminent son : 
early suffering made him somewhat austere, and a conscious- 
ness of declining strength and sinking fortunes hindered him 
from mixing much in the world's mirth ; but he set his 
children an example of piety, patience and fortitude, and de- 
serves to be named whenever humble worth is recorded.] 

% Var. Who sympathise with virtue's pains.— MS, 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 



827 



The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride; 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 

" For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."* 



II. 
(©n Cam tije Chapman, f 

As Tarn the Chapman on a day 
Wi' Death forgather' d by the way, 
Weel pleas' d, he greets a wight sae famous, 
And Death was nae less pleas'd wi' Thomas, 
Wha cheerfully lays down the pack, 
And there blaws up a hearty crack ; 
His social, friendly, honest heart 
Sae tickled Death they could na part : 
Sae, after viewing knives and garters, 
Death takes him hame to gie him quarters. 



III. 
<&n %obtxt ®tkm, <£$%. t 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name ! 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 



IV. 
% dfarefoelt. § 

Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit 
And, 'raang her favourites admit you ! [you, 
If e'er Detraction shone to smit you, 

May nane believe him ! 
And ony De'il that thinks to get you, 

Good Lord deceive him. 



* Goldsmith. 

t [The above lines were published by the late Mr. Cob- 
bett, with the following particulars : — " It is our fortune to 
know a Mr. Kennedy, an aged gentleman, a native of Scot- 
land, and the early associate and friend of Robert Burns. 
Both were born in Ayr- shire, near the town of Ayr, so fre- 
quently celebrated in the poems of the bard. Burns, in the 
' Cotter's Saturday Night,' gives a noble picture of what we 
may presume to be the family circle of his father. Kennedy, 
whose boyhood was passed in the labours of a farm, subse- 
quently became the agent to a mercantile house in a neigh- 
bouring town. Hence he is called in the epitaph which the 
Poet wrote on him, "Tarn the Chapman." These lines were 
composed on Kennedy's recovery from a severe illness. On 
his way to kirk, on a bright Sabbath morning, he was met 
by the Poet, who, having rallied him on the sombre expres- 
sion of his countenance, fell back, but soon overtook him, 
and presented him with the epitaph written on a bit of 
paper with a pencil.] 

% [The gentleman to whom the " Cotter's Saturday Night" 
is addressed — one of the Poet's earliest patrons. He was so 
anxious to make his friend's merits known that, wherever he 
went, he recited his witty or serious poems, with so much 
taste and efFect, that Burns said " I was unknown, Sir, till 
you read me into reputation."] 

§ [These lines form the conclusion of a letter from Burns 
to Mr. John Kennedy, dated Kilmarnock, August, 1786, in 
which he alluded to his intention to go to Jamaica, See the 
correspondence of that period.] 

U [This is one of those which Johnson calls an epithet to 
let. The name of the individual is neither mentioned in it 
nor alluded to in any of the author's productions. This is 



V. 

<©n a dfnentt. || 

An honest man here lies at rest, 
As e'er God with his image blest ! 
The friend of man, the friend of truth ; 
The friend of age, and guide of youth ; 
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, 
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd : 
If there's another world, he lives in bliss ; 
If there is none, he made the best of this. 



VI. 
<&n <®a&m Hamilton. 

The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps, 
Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

But with such as he, where'er he be, 
May I be sav'd or damn'd ! ** 



VII. 



<®n 33tmt«s'g &.ov#z Mug impountJetl. ti 

Was e'er puir Poet sae befitted, 
The maister drunk, — the horse committed : 
Puir harmless beast ! tak' thee nae care, 
Thou'lt be a horse when he's nae mair (mayor.) 



VIII. 

HIC JACET WEE JOHNNY. 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader know 
That death has murder'd Johnny ! 

An' here his body lies fu' low — 
For saul he ne'er had ony. 



the more to be regretted for Burns seldom praised without 
reason. — "To no man," he observed in a note to John 
M'Murdo, "whatever his station in life, or his power to serve 
me, have I ever paid a compliment at the expense of truth."] 

** ["These lines allude to the persecution which Gavin 
Hamilton endured for riding on Sunday, and speaking irre- 
verently in the presence of a clergyman. The church should 
be merciful in all frivolous matters ; disputes about trifles 
tend to pull dignity down. The day is past for a minister 
being expelled from his kirk for writing a virtuous drama, or 
a hearer being rebuked for gallopping on Sunday." — Cun- 
ningham.] 

tt [The Poet on one occasion paid the " merry city" of 
Carlisle a visit, and got "unco happy" within its ancient 
walls. He had come into the city on horseback, and his nag 
was turned out to grass for a few hours. The horse, as may 
well be supposed, having such a master, was a brute of taste ; 
he, accordingly, took it into his head that the grass in a field 
belonging to the worthy corporation, which adjoined that in 
which it had been put, was of a better and sweeter flavour 
than its own allotment, and made good a lodgment there. 
The mayor impounded the horse, and the next morning, 
when Burns heard of the disaster, he wrote the above Stanza. 
The mayoralty of this worthy was about to expire on the very 
day on which the verse was written. As soon as he learned 
whose horse he had impounded, he gave instant orders for its 
liberation, exclaiming, ' Let him have it, by all means, or the 
circumstance will be heard of for ages to come.'] 

XX [" Wee Johnny " was John Wilson, printer of the Kil- 
marnock edition of the Poet's works. He was so unconscious 
of the worth of what he was working upon, that he doubted 
the success of the speculation, upon which Burns said he was 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



IX. 
<£pt'cjram on 23 aeon.* 

At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer, 
And plenty of Bacon, each day in the year ; 
We've all things that's neat, and mostly in season : 
But why always Bacon ? — come, give me a 
reason ? 



X. 
<®n $of)it Mobt, 

INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE.f 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon ; 
What was his religion ? 

Wha e'er desires to ken. 
To some other warF 
Maun follow the carl, 

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane ! 

Strong ale was ablution — ■ 
Small beer, persecution, 

A dram was memento mori ; 
But a full flowing bowl 
Was the saving his soul, 

And port was celestial glory. 



a " silly saulless body," and wrote this sarcastic epitaph, 
which he printed without being aware that it was his own for- 
lorn hie jacet. He had his revenge, — when Burns proposed 
a second edition, Wee Johnny demurred, unless some "good 
man" would guarantee payment. Mr. William Parker, of 
Kilmarnock, offered to do this at once. "It is like you to 
offer," said the Poet, " and like me to refuse." 

* [" Mr. Ladyman,an English commercial traveller, alight- 
ing one afternoon, in the year 1794, at Brownhill, a stage 
about thirteen miles from Dumfries, was informed by the 
.andlord ihat Burns, the Poet, was in the house, and that he 
had now the best possible opportunity of being introduced 
to the company of the cleverest man in Scotland. Mr. Lady- 
man immediately requested the honour of an introduction, 
and was forthwith shown into the room in which the Bard 
was sitting with two other gentlemen. The landlord, who 
was a forward sort of man, and stood upon no ceremony 
with Burns, presented Mr. Ladyman ; and while the Poet 
rose and received the stranger with that courtesy which al- 
ways marked his conduct, sat down himself along with his 
guests, and mixed in the conversation. 

When Mr. Ladyman entered the inn, it was about two 
o'clock. The Poet had been drinking since mid-day with the 
two gentlemen, and was slightly elevated with liquor, but 
not to such a degree as to make any particular alteration 
upon his voice or manner. He did not speak much, nor take 
any eager share in the conversation. He frequently leant 
down his head npon the edge of the table, and was silent 
for a considerable time, as if he had been suffering bodily 
pain. However, when opportunity occurred, he would start 
up, and say something shrewd or decisive upon the subject 
in agitation. 

About an hour after Mr. Ladyman arrived dinner was 
served, consisting of beans and bacon, &c, of which the 
landlord partook, like the rest of the company, evidently 
to the displeasure of the poet. During the course of the 
subsequent toddy, Mr. Ladyman ventured to request of 
Burns to let the company have a small specimen of his 
poetry upon any subject he liked to think of — "just any 
thing, in short — whatever might come uppermost — doggerel 
or not." Burns was never offended by any solicitation of 
thin sort, when it was made in a polite manner, and with 
proper deference to his own good pleasure. In the present 
gai'c, he granted the request so readily that, almost imme- 



XI. 
<®tt a »ag in Plaucpne.* 

Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', 

He aften did assist ye ; 
For had ye staid whole years awa, 

Your wives they ne'er had missed ye. 
Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 

To school in bands thegither, 
O tread ye lighty on his grass, — 

Perhaps he was your father. 



XII. 
<3n a Celebrated Ming; 3Elte. § 

Here souter Hood in death does sleep ; — 
To h — 11, if he's gane thither, 

Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 
He'll haud it weel thegither. 



XIII. 
<©n a floteg ^Polemic. II 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes : 

O Death, it's my opinion, 
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' b — h 

Into thy dark dominion ! 



diately after Mr. Ladyman had done speaking, he delibe- 
rately uttered the above lines. It must be understood that 
Bacon was the name of the landlord, whose habit of in- 
truding into all companies was thus cleverly ridiculed. As 
far as Mr. Ladyman can recollect, Burns pronounced the 
lines without the least hesitation of voice, and apparently 
without finding any difficulty in embodying the thought in 
rhyme. No effort seemed necessary. He happened to have 
the glass in his hand at the time the request was made, and 
so trifling was the exertion of intellect apparently required 
that he did not put it down upon the table, but waited till 
he concluded the epigram, and then drank off his liquor 
amidst the roar of applause that ensued. The landlord had 
retired some little time before, otherwise Burns would not 
perhaps have chosen him as the subject of his satire. There 
is no doubt, however, that he would see and hear enough 
of it afterwards ; for Burns, at the earnest entreaties of the 
company, immediately committed it to the breath of Fame, 
by writing it upon one of the panes in the window behind 
his chair." — Chambers.] 

t [This person kept the Whitefoord Arms, at the entrance 
of the Cowgate in Mauchline. The honest landlord's re- 
ligion is made out to be a comparative appreciation of his 
various liquors.] 

X [This laborious wag was James Smith, whose history has 
been related in the note to that exquisite epistle beginning 
" Dear Smith, the sleest pawkie thief!" He failed in all his 
speculations in Scotland, afterwards emigrated and died in 
the West Indies.] 

§ [This ruling elder was one of those who examined anxi 
ously into the poetical delinquencies of Burns, and hoped to 
find that the spiritual artillery of the kirk could be levelled at 
profane rhymers. He got hold, it is said, of some indeco- 
rous verses, which, in a mirthful moment, had droptfromthe 
pen of the Poet, and as he read them in the Session, he 
paused at every verse, exclaiming " A wild lad ! a wild lad 1"] 

|| [This person's name is James Humphrey: he is by 
trade a mason is now grown old and infirm, but loves to talk 
of Burns and of the warm debates between them on Effectual 
Calling and Free Grace. Cromek said that he found him at 
work in a quarry, with a fox-skin cap and wooden clogs on, 
and stirred him up to talk on devotional matters, which he 
did with a na'ural eloquence and a quick acuteness that 
surprised him.] 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 



329 



XIV. 
^n a flotetJ Carcoml). 

Light lay the earth on Billy's breast, 

His chicken heart so tender ; 
But build a castle on his head, 

His skull will prop it under. 

[The above is printed from the original MS. 
in the Poet's hand- writing. ] 

XV. 
<®n ffliste $eart |*><mt, of ©ccletedjan.* 

Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times 
Been, Jeanny Scott, as thou art, 

The bravest heart on English ground, 
Had yielded like a coward ! 



XVI. 

ON A 

^empeck'tf Country Inquire. 

As father Adam first was fool'd, 

A case that's still too common, 
Here lies a man a woman rul'd — 

The devil rul'd the woman. 

[The Poet was not satisfied with these lines — 
in a second attempt he varied the satire. ] 

XVII. 
<©n tije J^ame. 

O Death, had'st thou but spar'd his life 

Whom we, this day, lament ! 
We freely wad exchang'd the wife, 

An' a' been weel content ! 

E'en as he is, cauld in his graff, 

The swap we yet will do't ; 
Tak' thou the carlin's carcase aff, 

Thou'se get the saul to boot. 

[He was not, however, satisfied with his second 
epigram on this parsimonious dame ; he turned 
the matter over in his mind, brought in a little 
learning, and sharpened the point of his satire.] 

XVIII. 
€>n ti)t J^ame. 

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, 
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well, 



* [The young lady, the subject of these complimentary 
lines, dwelt in Ayr, and cheered the Poet not only with her 
sweet looks, but with he r sweet voice. Tradition relates no 
more. The name of Stuart is sometimes substituted for 
Scott, but with little propriety, for the point is lost by the 
change.] 

t [Burns, on repassing the Highland border, in 1787, 
turned round and bade farewell to the hospitalities of the 
north in these happy lines. Another account states that he 
was called on for a (oast at table, and gave "The Highland 
Welcome," much to the pleasure of all who heard him.] 



In respect for the love and affection he'd shewn 

her, 
She redue'd him to dust and she drank up the 

powder. 

But QueenNetherplace, of a diff 'rent complexion, 
When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction, 
Would have ate her dead lord, on a slender 
pretence, [pense ! 

Not to show her respect, but — to save the ex- 



[All that seems necessary to be said of this 
sordid lady has been told by the Poet. In 
the original MS. he has written " Campbell of 
Netherplace."] 



Wt)t 



XIX. 

Iigljlantf Welcome. 



When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
A time that surely shall come ; 

In Heaven itself I'll ask no more 
Than just a Highland welcome. f 



XX. 

EXTEMPORE, 

<®u Militant ^mellte, 

AUTHOR OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURAL HISTORY, 

AND MEMBER OF THE ANTIQ.UARIAN AND 

ROYAL SOCIETIES OF EDINBURGH. 

Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came, I 
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout, the same ; 
His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night ; 
His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd 
A head for thought profound & clear unmatch'd : 
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 



XXI. 

"Fers'eS 

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON. 

We cam' na here to view your warks 

In hopes to be mair wise, 
But only, lest we gang to hell, 

It may be nae surprise : 



t [He belonged to a club of which Burns was a member, 
called the Crochallan Fencibles, the members of which 
met in Douglas's tavern, in the Anchor Close, Edinburgh. 
The Club took its name from a beautiful plaintive Highland 
Air, entitled, Cro Chalein — literally Colin's Castle — an air 
which Douglas occasionally sang with much effect to his 
guests. Smellie was a singular person, disregarded nicety of 
dress, loved wine and sociality, and sallies of humour ; yet 
possessed a warm and generous heart. The above lines also 
form a part of the Third Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of 
Fintray.] 



330 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



But whan we tirl'd at your door, 
Your porter dought na hear us ; 

Sae may, shou'd we to hell's yetts come, 
Your billy Satan sair us ! * 

[The reason assigned for refusing to show the 
Carron Foundries to Burns was that he called 
on a Sunday. This could hardly be : he knew 
that the labour which rendered the place inte- 
resting had ceased j that the furnaces were 
mostly extinguished, and the "warks" not to 
be seen. He perhaps sought admittance with- 
out an introduction. On his second visit, he 
was received with a civility that soothed him : 
he made one remark — "The blazing furnaces 
and melting iron realized the description of the 
giants forging thunderbolts."] 



* [Burns, it would appear, had gone to Carron on a Sun- 
day, and given in an assumed name for permission to see the 
Works. The following lines, in answer to the Poet, were 
written by Mr. Benson, one of the clerks. 

" If you came here to see our works, 
You should have been more civil 
Than to give a fictitious name, 
In hopes to cheat the Devil. 

Six days a week to you and all 

We think it very well ; 
The other, if you go to church, 

May keep you out of hell."] 

t [When Burns visited Stirling in 1787, and beheld the 
ruins" of that princely place where Scottish parliaments once 
assembled, and princes dispensed justice, he was stung to 
the heart, and, it has been stated, vented his indignation 
in these lines. The last couplet is now restored. The 
present lovely scion of the House of Brunswick can afford 
to smile at the spleen of a disappointed poet. He was not 
the only one who felt attachment to the House of Stuart. 

" The original lines were certainly as strongly marked 
by an unworthy feeling towards the reigning, as by a gene- 
rous affection towards the dethroned family ; but the sin 
of writing them is unnecessarily aggravated by Mr. Lock- 
hart, when he says, " The last couplet, alluding, in the 
coarsest style, to the melancholy state of the good king's 
health at the time, was indeed an outrage which no political 
prejudice could have made a gentleman approve." The 
king was not seized with his melancholy indisposition till 
the month of October in the ensuing year. In that couplet 
— here, by the way, printed for the first time— Burns seems 
to have merely proceeded upon a prevailing impression of at 
least the Jacobite part of the community, respecting the 
intellectual character of the family of Brunswick- Lunenburg. 
How far the impression was from the truth it would be 
ludicrous to advert to in serious terms ; but it is curious 
now to perceive traces of the extent to which it animated 
a portion of British society in the past age. It appears that 
the impassioned peasant of Kyle was not, in the use of this 
rash and coarse expression, more guilty of lese-majesty than 
another individual, who, though under the same political 
prepossessions, was certainly the last whom Mr. Lockhart 
could have expected to be guilty of any such out-burst. In 
a letter written by Bishop Forbes, of the Scottish Episcopal 
Church at Leith, to Bishop Gordon, of London, and of 
which a copy, under Forbes's hand, rests before us, is the 
following passage: — 'You know the famous Dr. Johnson 
has been among us. Several anecdotes could I give you 
of him ; but one is most singular. Dining one day at 
the table of one of the Lords of Session, the company 
stumbled upon characters, particularly, it would appear, of 
kings, ' Well,' said the bluff doctor, ' George the First was 
a robber, George the Second a fool, and George the Third 
is an idiot ! ' How the company stared I leave you to judge. 
It was far from being polite, especially considering the table 
at which he was entertained, and that he himself is a pen- 
sioner at ^"300 a-year.' It is, indeed, just possible that no 
such saying was ever uttered, but much more likely that 
it was. If Burns's imprudence was great, it was soon 



XXII. 

Ernes; on btcfomg Stirling $atac*. 

Here Stuarts once in glory reign' d, 

And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd ; 

But now unroof'd their palace stands, 

Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands : 

The injur'd Stuart line is gone, 

A race outlandish fills their throne — 

An idiot race, to honour lost : 

Who know them best, despise them most.f 



XXIII. 

Rash mortal, and slanderous Poet, thy name 
Shall no longer appear in the records of fame ; 



repented of. Coming back to Stirling in a few weeks, and 
finding that the verses had given offence, he broke the pane 
on which they were inscribed." — The Land of Burns, a 
beautifully embellished work, edited by Professor Wilson 
and Robert Chambers.] 

[A writer in the Paisley Magazine, December 1828, gives 
the following more satisfactory account of these celebrated 
lines, involving circumstances which reflect the brightest 
lustre on the character of the Ayr-shire Poet : — " They were 
not the composition of Burns, but of his friend Nicol. This 
we state from the testimony of those who themselves knew 
the fact as it truly stood, and who were well acquainted with 
the high-wrought feelings of honour and friendship which 
induced Burns to remain silent under the obloquy which 
their affiliation entailed upon him. The individual whose 
attention the lines first attracted was a clerk in the employ, 
ment of the Carron Iron Company, then travelling through 
the country collecting accounts, or receiving orders, who 
happened to arrive immediately after the departure of the 
poet and his friend. On inquiry, he learned that the last 
occupant of the apartment was the far-famed Burns, and on 
this discovery he immediately transferred a copy of the lines 
to his memorandum-book of orders, made every person as 
wise as himself on the subject, and penned an answer to 
them, which, with the lines themselves, soon spread over the 
country, and found a place in every periodical of the day. 
To this poetic critic of the Carron Works do we owe the first 
hint of Burns being the author of this tavern effusion. They 
who saw the writing on the glass know that it was not the 
hand-writing of the poet ; but this critic, who knew neither 
his autograph nor his person, chose to consider it as such, 
and so announced it to the world. On his return to Stirling, 
Burns was both irritated and grieved to find that this idle 
and mischievous tale had been so widely spread and so 
generally believed. The reason of the cold and constrained 
reception he met with from some distinguished friends, 
which at the time he could not account for, was now ex- 
plained, and he felt in all its bitterness the misery of being 
innocently blamed for a thing which he despised as unworthy 
of his head and heart. To disavow the authorship was to 
draw down popular indignation on the head of Nicol — a 
storm which would have annihilated him. Rather than ruin 
the interests of that friend, he generously and magnani- 
mously, or, as some less fervent mind may think, foolishly, 
devoted himself to unmerited obloquy, by remaining silent, 
and suffering- the story to circulate uncontradicted. The 
friend who was with Burns when he indignantly smashed 
the obnoxious pane with the butt end of his whip, and who 
was perfectly aware of the whole circumstances as they 
really stood, long and earnestly pleaded with him to con- 
tradict the story that had got wind, and injured him so 
much in public estimation. It was with a smile of peculiar 
melancholy that Burns made this noble and characteristic 
reply : ' I know I am not the author ; but I '11 be damned 
ere I betray him. It would ruin him — he lis my friend ! ' 
It is unnecessary to add that to this resolution he ever 
after remained firm."] 

t [The imprudence of the lines on Stirling Palace was 
hinted to the Poet by a friend ; on which he took out hia 
diamond, saying, " O, I mean to reprove myself," walked 
to the window, and scratched The Reproof on the pane.] 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 



Dost not know, that old Mansfield, who writes 

like the Bible, [libel ? 

Says, The more His a truth, Sir, the more 'tis a 



XXIV. 
%intst 

WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED 
MISS BURNS.* 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing, 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess : 

True it is, she had one failing — ■ 
Had a woman ever less ? 



XXV. 

Here am I, Johnny Peep, 
I saw three sheep, 

And these three sheep saw me ; 
Half-a-crown a piece 
Will pay for their fleece, 

And so Johnny Peep gets free.f 



XXVI. 
€i)e *fem$tck'1i fttusftairtr. j 

CuRs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife ! 
Who has no will but by her high permission ; 
Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell ; 
Who dreads a curtain-lecture worse than hell ! 
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart ; 
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b — . 



* [" The Miss Burns of these lines was well known to the 
bucks of Edinburgh in the days of the Poet's abode in 
the metropolis. There is a letter still extant, addressed 
by Burns, in behalf of his beauteous namesake, to the 
magistrates of Edinburgh, in which she is made ironically to 
claim their protection for a laxer system of social morality, 
and a freer intercourse betwixt youth and beauty." — Cun- 
ningham.] 

f [There is some character, if little poetry, in the above 
impromptu. Burns was one day at a cattle-market, held 
in a town in Cumberland, and, in the bustle that prevails 
on these occasions, he lost sight of some of the friends who 
accompanied him. He pushed to a tavern, opened the door 
of every room, and merely looked in, till at last he came 
to one in which three jolly Cumberland blades were enjoy- 
ing themselves. As he withdrew his head, one of them 
shouted " Come in, Johnny Peep." Burns obeyed the call, 
seated himself at the table, and, in a short time, was the 
life and soul of the party. In the course of their merriment, 
it was proposed that each should write a stanza of poetry, 
and put it with half-a-crown below the candlestick, with 
this stipulation, that the best poet was to have his half- 
crown returned, while the other three were to be expended 
to treat the party. What the others wrote has now sunk 
into oblivion. The stanza of the Ayr-shire ploughman being 
read, a roar of laughter followed, and, while the palm of 
victory was unanimously voted to Burns, one of the English- 



XXVII. 
<B\\ fruifetlttg Sfyefon fjtm at toerarj). 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Unless he come to wait upon 

The lord their god, his Grace. 

There's naething here but Highland pride, 
And Highland cauld and hunger j 

If Providence has sent me here, 
'Twas surely in his anger. § 

XXVIII. 
<3n (SipTjinStone'S CranSlatumS 

OF 

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS || 

O thou, whom poesy abhors ! 
Whom prose has turned out of doors ! 
Heard'st thou that groan? — proceed no further 
'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring Murther! 



XXIX. 
<©n a &d)Qtilmzt£Uv. 

Here lie Willie Michie's banes ; 

O, Satan ! when ye tak' him, 
Gi'e him the schoolin' o' your weans, 

For clever de'ils he'll mak' 'em ! IT 



XXX. 
<&n Hiifcufo Curner. 

In se'enteen bunder an' forty-nine 
Satan took stuff to mak a swine, 

And cuist it in a corner ; 
But wilily he chang'd his plan, 
And shap'd it something like a man, 

And ca'd it Andrew Turner. 



men exclaimed, "In God's name, who are you?" An 
explanation ensued, and the happy party did not separate 
the same day they met.] 

J ["It is related that one day the lady of a house where 
the Poet dined expressed herself with less civility than he 
expected about the depth of her husband's potations and 
his habits of extravagance. Her freedom of tongue was 
rewarded by these sharp verses." — Cunningham.] 

§ [During the first Highland tour of the Poet, he halted 
at Inverary ; but, on finding himself neglected by the inn- 
keeper, whose house was filled with visiters to his Grace 
the Duke of Argyll, he expressed in these verses his sense 
of the incivility with which he was treated. Tradition speaks 
of a pursuit which took place on the part of " The Camp- 
bell," and of a determination not to be soothed on the part 
of the Poet.] 

|| [Burns has himself related the origin of this sally : — 
" Stopping at a merchant's shop in Edinburgh, a friend of 
mine, one day, put Elphinstone's Translation of Martial 
into my hand," and desired my opinion of it. I asked per- 
mission to write my opinion on a blank leaf of the book ; 
which being granted, I wrote this epigram."] 

•)[ [Willie Michie was schoolmaster of Cleish parish, in 
Fife-shire, and became acquainted with Burns during his 
first visit to Edinburgh, in 1/87- His name is not men- 
tioned in all the correspondence of the Poet, nor is he 
numbered amongst his admirers or friends.] 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



XXXI. 

& &vact More ©timer.* 

O Thou, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want ! 
We bless thee, God of Nature wide, 

For all thy goodness lent : 
And, if it please thee, Heav'nly Guide, 

May never worse be sent; 
But, whether granted, or deny'd, 

Lord, bless us with content ! — 

Amen. 

XXXII. 
<©n Plr. W. Crutfetfjatrajei. 

Honest Will's to heaven gane, 
And mony shall lament him, 

His faults they a' in Latin lay, 
In English nane e'er kent them. 



XXXIII. 
<&n Wat. 

Sic a reptile was Wat, 
Sic a miscreant slave, 
That the very worms damn'd him 
When laid in his grave. 
' In his flesh there's a famine," 

A starv'd reptile cries ; 
' An' his heart is rank poison," 
Another replies.f 



XXXIV. 

<©ix Captain dfrancte #rosic. 

The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, 
So whip ! at the summons, old Satan came 

flying ; [lay moaning, 

But when he approach'd where poor Francis 
And saw each bed-post with its burden a- 

groaning, [G-d ! 

Astonish'd ! confounded ! cry'd Satan, " By 
I'll want 'im, ere I take such a damnable 

load ! "J 



* [It was a favourite practice to ask the Poet for a bless- 
ing, even where he was a guest. His readiness was gene- 
rally known ; and whatever he said was gratefully remem- 
bered.] 

t [The name of the person on whom this terrible epitaph 
was composed is not known. Mr. Cromek used to recite 
it, and say that he had sought in vain to discover who the 
Walter was against whom it was directed. The name might 
be found ; but, in gratifying idle curiosity, much pain would 
be inflicted.] 

t [It is related that, one evening, at table, when wine 
and wit were flowing, Grose, delighted with some of the 
sallies of Burns, requested the honour of a couplet upon 
himself. The Poet eyed the corpulent antiquarian for a 
minute's space or so, and then repeated the above epigram 
amid roars of laugh !er.] 



XXXV. 

<©n tije Btrft of iUmmgton, 

IN CLYDESDALE. 

As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in't but few ; 
As cauld a Minister's e'er spak, 
Ye'se a' be het ere I come back. § 



XXXVI. 

WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS, IN 
THE INN AT MOFFATT. 

Ask why God made the gem so small, 
And why so huge the granite ? 

Because God meant mankind should set 
The higher value on it. || 



XXXVII. 
%im£, sfpo&w ertempore, 

ON BEING APPOINTED TO THE EXCISE. 

Searching auld wives' barrels, 

Och — hon ! the day ! 
That clarty barm should stain my laurels ; 

But — what '11 ye say? 
These movin' things ca'd wives and weans 
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes !1T 



XXXVIII, 



ADDRESSED to the landlady of the 

INN AT ROSSLYN. 

My blessings on you, sonsy wife ; 

I ne'er was here before ; 
You 've gi'en us walth for horn and knife, 

Nae heart could wish for more. 



§ [The Poet was stopped by a storm once in Clydesdale, 
and on Sunday went to Lamington Kirk ; the day was so 
rough, the kirk so cold, and the sermon so little to his 
liking, that he left his poetic protest in the pew where he 
had been sitting.] 

|| [One day, while Burns was at Moffat, " The charming 
lovely Davies " of one of his songs rode past, accompanied 
by a lady tall and portly. On a friend asking the Poet why 
God made one lady so large, and Miss Davies so little, he 
replied in the words of the epigram. No one has apologized 
so handsomely for "scrimpit stature."] 

% [That the Poet delighted not in the name of ganger 
is well known ; yet he would allow no one to speak ill of the 
Excise but himself. He was strict, but merciful ; the smug- 
gler had no chance of escape from him, while to the country 
purchaser he was very indulgent.] 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 333 


Reav'n keep you free frae care and strife, 

Till far ayont fourscore ; 
And, while I toddle on through life, 

I'll ne'er gang by your door. 


XLII. 
(®n $&x&. lUmbU.f 

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod ; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 

The rock with tears had now'd. 


XXXIX. 


Here lies with death auld Grizzel Grim, 

Lincluden's ugly witch ; 
Death, how horrid is thy taste 

To lie with such a b ! 


XLIII. 
3£rtempovc, to $Rv. $2>me, 

ON 

REFUSING TO DINE WITH HIM. 

December \7th, 1795. 

No more of your guests, be they titled or not, 
And cook'ry the first in the nation ; 


XL. 


Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, 
Is proof to all other temptation. { 


3£pttap!) on WL . 


XLIV. 


Stop, Thief ! dame Nature cried to Death, 
As Willie drew his latest breath ; 
You have my choicest model ta'en, 
How shall I make a fool again ? 


Co $flr. £>m\\t t 

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER. 

0, had the malt thy strength of mind, 
Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 

'Twere drink for first of human-kind, 
A gift that e'en for Syme were fit. § 




XLL 


Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 



<&n Plr. Burton. * 

Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, 
A buck, a beau, or Dem my eyes ! 
Who, in his life, did little good, 
And his last words were Dem my blood ! 



* [On one occasion Burns met at the festive board a 
dashing young Englishman of the name of Burton, who 
became very importunate that the poet should compose 
an epitaph for him. In vain the bard objected that he was 
not sufficiently acquainted with Burton's character and habits 
to qualify him for the task; the request was constantly 
repeated with a "Dem my eyes, Burns, do write an epitaph 
for me ; Oh, Dem my blood, do, Burns, write an epitaph 
for me." Overcome by his importunity, Burns at last took 
out his pencil and produced the above. It operated like 
a shower-bath upon poor Burton, but electrified the rest 
of the company.] 

f [When Mrs. Kemble performed, in 1794, the part of 
Yarico at the Dumfries theatre, Burns was in Mrs. Riddel's 
box, and was deeply moved by her natural and pathetic 
acting. He took out a bit of paper, wrote these lines with 
a pencil, and had them handed to her at the conclusion 
of the piece.] 

% [John Syme, of Ryedale, was the constant companion 
of Burns, and these lines were spoken to him in answer 
to an invitation to dine, in which he promised the " first 
of company and the first of cookery." He was a gentleman 
of education and talent, difficult to please in the pleasures 
of the tabie ; a wit in his way, an epigramatist and rhymer, 
an admirable teller of a story, and altogether a convivial and 
well-informed man. 

" The acquaintance which Burns maintained with a con- 
siderable number of the gentry of his neighbourhood was 
not favourable to him. They frequently sent him game 
from their estates, and disdained not to come to his house 
to partake of it. The large quantities of rum which flowed 



XLV. 
to crip turn on a <&ofctet. 

There's death in the cup — sae beware ! 

Nay, more — there is danger in touching ; 
But wha can avoid the fell snare ? 

The man and his wine's sae bewitching ! || 



into his stores gratuitously, in consequence of seizures, as 
was then the custom, "were also injurious. Yet, as far as 
circumstances left him to his own inclinations, he was a man 
of simple, as well as kindly, domestic habits. As he was 
often detained by company from the dinner provided for 
him by his wife, she sometimes, on a conjecture of his 
probable absence, would not prepare that meal for him. 
When he chanced to come home, and find no dinner ready, 
he was never in the least troubled or irritated, but would 
address himself with the greatest cheerfulness to any suc- 
cedaneum that could be readily set before him. They gene- 
rally had abundance of good Dunlop cheese, sent to them 
by their Ayr-shire friends. The poet would sit down to 
that wholesome fare, with bread and butter, and his book 
by his side, and seem, to any casual visiter, such as Miss 
Lewars, as happy as a courtier at the feasts of kings." — 
Chambers.] 

§ [Burns had a happy knack of paying compliments ; and 
Syme abounded in humour, and in dry sarcastic sallies, such 
as the Poet loved. Ramsay of Ochtertyre said the pathos of 
Burns's conversation brought tears even to the cheeks of 
Mr. Syme, " albeit unused to the melting mood."] 

!| [One day after dinner at Ryedale, Burns wrote these 
lines on a goblet with his diamond. Syme would seem to 
have been less affected with the compliment than with defac- 
ing his crystal service, for he threw the goblet behind the 
fire. We "are not told what the Poet thought ; but it is said 
that Brown, the clerk of " Stamp-office Johnny," snatched 
the goblet out of the fire uninjured, and kept it as a relique 
till his death.] 



334 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



XLYI. 
$oetuat Iftepli) to an tfnbttatton. 

Mossgiel, 1786, 

Sir, 

Yours this moment I unseal, 

And faith, I am gay and hearty ! 
To tell the truth an' shame the deil, 

I am as fou as Bartie :* 

But foorsday, sir, my promise leal, 
Expect me o' your party, 

If on a beastie I can speel, 
Or hurl in a cartie. — R. B. 



XLVII. 
^nofijer. 



The King's most humble servant I, 
Can scarcely spare a minute. ; 

But I'll be wi' you by and bye, 
Or else the devil's in it. 



[It was in such verses as these that the Poet 
answered invitations and replied to civilities : he 
was rarely at a loss, and had a happy knack of 
escaping from difficulties whenever he attempted 
to escape in rhyme.] 



XLVIII. 

% ;Potf)er>£ ®tmv^£ to Ijer Want. 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie : 
My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e brie ! 

Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, 
Thou's aye the dearer, and dearer to me ! 



XLIX. 
€f)e Cvertf of 3pc&crt£. 

In politics if thou would'st mix, 

And mean thy fortunes be ; 
Bear this in mind, — ' Be deaf and blind ; 

Let great folks hear and see.'f 



* [How fou Bartie was we must leave the men of Kyle to 
tell : it seems a proverbial saying, and may be interpreted by 
a line of an old song — 

" I'm no just fou, but I'm gayley yet." 
The original MS. is preserved in the Paisley Library.] 

t [When the Board of Excise informed Burns that his bu- 
siness was to act, and nf>t to think, he read the order to a 
friend, turned the paper, and wrote what he called the 
"Creed of Poverty."] 

J["That Burns sympathised with the lovers of liberty in 
the first out-bursts of the French Revolution, these verses, 



L. 
Written in a %atitf$ $ocltet*3Soolt. 

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live 
To see the miscreants feel the pain they give ; 
Deal freedom's sacred treasures free as air, 
Till slave and despot be but things which were. J 



LI. 

€Ije ^arson's &00&M 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny ; 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 



LII. 
SEjrtempore, 

PINNED TO A LADY'S COACH. 

If you rattle along like your mistress's tongue, 
Your speed will outrival the dart ; [the road, 

But a fly for your load, you'll break down on 
If your stuff be as rotten's her heart. 

[The above is printed verbatim from the ori- 
ginal MS. in Burns' s hand- writing.] 



LIII. 
<&n 2&ofiert 3&ttftel. 

To Riddel, much-lamented man, 

This ivied cot was dear ; 
Reader, dost value matchless worth 1 

This ivied cot revere. II 



LIV. 
%\)z Coast. 

Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast — 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that 

we lost ! — [we found ; 

That we lost, did I say ? nay, by Heav'n, that 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes 

round. 



as well as others, sufficiently testify. That freedom was 
darkening down into despotism in France he lived partly to 
see ; nor was his muse silent in support of order and inde- 
pendence in his native land. — Cunningham.] 

§ [Some one said to Burns that he saw falsehood in a cer- 
tain Rev. Doctor B.'s very looks ; the Poet considered for a 
moment, and gave his answer in this epigram.] 

|| [The first time that Burns rode up Nithside, after the 
death of his friend of Friar's Carse, he gave a boy his horse 
to hold, went into the hermitage in the wood, threw himself 
on a seat, and remained for a full half hour. These linos 
were traced on the window of the hermitage by the diamond 
of Burns.] 



I 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 



335 



The next in succession, Fll give you — the King ! 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he 
swing ! [tion, 

And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitu- 
As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
And longer with politics not to be cramm'd, 
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny damn'd ; 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, & he his first trial !* 



LV. 



ON A 

3pn-£mt nidmanufc tijc JJfcqute. 

Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were 

shamm'd ; 
If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd. f 



LVI. 

LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW. 
IN DUMFRIES. 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 
'Gainst poor excisemen ? give the cause a hear- 
ing ; [ledgers ; 
"What are your landlord's rent-rolls? taxing 
What premiers — what ? even Monarch's mighty 
gaugers : [men ? 
Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise 
What are they, pray, but Spiritual Excisemen ? J 



LVII. 

Huutf turttUn on a :Pane of <^Ia3£, 

ON THE OCCASION 

OF A NATIONAL THANKSGIVING FOR A 

NAVAL VICTORY. 

Ye hypocrites ! are these your pranks ? 
To murder men, and gie God thanks ! 
For shame ! gie o'er, proceed no further — 
God won't accept your thanks for murther ! 



* [Burns was called upon for a song at a dinner of the 
Dumfries volunteers, in honour of Rodney's victory of the 
12th of April, 1782, he replied to the call by reciting the 
above lines.] 

t [This personage was landlord of n rpcppetahta p'lhlio- 
house in Dumfries, which Burns frequented; in a piticu 
where two names abound, he obtained that of the Mar- 
quis ; and the, little court or alley where his change-house 
stood is still called " The Marquis's Close." In a moment 
when vanity prevailed against prudence, he desired Burns 
to write his epitaph. He did it at once — little to the 
pleasure of the landlord.] 

t [The origin of these lines is curious and accidental. 



LVIII. 

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE GLOBE 
TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

The greybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his 
treasures, 

Give me with gay Folly to live ; [sures, 

I grant him calm-blooded, time-settled plea- 

But Folly has raptures to give. § 



LIX. 
tottattmi to a ^Metrical Gentleman, 

TO ATTEND 
A MASONIC ANNIVERSARY MEETING. 

Friday first's the day appointed, 
By our Right Worshipful anointed, 

To hold our grand procession ! 
To get a blade o' Johnnie's morals, 
And taste a swatch o' Manson's barrels, 

I' the way of our profession. 
Our Master and the Brotherhood 

Wad a' be glad to see you ; 
For me I would be mair than proud 
To share the mercies wi' you. 
If death, then, wi' scaith, then, 
Some mortal heart is hechtin, 
'. Inform him, and storm || him, 

That Saturday ye'll fecht him. 

ROBERT BURNS- 



LX. 



I murder hate, by field or flood, 
Tho' glory's name may screen us ; 

In wars at hame I'll spend my blood, 
Life-giving wars of Venus. 

The deities that I adore, 

Are social peace and plenty ; 

I'm better pleas'd to make one more, 
Than be the death o' twenty. 

LXI. 

MY bottle is my holy pool, 

That heals the wounds o' care an' dool ; 

And pleasure is a wanton trout, 

An' ye drink it dry, ye'll find him out. 



One day, while in the King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries, Burns 
overheard a country gentleman talking wittily rather than 
wisely concerning excisemen : the Poet went to a window, 
and on one of the panes wrote this Rebuke with his dia- 
mond. It was taken in good part, as indeed it could not well 
be otherwise, and remained long on the window an attraction 
to travellers.] 

$ [The Poet ever looked widely abroad ; he took no narrow- 
souled views of anything ; he saw that even in the company of 
folly a wise man might sit down and be edified. " Out of the 
nettle danger he could pluck the flower safety." There was 
no hypocrisy or cant in his composition.] 

U that is, threaten him. 



336 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



LXII. 
€$* g>ttittrk <£ra«. 

Some hae meat, and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it ; 

But we hae meat and we can eat, 
And sae the Lord be thankit.* 



LXIII. 
faocence. 



Innocence 
Looks gaily-smiling on ; while rosy pleasure 
Hides young desire amid her flowery wreath, 
And pours her cup luxuriant : mantling high 
The sparkling heavenly vintage, Love and Bliss ! 

[The above exquisite lines appear in Cro- 
mek's " Reliques of Burns," and also in the 
" Letters to Clarinda." The original is in the 
handwriting of the Poet.] 



LXIV. 
<3n tl)t poet's 23augf)Ur. 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose, 

Blasted before its bloom : 
Whose innocence did sweets disclose 

Beyond that flower's perfume. 

To those who for her loss are griev'd, 
This consolation's given — 

She's from a world ot woe reliev'd, 
And blooms a rose in Heaven, f 



LXV. 
<£ht €>abvid 3&tcf)artaon, 

BREWER, DUMFRIES. % 

Here brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, 
And empty all his barrels : 

He's blest — if, as he brew'd, he drink- 
In upright honest morals. 

LXVI. 

<©n tf)e ©cat!) oi a Hajp^og, 

NAMED ECHO. 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Your heavy loss deplore ; 
Now half-extinct your powers of song, 

Sweet Echo is no more. 



* [On a visit to St. Mary's Isle, the Earl of Selkirk re- 
quested Burns to say grace at dinner. These were the 
words he uttered — they were applauded then, and have since 
been known in Galloway by the name of " The Selkirk 
Grace."] 

+ [These tender and affecting lines were written on the 
death of the Poet's daughter, who died in the autumn of 
-795. "The autumn," says he, in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, 
"robbed me of my only daughter and darling child; and that 
at a distance too, and so rapidly as to put it out of my power 
to pay the last duties to her." He loved the child dearly, 
and mourned her loss with many tears. His own health was 
also giving way at this time.] 

t [These lines were written on a goblet still preserved in the 
family. At Gabriel's hospitable table Burns spent many plea- 



Ye jarring, screeching things around, 
Scream your discordant joys ; 

Now half your din of tuneless sound 
With Echo silent lies.§ 



LXVII. 
<®n Seeing; tl)e beautiful J^eat of 

LORD GALLOWAY. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair?— 

Flit, Galloway, and find 
Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, 

The picture of thy mind ! 



LXVIII. 
<©n tf)* J^ame. 

No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 
The Stewarts all were brave ; 

Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, 
Not one of them a knave. 



LXIX. 
<&n tyt ^>ame. 

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, 
Thro' many a far-fam'd sire ! 

So ran the far-fam'd Roman way, 
So ended — in a mire ! 



LXX. 
Co tje ^ame, 

ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH 
HIS RESENTMENT. 

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

In quiet let me live : 
I ask no kindness at thy hand, 

For thou hast none to give.|| 



LXXI. 
<&n a Country %aixts. 

Bless the Redeemer, Cardoness, 
With grateful lifted eyes, 

Who said that not the soul alone, 
But body too, must rise ; 



sant hours. His son, Dr. Richardson, the distinguished tra- 
veller, said the last mark of civilization which he found on his 
expedition to the north, was poetry — and that by Burns.] 

§ [Burns wrote these lines at Kenmore Castle, an ancient 
seat of the Gordons. It happened that Mrs. Gordon's lap- 
dog died on the day of the Poet's arrival. She requested 
an epitaph for him. " This," says Syme, " was setting Her- 
cules to his distaff; he disliked the subject, but to please the 
lady he would try."] 

|| [These sharp squibs were launched against the house of 
Galloway, during the Heron contest. Though "the Stewart" 
at first felt offended, he smiled, it is said, when he con-, 
sidered how wayward the muse is, and how hot even th$ 
calmest grows during an election.] 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 



=<6) 



H'67 



For had He said " The soul alone 
From death I will deliver ;" 

Alas ! alas ! O Cardoness, 

Then thou hadst slept for ever !* 



LXXIL 

Here lies John Bushby, honest man ! 
Cheat him, Devil, gin ye can. 



LXXIII. 
CJ)e Cvue Eoj>aI ^attbe^. 

Ye true "Loyal Natives" attend to my song, 
In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; 
From envy and hatred your corps is exempt, 
But where is your shield from the darts of con- 
tempt ? 

The origin of these lines is related by Cromek. 
When politics ran high the Poet happened to 
be in a tavern, and the following lines — the pro- 
duction of one of "The True Loyal Natives" 
were handed over the table to Burns : — 

" Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my song, 
Let Syme, Burns, and Maxwell, pervade every throng; 
With Craken the attorney, and Mundell the quack, 
Send Willie the monger to hell with a smack." 

The Poet took out a pencil and instantly 
wrote the above reply. 



LXXIV. 
<&n a ^utcttre. t 

Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell, 
Planted by Satan's dibble — 

Poor silly wretch, he's damn'd himseF 
To save the Lord the trouble. 



* [The hero of these merciless verses was, it is said, a very 
worthy person, Sir David Maxwell, of Cardoness, who had 
offended the Poet in the heat of the Heron election. What 
the offence was has not been stated ; but contradiction is 
enough in election matters, when the wisest men justify the 
sarcasm of the Frenchman, that the British go stark mad 
every seven years.] 

t [He was a good lawyer, keen, acute, fertile in expedi- 
ents, and full of resources in all pressing emergencies. The 
peasantry, who hate all stirring attorneys, regarded him with 
much malevolence ; and, as he crossed the Poet in the 
thorny path of politics, it was reckoned a service rendered 
the cause of virtue when Burns lampooned him. It is 
said that as he lay on his death-bed, knock followed knock 
at his door, and creditor succeeded creditor so fast, de- 
manding money, that the sinking man turned his face sul- 
lenly away, and muttered, "They winna let me die, by 
God!"] 

t [" A melancholy person of the name of Glendinning hav- 
ing taken away his own life wa3 interred at a place called 
' The Old Chapel,' close beside Dumfries. Dr. Copland 
Hutchison happened to be walking out tl at way; he saw 
Burns with his foot on the grave, his hat on his knee, and 
paper laid on his hat, on which he was writing. He then 
took the paper, and thrust it with his finger into the red 
mould of the grave, and went away. This was the above 



LXXV. 

%im£ to $of)n Rankine. 

He who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead, 
And a green grassy hillock haps his head ; 
Alas ! alas ! a devdish change indeed ! 

[These lines were written by Burns, while on 
his death-bed, to John Rankine, and forwarded 
to Adamhill immediately after the Poet's 
death.] 

LXXVI. 
Co fflite %z$ty lUfoav*. 

Talk not to me of savages 

From Afric's burning sun, 
No savage e'er could rend my heart 

As, Jessy, thou hast done. 
But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to plight, 
Not even to view the heavenly choir 

Would be so blest a sight. $ 



LXXVII. 

Cjpe Coast. 

Fill me with the rosy wine, 
Call a toast — a toast divine ; 
Give the Poet's darling flame, 
Lovely Jessy be the name ; 
Then thou mayest freely boast 
Thou hast given a peerless toast. | 



LXXVIII. 

ON THE- 



£tcime<& of iPts'S $*&3D Eefoars. 

Say, sages, what's the charm on earth 
Can turn Death's dart aside ? 

It is not purity and worth, 

Else Jessy had not died.^F — R. B. 



epigram, and such was the Poet's mode of publishing it." — 
Allan Cunningham.] 

§ [During the last illness of the Poet, Mr. Brown, the sur- 
geon who attended him, came in, and stated that he had been 
looking at a collection of wild beasts just arrived, and, pull- 
ing out the list of the animals, held it out to Jessy Lewars. 
The Poet snatched it from him, took up a pen, and with red 
ink wrote the above verses on the back of the paper, saying, 
"Now it is fit to be presented to a lady" This precious 
relique is still in her possession.] 

|| [One day while the Poet was much indisposed, he ob- j 
served Jessy Lewars moving, with a light foot, about the 
house, lest she should disturb him. He took up a crystal 
goblet containing wine and water for moistening his lips, [ 
wrote "The Toast" upon it with a diamond, and presented | 
it to her. "She was," says Giloert Burns, " a deservedly I 
great favourite of the Poet and a soothing friend to Mrs. ] 
Burns at the time of his death."] 

If [The constancy of her attendance and the anxiety of her 
mind made Jessy Lewars suffer a slight indisposition. 
" You must not die yet," said the Poet with a smile ; "how- 
ever, I shall provide for the worst. Give me that goblet, and 
I'll write your epitaph." He wrote these four lines with his 
diamond, and, presenting the goblet, said, "That will be a 
companion to 'The Toast.' "] 

Z 



338 



THE POEMS OF BURNS. 



LXXIX. 

<&n tf)t 2fttcober» of Bt$$v Heioarg. 

But rarely seen since nature's birth, 

The natives of the sky ; 
Yet still one seraph's left on earth, 

For Jessy did not die.* — R. B. 



LXXX. 
€!)* m%&!$k$0tti ISagle. 

A FRAGMENT, 

ON THE DEFEAT OF THE AUSTRIANS BY DUMOUR1ER 
AT GEMAPPF., NOVEMBER, 1/92. 

The black-headed eagle 

As keen as a beagle, 
He hunted o'er height and owre howe ; 

But fell in a trap 

On the braes o' Gemappe, 
E'en let him come out as he dowe. 



LXXXI. 

% bottle anfci an i?oru3t tftimli. 



There's nane that's blest of human kind, 
But the cheerful and the gay, man. 
Fal lal, &c. 



Here's a bottle and an honest friend ! 

What wad you wish for mair, man ? 
W ha kens, before his life may end, 

What his share may be of care, man ? 



Then catch the moments as they fly, 
And use them as ye ought, man : 

Believe me, happiness is shy, 

And comes not aye when sought, man. 



[These verses, which are printed in Cromek's 
Reliques, under the head of Song, are now 
given verbatim, with the addition of the cho- 
rus, from the original MS. in the Poet's hand- 
writing. Gilbert Burns, however, in a letter 
to Cromek, dated Februaiy, 1809, expressed a 
doubt as to their having been written by his 
brother.] 



LXXXII. 

#race after IBtmwr. 

O Thou, in whom we live and move, 
Who mad'st the sea and shore ; 

Thy goodness constantly we prove, 
And, grateful, would adore. 

And if it please Thee, Pow'r above, 
Still grant us, with such store, 

The friend we trust, the fair we love, 
And we desire no more. 



* [A little repose brought health back to the young lady. 
On this Burns said, smiling, " I knew you would get better; 
you have much to do before you die, believe me. Besides, 
there is a poetic reason for your recovery." So saying, he 
took up a pen and wrote the above.] 



LXXXIII. 



<®XXQtfytX. 

Lord, we thank an' thee adore, 
For temp'ral gifts we little merit ; 

At present we will ask no more, 
Let William Hyslop give the spirit ! 



LXXXIV. 

Co t^e §£t(ttov of tf)e J^tar. 

Dear Peter, dear Peter, 

We poor sons of metre, 
Are often negleckit, ye ken ;f 

For instance, your sheet, man, 

(Though glad I'm to see't, man) 
I get it no ae day in ten. 



t [Burns at one period was in the habit of receiving the 
Star newspaper gratuitously from the publisher ; but as it 
came irregularly to hand, he sent the above lines to head 
quarters, to insure more punctuality.] 



END OF THE POEMS, 



THE 



SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



" By far the most finished, complete, and truly- 
inspired pieces of Burns, are, without doubt, to 
be found among his Songs. It is here that, 
although through a small aperture, his light 
shines with the least obstruction, in its highest 
beauty and purest sunny clearness. The reason 
may be that song is a brief and simple species 
of composition, and requires nothing so much 
for its perfection as genuine poetic feeling, and 
music of heart. The song has its rules equally 
with the tragedy, — rules which, in most cases, 
are poorly fulfilled, and in many cases not so 
much as felt. We reckon the songs of Burns by 
far the best which Britain has yet produced ; 
for, indeed, since the era of Queen Elizabeth, we 
know not that by any other hand aught truly 
worth attention has been accomplished in this 
department. Independently of the clear, manly, 
and heart-felt sentiment that ever pervades his 
poetry, his songs are honest, in another point of 
view, in form as well as in spirit. They do not 
affect to be set to music ; but they actually, and 
in themselves, are music. They have received 
their life, and fashioned themselves together, in 
the medium of harmony, as Venus rose from 
the bottom of the sea. The story, the feeling, 
is not told but suggested ; not said or spouted in 
rhetorical completeness and coherence, but sung 
in fitful gushes, in glowing tints, in fantastic 
breaks, — in warblings, not of the voice only, 
but of the whole mind. We consider this to be 
the essence of a song, and that no songs, since 
the little careless catches, and, as it were, drops 
of song, which Shakspeare has here and there 
sprinkled over his plays, fulfil this condition in 
nearly the same degree as those of Burns. 
Such grace and truth of external movement, 
too, pre-supposes, in general, a corresponding 



force and truth of sentiment and inward mean- 
ing. The songs of Burns are not more perfect 
in the former quality than, in the latter. With 
what tenderness he sings ! yet with what vehe- 
mence and entireness ! There is a piercing wail 
in his sorrow, and the purest rapture in his joy : 
he burns Math the sternest ardour, or laughs 
with the loudest or slyest mirth ; and yet he is 
sweet and soft, — ' sweet as the smile when fond 
lovers meet, and soft as their parting tear.' If 
we further take into account the immense 
variety of his subjects, — how, from the loud, 
flowing revel in ' Willie brewed a peck o' 
Maut,' to the still, rapt enthusiasm of sadness 
for ' Mary in Heaven,' — from the glad, kind 
greeting of 'Auld lang-syne,' or the comic 
archness of ' Duncan Gray,' to the fire-eyed 
fury of ' Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,' — .he 
has found a tone and words for every mood of 
man's heart. It will seem small praise if we 
rank him as the first of all our song- writers ; 
for we know not where to find one worthy of 
being second to him. It is on his songs, as we 
believe, that his chief influence as an author 
will be found to depend ; nor, if our Fletcher's 
aphorism be true, may we account this a small 
influence. ' Let me make the songs of a peo- 
ple,' said he, ( and you shall make their laws.' 
Surely, if ever a poet might have equalled 
himself with legislators, it was Burns. His 
songs are already part of the mother tongue, 
not only of Scotland, but of Britain, and of the 
millions that, in all ends of the earth, speak 
a British language. In hut and hall, as the 
hearts of men unfold themselves, in the joy and 
woe of existence, the name, the voice of that joy 
or woe, is the name and voice which Burns has 
given them." — Carlisle. 



Tune — I am a man unmarried. 



O, once I lov'd a bonnie lass, 

Ay, and I love her still ; 
And, whilst that virtue warms my breast, 

I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Fal, lal de ral, &c. 



As bonnie lasses I hae seen, 
And mony full as braw ; 



But for a modest, gracefu' mien, 
The like I never saw. 



A bonnie lass, I will confess, 

Is pleasant to the e'e, 
But without some better qualities, 

She's no a lass for me. 



But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet, 

And what is best of a' — 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 

Z 2 



340 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



She dresses &ye sae clean and neat, 

Baith decent and genteel : 
An' then there's something in her gait 

Gars ony dress look weel. 

VI. 

A gaudy dress and gentle air 
May slightly touch the heart ; 

But it's innocence and modesty 
That polishes the dart. 



'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 

'Tis this enchants my soul ! 
For absolutely in my breast 

She reigns without control. 

Fal lal de ral, &c. 



Of this song the Poet's own account is the 
oest: — "For my own part, I never had the 
least thought or inclination of turning poet till 
I got once heartily in love, and then rhyme 
and song were, in a manner, the spontaneous 
language of my heart. This composition was 
the first of my performances, and done at an 
early period of my life, when my heart glowed 
with honest, warm simplicity; unacquainted, and 
uncorrupted with the ways of a wicked world. 
The performance is, indeed, very puerile and 
silly, but I am always pleased with it, as it 
recals to my mind those happy days when my 
heart was yet honest, and my tongue was sin- 
cere. Tke subject of it was a young girl who 
really deserved all the praises I have bestowed 
upon her. 1 not only had this opinion of her 
then, but I actually think so still, now that the 
spell is long since broken, and the enchantment 
at an end " 



[The heroine of this song was Nelly Blair, a 
servant in the house of an extensive land-pro- 
prieter in Ayr-shire. Burns was a frequent 
visitor of this gentleman's kitchen in his younger 
days, and wrote many more songs on Nelly.] 

THE 

poet's criticism on the foregoing 

SONG. 

In Burns's own memoranda are the follow- 
ing characteristic remarks : — " Lest my works 
should be thought below criticism, or meet with 
a critic who, perhaps, will not look on them 
with so candid and favourable an eye, I am 
determined to criticise them myself. 

"The first distich of the first stanza is quite too 
much in the flimsy strain of our ordinary street 
ballads ; and, on the other hand, the second 
distich is too much in the other extreme. The 
expression is a little awkward, and the senti- 
ment a little too serious. Stanza the second I 
am well pleased with : and I think it conveys 
a fine idea of that amiable part of the sex — the 



agreeables ; or what in our Scottish dialect we 
call a sweet sonsy lass. The third stanza has a 
little of the flimsy turn in it, and the third line 
has rather too serious a cast. The fourth stanza 
is a very indifferent one ; the first line is, indeed, 
all in the strain of the second stanza, but the 
rest is mere expletive. The thoughts in the 
fifth stanza come finely up to my favourite idea 
— a sweet sonsy lass: the last line, however, 
halts a little. The same sentiments are kept 
up with equal spirit and tenderness in the sixth 
stanza : but the second and fourth lines, ending 
with short syllables, hurt the whole. The 
seventh stanza has several minute faults; but I 
remember I composed it in a wild enthusiasm of 
passion, and to this hour I never recollect it 
but my heart melts — my blood sallies, at the 
remembrance." 



&itc&Ie£g dfartuiu. 



O raging fortune's withering blast 
Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 

O raging fortune's withering blast 
Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 

ii. 

My stem was fair, my bud was green, 

My blossom sweet did blow, O ; 
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, 

And made my branches grow, O. 

in. 

But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O ; 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O. 

Burns tells us that he attempted to compose 
an air in the true Scottish style ; but was not 
master of the science of music enough to enable 
him to prick down the notes, though they re- 
mained long on his memory. The tune con- 
sisted, he said, of three parts, and these words 
were the offspring of the same period, and 
echoed the air. — " My poor country muse," he 
says, in the memoranda where this song is 
inserted, " all rustic, awkward, and unpolished 
as she is, has more charms for me than any other 
of the pleasures of life beside — as I hope she 
will not desert me in misfortune, I may even 
then learn to be, if not happy, at least easy, 
and sowili a sang to soothe my misery." — 
(September, 1785.) 



IF Ui'eam'fc I Hap M)tvt jHoteerS to ere 

Springing. 

i. 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing, 
Gaily in the sunny beam ; 



O TIBBIE.— MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 



341 



Listening to the wild birds singing, 
By a falling, crystal stream : 

Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 
Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave; 

Trees with aged arms were warring, 
O'er the swelling, drumlie wave. 



Such was my life's deceitful morning, 

Such the pleasures I enjoy 'd ; 
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming, 

A' my flow'ry bliss destroy'd. 
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me, 

(She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill ;) 
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me, 

I bear a heart shall support me still. 



[" The Poet was only seventeen years old 
when he wrote this melancholy song. The early 
days of Burns were typical of the latter. To- 
day, lively — to morrow, desponding : depressed 
in the morning by labour, he brightened up as 
the sun went down, and was ready for "a 
cannie hour " with the lass of his love — for a 
song vehemently joyous with his comrades — or 
a mason-meeting, where care was discharged, 
and merriment abounded." — Cunningham.] 



<® Ctfefctt, 5 fjae $m\ tlje Ito. 



Tune — InvercaulcTs Reel. 



O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 
Ye wad na been sae shy ; 

For laik o' gear ye lightly me, 
But, trowth, I care na by. 

Yestreen I met you on the moor, 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure ; 
Ye geek at me because I'm poor, 
But flent a hair care I. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink, 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows ony saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high. 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'll cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear, 
Be better than the kye. 



W-. 



But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price, 
Were ye as poor as I. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would nae gie her in her sark, 
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark ! 
Ye need na look sae high. 



["This is one of the earliest of the Poet's 
compositions. The Tibbie wha " spak na, but 
gaed by like stoure," was the daughter of a 
portioner of Kyle — a man with three acres of 
peat moss — an inheritance which she thought 
entitled her to treat a landless wooer with dis- 
dain. The Bard said he composed it when 
about seventeen years of age, and perhaps the 
proud young lady neither looked for sweet song 
nor such converse as maidens love, from one oi 
such tender years." — Cunningham.] 



fflv df at!) n* foa£ a farmer, 



Tune— The Weaver and his Shuttle, 0. 



My father was a farmer 

Upon the Carrick border, O, 
And carefully he bred me 

In decency and order, 0; 
He bade me act a manly part, 

Though I had ne'er a farthing, O ; 
For without an honest manly heart, 

No man was worth regarding, O. 



Then out into the world 

My course I did determine, O ; 
Tho' to be rich was not my wish, 

Yet to be great was charming, O : 
My talents they were not the worst, 

Nor yet my education, O ; 
Resolv'd was I, at least to try, 

To mend my situation, O. 



In many a way, and vain essay, 

I courted fortune's favour, O ; 
Some cause unseen still stept between, 

To frustrate each endeavour, O : 
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ; 

Sometimes by friends forsaken, O ; 
And when my hope was at the top, 

I still was worst mistaken, O. 



Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, 
With fortune's vain delusion, O, 



I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, 

And came to this conclusion, O : 
The past was bad, and the future hid ; 

Its good or ill untried, O ; 
But the present hour was in my pow'r, 

And so I would enjoy it, O. 
v. 
No help, nor hope, nor view had I, 

Nor person to befriend me, O ; 
So I must toil, and sweat, and broil, 

And labour to sustain me, O : 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, 

My father bred me early, O ; 
For one, he said, to labour bred, 

Was a match for fortune fairly, O. 

VI. 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, 

Thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O, 
Till down my weary bones I lay, 

In everlasting slumber, O. 
No view nor care, but shun whate'er 

Might breed me pain or sorrow, O : 
I live to-day as well 's I may, 

Regardless of to-morrow, O : 

VII. 

But cheerful still, I am as well 

As a monarch in a palace, O, 
Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, 

With all her wonted malice, O : 
I make indeed my daily bread, 

But ne'er can make it farther, O ; 
But, as daily bread is all I need, 

I do not much regard her, O. 

VIII. 

When sometimes by my labour 

I earn a little money, O, 
Some unforeseen misfortune 

Comes gen'rally upon me, O : 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, 

Or my good-natur'd folly, O ; 
But come what will, I've sworn it still, 

I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. 

IX. 

All you who follow wealth and power 

With unremitting ardour, O, 
The more in this you look for bliss, 

You leave your view the farther, O : 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, 

Or nations to adore you, O, 
A cheerful honest-hearted clown 

I will prefer before you, O . 



" The above song," says the Poet, "is a wild 
rhapsody, miserably deficient in versification j 
but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings 
of my heart, for that reason I have a particular 
pleasure in conning it over." [It abounds with 
manly sentiments, and exhibits fortitude of 
mind amid the sorrows of the disastrous year 
1783. Much of the early history of the Poet 
nay be traced in this song.] 



StofjnSSarlfgcont. 



A BALLAD. 



There were three kings into the east, 
Three kings both great and high ; 

An' they ha'e swore a solemn oath 
John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and plough'd him down, 

Put clods upon his head ; 
And they ha'e swore a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on, 

And show'rs began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surpris'd them all. 

The sultry suns of summer came, 
And he grew thick and strong ; 

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, 
That no one should him wrong. 

The sober autumn enter'd mild, 

When he grew wan and pale ; 
His bending joints and drooping head 

Show'd he began to fail. 

His colour sicken'd more and more, 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To shew their deadly rage. 

They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp, 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back, 

And cudgell'd him full sore ; 
They hung him up before the storm, 

And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim ; 
They heaved in John Barleycorn 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor, 

To work him farther woe : 
And still, as signs of life appear'd, 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted o'er a scorching flame 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all — ■ 

He crush' d him 'tween two stones. 

And they ha'e ta'en his very heart's blood, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 
Of noble enterprise ; 



RIGS O' BARLEY,— MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY. 



343 



For if you do but taste his blood, 
'Twill make your courage rise. 

'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy : 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
Each man a glass in hand ; 

And may his great posterity- 
Ne'er fail in old Scotland !* 



[)t Sfttcrg o* 53arlet). 



Tune — Corn Rigs 



It was upon a Lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonnie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed, 

'Till 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 

To see me thro' the barley. 

ii. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely : 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

in. 
I lock'd her in my fond embrace ! 

Her heart was beating rarely : 
My blessings on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone that hour so clearly ! 
She aye shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

IV. 

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear ; 

I hae been merry drinkin' ! 
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear ; 

I hae been happy thinkin' : 



* [It is intimated by Burns that John Barleycorn is partly 
composed on the plan of an old song known by the same 
name ; the ancient ballad is printed by Jamieson, who 
took it from a black-letter copy preserved in Pepys' library. 
Bat the more ancient name of John Barleycorn was Allan-a- 
Maut, in whose praise many songs still exist. " I am dis- 
posed," says Hogg, "to think with Jamieson, that Sir John 
Barleycorn had been originally an English ballad. I have 
heard old people sing it different from all the printed copies, 
when the following stanzas always occurred in it : — 

" John Barleycorn's the ae best chiel 
That e'er plew'd sea or land ; 



But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 

That happy night was worth them a', 
Amang the rigs o' barley. 

CHORUS. 

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, 
An' corn rigs are bonnie : 

I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 
Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



["It is generally believed in the west of Scot- 
land that Annie Ronald, afterwards Mrs. Pater- 
son of Aikenbrae, was the inspirer of this charm- 
ing song. The freedom and warmth of the words 
probably induced her to disown it in her latter 
days. The Poet was a frequent visiter at her 
father's house while he continued at Mossgiel : 
and Mr. Ronald liked so much the conversation 
of his eloquent neighbour that he sat late with 
him on many occasions. This seems to have 
displeased another of his daughters, who said 
she " could na see ought about Robert Burns 
that would tempt her to sit up wi' him till twal 
o'clock at night." It is not known how far 
Annie Ronald joined in her sister's dislike of 
the Bard." — Cunningham.] 



iJHmitgonuri)'* :P*crcri). 



Tune— Galla Water 



Altho' my bed were in yon muir, 
Amang the heather, in my plaidie, 

Y T et happy, happy would I be, 

Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy. 

When o'er the hill beat sturly storms, 
And winter nights were dark and rainy ; 

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy. 

Were I a baron proud and high, 

And horse and servants waiting ready, 

Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, 

The sharin't wi' Montgomery's Peggy. 



"This fragment is done," says Burns, "some- 
thing in imitation of the manner of a noble old 
Scottish piece, called McMillan's Peggy. My 



He can do the thing that none can do, 

By the turning o' your hand. 
He can turn a boy into a man, 

A man into an ass ; 
He can turn your gold to white moneye, 

Your white moneye to brass. 
He can gar our lasses skip and dance 

As naked as they were born, 
And help them to a chap by chance, 

This wee John Barleycorn." 

The version of Burns is more consistent, but not more 
graphic, than the old strain.] 



3U 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



Montgomery's Peggy' was my deity for six or 
eight months. She had been bred in a style 
of life rather elegant ; but, as Yanbrugh says, 
c My damned star found me out' there, too ; for 
though I began the affair merely in a galete de 
cceur, or to tell the truth, which will scarcely 
be believed, a vanity of shewing my parts in 
courtship, particularly my abilities at a billet 
donx, on which I always piqued myself, made 
me lay siege to her ; and when, as I always do 
in my foolish gallantries, I had battered myself 
into a very warm affection for her, she told me, 
one day, in a flag of truce, that her fortress had 
been, for some time before, the rightful property 
of another ; but, with the greatest friendship 
and politeness, she offered me every alliance 
except actual possession. It cost me some 
heart-aches to get rid of the affair. I have even 
tried to imitate, in this extempore thino 1 , that irre- 
gularity in the rhyme which, when judiciously 
done, has such a fine effect on the ear." * 



Clje iHaucpixe 3£afci>. 

Tune — I had a Horse and I had nae Mair. 

Wiien first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was na steady ; 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, 

A mistress still I had aye ; 

But when I came roun' by Mauchline town, 

Not dreadin' ony body, 
My heart was caught, before I thought, 

And by a Mauchline lady. 



[The Mauchline lady who caught the Poet's 
heart was Jean Armour. The way in which 
they became acquainted is thus related : — Jean 
had laid some linen webs down to bleach, and 
was sprinkling them among the gowans with 
water, when Luath, the Poet's dog, ran across 
them with his dirty feet, and fawned upon her. 
She was ill pleased, and — 

"E'en as he fawn'd, she strak the poor dumb tyke." 

Burns reproached her in the words of Ramsay ; 
she smiled, and so a friendship commenced, 
which was doomed to an early termination, and 
to give much of joy andwoe.''-CuNNiNGHAM.] 



* [Of M'Millan's Peggy various verses are yet remem- 
bered ; — 

" O I wad gie my gnid braid sword, 
And sae wad I my tartan plaidie, 
Gin I were twenty miles o'er the Forth, 
And along wi' me my bonnie Peggie. 

He's mounted her on a milk-white steed, 
And himsel upon a guid grey naigie ; 

And he rode over hills, and he rode through bowes, 
And he rode quite away with his bonnie Peggie : 

Until that he came to a lone, lone glen, 
Enough to frighten the bauldest bodie ; 



Tune— The Deuks dang o'er my Daddy! 

Nae gentlef dames, tho' e'er sae fair, 

Shall ever be my muse's care : 

Their titles a' are empty show ; 

Gie me my Highland Lassie, O. 
Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi' right good will, 
To sing my Highland Lassie, O. 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland Lassie, O. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea ! 
But while my crimson currents flow, 
I'll love my Highland Lassie, O. 

Altho' through foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow, 
My faithful Highland Lassie, O 

For her I'll dare the billow's roar, 
For her I'll trace the distant shore, 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland Lassie, O. 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine, my Highland Lassie, O ! 

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, O ! 
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O ! 
To other lands I now must go, 
To sing my Highland Lassie, O ! 



" My Highland Lassie," observes Burns, 
" was a warm-hearted, charming young crea- 
ture, as ever blest a man with generous love. 
After a pretty long tract of the most ardent 
reciprocal attachment, we met by appointment, 
on the second Sunday of May, in a seques- 
tered spot by the banks of the Ayr, where we 
spent the day in taking a farewell, before she 
should embark for the West Highlands, to 



This glen's thy room, and thy lamp yon moon — 
Light down, light down, my bonnie Peggie. 

He's made her a bed o' the breckans green, 
And her covering o' his tartan plaidie ; 

And the simmer moon looked smiling down, 
To see him watch his sleeping lady." 

Montgomery's Peggy was a fair maid of the name of Peggy 
Thomson, whom the Poet also celebrates in another song, 
" Now westlin' winds and slaught'ring guns.' She became 
the wife of a person named Neilson, and long lived in Ayr.] 

t Gentle is used here in opposition to simple, in the Scottish 
and old English sense of the word.-- 

Nae gentle dames — No high-blooded dames. 









PEGGY.— O THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MARRIED. 



345 



arrange matters among her friends for our pro- 
jected change of life. At the close of autumn 
she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, 
where she had scarce landed when she was 
seized with a malignant fever, which hurried 
my dear girl to the grave, before I could even 
hear of her illness." 



^eggi). 



Tune — J had a Hurse, I had nae mair. 



Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns 

Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary farmer ; [night, 

And the moon shines bright, when I rove at 

To muse upon my charmer. 
II. 
The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 

The soaring hern the fountains : 
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves 

The path of man, to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, 

The spreading thorn the linnet, 
in. 
Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender ; 
Some social join, and leagues combine ; 

Some solitary wander : 
Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, 

The flutt'ring, gory pinion ! 

IV. 

But Peggy, dear, the ev'ning's clear, 

Thick flies the skimming swallow ; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading-green and yellow : 
Come, let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature ; 
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 

And ev'ry happy creature, 
v. 
We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, 

Sw r ear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Not autumn to the farmer, 
So dear can be, as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 



her all the choicest things of prose and verse, 
and then quietly said she was sorry her charms 
had made such havoc in his heart, for she was 
the lawful property of another, and had not the 
power of rewarding his raptures.] 



® t^at IF ^atr ne'er fceen ptavrieft. 

O that I had ne'er been married, 

I wad never had nae care ; 
Now I've gotten wife and bairns, 
An' they cry crowdie ever mair. 
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, 

Three times crowdie in a day, 
Gin ye crowdie ony mair, 

Ye' 11 crowdie a' my meal away. 

Waefu' want and hunger fley me, 

Glowrin' by the hallan en' ; 
Sair I fecht them at the door, 
But aye I'm eerie they come ben. 
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, 

Three times crowdie in a day ; 
Gin ye crowdie ony mair, 
YeTl crowdie a' my meal away. 



[This song appears in the " Musical Museum," 
where it is stated to be " corrected by R. Burns." 
The chorus is old. The last verse is supposed 
to have been added by the Poet.] 



Cfje S&anttn' ©og tf)e ©attote o't. 



Tune — East nook o' Fife. 



O wha my babie-clouts will buy ? 
O wha will tent me when I cry ? 
Wha will kiss me where I lie ? — 

The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 
ii. 
O wha will own he did the fau't ? 
O wha will buy the groanin' maut ? 
O wha will tell me how to ca't ? — 

The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

in. 
When I mount the creepie chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there ? 
Gie me Rob, I'll seek nae mair, 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

IV. 

Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
Wha will mak me fidgin' fain ?* 
Wha will kiss me o'er again ? — 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 



[The heroine of this song was " Montgomery's 
Peggy," who permitted the Poet to lavish on 



pleasi 



Fidgin-fain — Fidgetting with delight — Tickled with 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



[The hapless heroine of this humorous ditty- 
was the mother of " Sonsie, smirking, dear- 
bought Bess." — "I composed it, says the Poet, 
"pretty early in life, and sent it to a young 
girl, a very particular acquaintance of mine, 
who was at that time under a cloud." In his 
muse, Burns found relief from severer reflection, 
when brooding over the consequences of juven- 
ile indiscretion ; and in this song, even the mis- 
fortunes of the mother are made light of, in a 
vein of raillery and humour peculiarly^ his own.] 

{Uv $?*art to as an« as 23tttl)e ant; d/w. 



Tune — To the Weavers g 



My heart was ance as blythe and free 

As simmer days were lang, 
But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad 
Has gart me change my sang. 
To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right gang ne'er at night, 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

ii. 

My mitber sent me to the town, 

To warp a plaiden wab ; 
But the weary, weary warpin o"t 

Has gart me sigh and sab. 
in. 
A bonnie, westlin weaver lad 

Sat working at his loom ; 
He took my heart 9s wi' a net, 

In every knot attd thrum. 

IV. 

I sat beside my warpin-wheel, 

And aye I ca'd it roun' ; 
But every shot and every knock, 

My heart it gae a stoun. 
v. 
The moon was sinking in the west 

Wi ? visage pale and wan, 
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Convoy'd me thro' the glen. 

VI. 

But what was said, or what was done, 

Shame fa' me gin I tell ; 
But, oh ! I fear the kintra soon 
Will ken as weel's mysel. 
To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right gang ne'er at night, 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

* [The chorus of this song is taken from the following an- 
eient ditty. 

The weaver, the weaver, 

The weaver o' the green, 
There will something fa' the weaver 
That dwells in Muir o' Steen. 

To the weaver gin ye go, 
To the weaver gin ye go ; 



[" The chorus of this song is old," says Burns 
in his notes on the Musical Museum; "the rest 
of it is mine." The lass whom it celebrates be- 
longed to Mauchline ; and one summer evening, 
when he desired to escort her home, he found 
himself anticipated by 

" A bonnie westlin weaver lad," 

and wrote the song in consequence. " Here, 
once for all," he writes, " let me apologise for 
many silly compositions of mine in this work. 
Many beautiful airs wanted words ; and, inHhe 
hurry of other avocations, if I could string a 
parcel of rhymes together any thing near toler- 
able, I was fain to let them pass." 

"No one unacquainted with the domestic eco- 
nomy of Scotland can understand some of the 
allusions in this song. Thrift, in the days of 
Burns, was not wholly abandoned : the wives 
of our husbandmen spun their wool and flax, 
and sent the yarn and thread to the weaver to 
be manufactured into cloth — not for sale, but 
for home consumption. In this way sack-cloth 
for the corn, plaiding for the beds, iinen for the 
body, and broadcloth and stuffs for daily and 
even holiday wear, were produced. The hero- 
ine of the song was despatched with yarn to the 
weavers ; and the warping alluded to was the 
act of preparing it for the loom." — Cunning- 
ham.] 

«. 

^ttdVcn to jnm, 3&tmnuv. 

Tune — We're a' noddin. 



Gude'en to you, kimmer, 

And how de ye do ? 
Hiccup, quo kimmer, 
The better that I'm fou. 

We're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin, 
We're a' noddin at our house at hame. 



Kate sits i' the neuk, 

Supphr* hen broo ; 
Deil tak' Kate, 

An' she be na noddin too ! 
in. 
How's a' wi' you, kimmer, 

And how do ye fare ? 
A pint o' the best o't, 

And twa pints mair. 

IV. 

How's a' wi you, kimmer, 
And how do ye thrive ? 



Ye'll need somebody wi' ye, 
To the weaver gin ye go. 

The weaver he's a cunning loon, 
(There's few o' them ca'd leel,' 



The remainder of the verse is inadmissible.] 



MY NANNIE, O. 



How mony bairns hae ye ? 
Quo' kimmer, I hae five. 

v. 

Are they a' Johnny's ? 

Eh ! atweel na : 
Twa o' them were gotten 

When Johnny was awa. 

VI. 

Cats like milk, 

And dogs like broo, 

Lads like lasses weel, 

And lasses lads too. 

We're a' noddin, nid nid noddin, 
We're a' noddin at our house at harae.' 



[This song appears in the Musical Museum, 
The verses "Were corrected and improved by the 
hand of Burns.] 

«- 

Pij) Canute, <&. 



Tune — My Nannie, 0, 



Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows, f 
'Mang moors and mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I'll awa to Nannie, O. 

ii. 
The westlin wind blaws loud an' shrill ; 

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O ; 
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, 

An' owre the hills to Nannie, O. 
in. 
My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 
May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 

IV. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonnie, O : 

The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

v. 
A country lad is my degree, 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 
But what care I how few they be ? 

I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. 



* [There is another version of the sixth verse and the cho- 
rus, in the Poet's handwriting, which we subjoin : — 

The cats like kitchen ; 

The dogs like broo : 
The lasses like the lads weel, 

And th' auld wives too, 

CHORUS. 

And we're a' noddin, 

Nid, nid, noddin, 
We're a' noddin fou at e'en. 

See Letter to Mr. Robert Ainslie, jun., dated 23rd August, 
1-870 



My riches a's my penny-fee, 
An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a', my Nannie, O. 

VII. 

Our auld guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 

But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Till. 

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O ; 

Nae ither care in life have I, 

But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 



[Nannie Fleming, a servant in Calcothill, 
near Lochlea, was the heroine of this fine song. 
She died unmarried and veil advanced in life. 
When questioned about the Poet's attachment 
she said, " Aye, atweel he made a great wark 
about me." Like most of the favourites ol 
Burns, she was more remarkable for the sym- 
metry of her limbs than the beauty of her face. 
She was modest and cheerful, and had a win- 
ning manner. In Bums's Common Place Book, 
we find the following remarks, dated April, 
1784 : — " Shenstone finely observes that love- 
verses, writ without any real passion, are the 
most nauseous of all conceits ; and I have often 
thought that no man can be a proper critic of 
love-composition, except he himself in one or 
more instances, have been a warm votary of 
this passion. As I have been all along a 
miserable dupe to love, and have been led into 
a thousand weaknesses and follies by it ; for that 
reason I put the more confidence in my critical 
skill, in distinguishing foppery and conceit from 
real passion and nature. Whether • My Nan- 
nie, O !' will stand the test, I will not pretend to 
say, because it is my own ; only I can say it 
was, at the time, genuine from the heart." 

This fine air attracted minstrels before the 
days of Burns. The " Nannie, O !" of Allan 
Ramsay will be long remembered. 

" How joyfully my spirits rise 

When, dancing, she moves finely, O ! 
I guess what heaven is by her eyes, 
They sparkle so divinely. O.J 



t [The stream commemorated in this song was originally 
Stinchar. In his letter to Mr. Thomson, q. v., Burns gives 
very excellent reasons for the change. In the copy printed in 
Johnson's Museum the first line reads 

" Behind yon hills where riv'lets flow."] 

i [The following version of the elder lyric is given from 
oral recitation ; 

" As I came in by Enbro' town, 

By the side o' the bonny city, O, 
I heard a young man mak his moan, 
And O ! it was a pity, O. 
For aye he cried his Nannie, O •' 
His handsome, charming Nannie, O ! 



348 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



% ^fragment. 



Tune — John. Anderson my Jo. 



One night as I did wander, 

When corn begins to shoot, 
I sat me down, to ponder, 

Upon an auld tree root : 
Auld Ayr ran by before me, 

And bicker' d to the seas ; 
A cushat* crowded o'er me, 

That echo'd thro' the braes. 



[Burns sometimes hit upon one happy stanza, 
but not falling readily again into the same train 
of thought, allowed it to remain a fragment. 
Such morceanx are, however, valuable. Some 
gifted son of song, on a future day, may take a 
liking for the verse, and eke it out in the same 
spirit and feeling with which the Poet of Ayr 
has commenced it. Burns completed many of 
our melodies in the same manner.] 



<f% iul)i) ti)t Sutcc <ft)oultt If repine. 

i. 

why the deuce should I repine, 
An' be an ill foreboder ? 

I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 
ii. 

1 gat some gear wi' meikle care, 
I held it weel thegither ; 

But now it's gane, and something mair — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 



[The above is an early production of the 
Bard, written extempore, and dated April, 
1782.] 

&\ontn Sstyuxt in $!au:£t. 

CHORUS. 

Robin shure in hairst, 

I shure wi' him ; 
Fient a heuk had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 



Nor friend nor foe can tell, O — ho 
How dearly I love Nannie, O. 

Some delight in cards and dice, 
And other some in brandy, O, 

But my delight's in a bonnie lass, 
Her name is lovely Nannie, O. 

Some will pu' the bonnie pink, 
And other some the tansy, O, 

But I will pu' the red red rose, 
The colour o' my Nancie, O ! 

As I cam doun the toun yestreen, 
The young men there stood many, O, 

And ilka ane bade me guid e'en, 
But envy'd me my Nannie, O. 

O Sandy, ye'll tak my advice, 
And tak it firm and steady, O, 



I gaed up to Dunse, 

To warp a wab o' plaiden ; 
At his daddie's yett, 

Wha met me but Robin ? 
ii. 
Was na Robin bauld, 

Though I was a cotter, 
Play'd me sic a trick, 

And me the eller's dochter ? 
in. 
Robin promis'd me 

A' my winter vittls ; 
Fient haet he had but three 

Goose feathers and a whittle. 
Robin Shure, &c. 



[This and the following song appears in the 
Musical Museum, with Burns's name attached 
to them.] 

& 

J»iueetc£t JKag. 

Sweetest May, let love inspire thee ; 
Take a heart which he desires thee ; 
As thy constant slave regard it ; 
For its faith and truth reward it. 

Proof o' shot to birth or money, 
Not the wealthy, but the bonnie ; 
Not high-born, but noble-minded, 
In love's silken band can bind it ! 



OTjnt IF tljtnft on t\)t ffcappp I0ai>ss. 
i. 

When I. think on the happy days 

I spent wi' you, my dearie ; 
And now what lands between us lie, 

How can I be but eerie ! 
II. 
How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 

As ye were wae and weary ! 
It was na sae ye glinted by 

When I was wi' my dearie. 

[This beautiful song is printed from the ori- 
ginal MS. in the Poet's hand-writing.] 



Gin ye will marry a laird's dochter, 
Because her tocher's ready, O. 

O father, I'll gie my advice, 
Gin ye would nae be angry, O, 

Though I would marry the laird's dochter, 
I would die for my Nannie, O. 

I'd rather Nannie in her sark, 

O dear, she's young and bonnie, O, 

Than Jenny, wi' ten thousand mark, 
She's black compared wi' Nannie, O. 

For aye he cried his Nannie, O, 

His handsome, charming Nannie, O ; 

Nor friend nor foe can tell O — ho, 
How dearly I love Nannie, O.'l 

or wild pigeon. 



PEGGY ALISON.— GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O! 



349 



JJonnu ;Peg(jg SUttfcn. 



Tune — Braes o' Balquhidder. 



CHORUS. 

I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 

An' I'll kiss thee o'er again ; 
An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 
My bonnie Peggy Alison ! 
i. 
Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, 

I ever mair defy them, O ; 
Young kings upon their hansel throne 
Are nae sae blest as I am, O ! 
ii. 
When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure, O, 
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, 
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O ! 
in. 
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever, O ! — 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never, O ! 
I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 

An' I'll kiss thee o'er again ; 
An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 
My bonnie Peggy Alison ! 



[" Bonnie Peggy Alison was Montgomery's 
Peggy, the subject of other songs, and the ob- 
ject of eight months' fruitless wooing. The 
Poet, it is said, exhausted all his knowledge in 
the art of courting to win the affections of this 
coy dame ; he was to be seen sauntering about, 
watching her windows during the evening, 
musing in her favourite walks during the day, 
and, when in some propitious moment she con- 
sented to meet him after night -fall, he might 
be observed lingering nigh the " trysting tree " 
an hour before the appointed time. He sought 
the acquaintance of all whom he imagined 
could influence her, and urged and wooed with 
all his impassioned eloquence. Peggie was 
pleased with all this — she loved praise, and 
loved the Poet's company. The cause of her 
coldness has already been related. 

It was an early communication, though un- 
acknowledged, to the Museum. Clark the 
composer was fond of it ; Cromek, who had all 
Johnson's correspondence through his hands, 
saw it in the hand- writing of Burns, and in- 
serted it in the Reliques." — Cunningham.] 

&xzm grofo t\)t 2fta$I)e£j, <& I 

A FRAGMENT. 



Tune— Green grow the Rashes. 
CHORUS. 

Green grow the rashes, O ! 
Green grow the rashes, O ! 



The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, 
Are spent amang the lasses, O 
I. 
There's nought but care on ev'ry han', 

In every hour that passes, O : 
What signifies the life o' man, 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O ? 
II. 
The warl'ly race my riches chase, 

An' riches still may fly them, O ; 
An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them. O. 
in. 
But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 
My arms about my dearie, O : 
An' warl'ly cares, an' warl'ly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O. 
iv. 
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this, 

Ye're nought but senseless asses, O : 
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 
v. 
Auld Nature swears the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O : 
Her ' prentice han' she tried on man, 
An' then she made the lasses, O. 
Green grow the rashes, O ! 

Green grow the rashes, O ! 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend 
Are spent amang the lasses, O. 



[The " Green grow the rashes " of our ances- 
tors had both spirit and freedom : — 

" Green grow the Rashes, O, 
Green grow the Rashes, O ; 
Nae feather-bed was e'er sae saft 
As a bed amang the rashes, O." 

" We're a' dry wi' drinking o't, 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 
The parson kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 
And he could na preach for thinking o' t. 
The down bed, the feather bed, 
The bed amang the rashes, O ! 
Yet a' the beds are nae sae saft 
As the bosoms o' the lasses, O." 

[" Burns calls this inimitable song a fragment, 
and says it speaks the genuine language of his 
heart. The incense in the concluding verse is 
the richest any poet ever offered at the shrine 
of beauty- 

The following passage of "Cupid's Whirly- 
gig," published in 1607, contains the express 
sentiments of the poet of Scotland : — 

" How have I wronged thee ? Oh ! who 
would abuse your sex who truly knows ye 1 
O women, were we not born of you ? Should 
we not, then, honour you ? Nursed by you, 
and not regard you ? Made for you, and not 
seek you ? And since we were made before you, 
should we not love and admire you as the last, 
and, therefore, perfect work of nature ? Man 



was made when nature was but an apprentice ; 
but woman, when she was a skilful mistress of 
her art ; therefore, cursed is he that doth not 
admire those paragons, those models of heaven, 
angels on earth, goddesses in shape !"] 



Time— The Northern Lass. 

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part, 

Far as the pole and line, 
Her dear idea round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 
Tho' mountains rise, and deserts howl, 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

I still would love my Jean. 



[The heroine of this sweet snatch was " Bon- 
nie Jean." It was composed when the Poet 
contemplated the West India voyage, and an 
eternal separation from the land and all that 
was dear to him. It is written to the air of an 
English song of the same name : some of the 
verses of which are pleasing : — 

' Come, take your glass, the Northern Lass 

So prettily advised ; 
I drank her health, and really was 

Agreeably surprised. 
Her shape so neat, her voice so sweet, 

Her air and mien so free ; 
The syren charm' d me from my meat, — 

But, take your drink, said she. 

If from the North such beauty came, 

How is it that I feel 
Within my breast that glowing flame, 

No tongue can e'er reveal? 
Though cold and raw the north winds blow, 

All summer's in her breast ; 
Her skin is like the driven snow, 

But sunshine all the rest."] 



Ifcofctn. 



Tune — Daintie Davie. 



There was a lad was born in Kyle,* 
But what' n a day o' what' n a style 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin' j 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin ! 



Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
Was five and twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

in. 
The gossip keekit in his loof, 
Quo' she, wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof — 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 

IV. 

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But aye a heart aboon them a' ; 
He'll be a credit 'till us a', 

We'll a' be proud o' Robin, 
v. 
But, sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see, by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 

So leeze me on thee, Robin. 

VI. 

Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt ye gar, 
The bonnie lasses lie aspar, 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur, 
So blessin's on thee, Robin ! 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin' ; 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin ! 



[ This mirthful song was an early composition. 
All who are acquainted with humble life in the 
north will see at once the truth and the force of 
the Poet's picture. A male child has been born 
— the gossips are gathered about the bed — and 
a cummer, skilful in palmistry, reads his for- 
tune from his fist. She sees much of the dark, 
but more of the bright ; and, as the gossip-cup 
has probably run to her head, she dilates with 
much freedom on his future exploits. 

Stothard painted a small picture from this 
clever ditty. The cannie wife stood with little 
Robin laid backwards in her left arm ; with her 
right hand she had opened his palm, and it was 
quite evident that she saw something which 
tickled her : a curious intelligence sparkled 
the faces of her gossips, and they said, or 
seemed to say — 

" Blessin's on thee, Robin !" 

Cunningham.] 



Her dftofotng HodfoJ. 



Tune— (Unkn 



n.) 



Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing ; 
How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her ! 



MAUCHLINE BELLES.— HUNTING SONG. 



351 



Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, 
O, what a feast her bonnie mou' ! 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
A crimson still diviner. 



[The Poet one day had his foot in the stirrup 
~eady to mount his horse, and return from Ayr 
to Mauchline, when a young lady of great 
beauty rode up to the inn, and caused some 
refreshments to be given to her servants. The 
Poet composed these beautiful lines at the 
moment, merely, he said, to keep so much 
loveliness on his memory, and on the same 
principle that a painter contents himself with 
a sketch, when he has not leisure for a finished 
picture. The fragment was found among his 
papers, and was first printed by Cromek.] 



JUaudjlttu 23eltc<$. 



Tune — Mauchline Belief 



O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles ! 

Ye 're safer at your spinning-wheel ; 
Such witching books are baited hooks 

For rakish rooks — like Rob Mossgiel. 



Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 
They make your youthful fancies reel ; 

They heat your veins, and fire your brains. 
And then ye're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 



Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung, 
A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 

That feeling heart but acts a part — 
'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 



The frank address, the soft caress, 

Are worse than poison' d darts of steel ; 

The frank address, and politesse, 
Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 



[The advice which the Poet tendered was 
certainly a very honest one ; but, like other 
unsought- for counsel, it was, perhaps, not much 
regarded. These verses were written before his 
marriage.] 

In the following song "Rob of Mossgiel" 
tells us who were the belles, concerning whose 
moral and intellectual culture he was so much 
interested : — 



@= 



Cije 2Sette3 of Pteucptu. 



Tune — Bonnie Dundee. 



In Mauchline there dwells six proper young 
belles, [hood a' ; 

The pride o' the place and its neighbour- 
Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, 

In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a' : 

ii. 

Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, 
Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is 
braw ; [Morton, 

There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss 
But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a'. 



[Burns was intimately acquainted with the 
somewhat romantic mode of wooing which pre- 
vails among the peasantry, and had practised 
all its mysteries. The above was one of the 
earliest productions of the Poet. — Miss Armour 
became Mrs. Burns.] 



punting J^ang. 

Tune — I rede you beware at the hunting. 



The heather was blooming, the meadows were 

mawn, 
Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn, 
O'er moors and o'er mosses, and mony a glen, 
At length they discover'd a bonnie moor-hen. 

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

Tak' some on the wing, and some as they 
spring, 

But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hen. 



Sweet brushing the dew from the brown hea- 
ther bells, 
Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells ; 
Her plumage outlustr'd the pride o' the spring, 
And O ! as she wantoned gay on the wing. 



Auld Phoebus himsel', as he peep'd o'er the hill, 
In spite, at her plumage he tried his skill ; 
He levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the 
brae — [she lay. 

His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where 



They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill, 
The best of our lads, wi' the best o' their skill ; 



352 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BUliNS. 



But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, 
Then, whirr ! she was over, a mile at a flight. 

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

Tak' some on the wing, and some as they 
spring, 

But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hen. 



9mmg 3Efcffgj>. 



Tune — Last time I cam o'er the Muir. 



Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 

Her blush is like the morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 

With pearly gems adorning : 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower, 
And glitter o'er the crystal streams, 

And cheer each fresh' ning flower. 



Her lips, more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye has grac'd them ; 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them • 
Her smile is, iike the evening, mild, 

When feather' d tribes are courting, 
And little lambkins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting. 



Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her ; 
As blooming Spring unbends the brow 

Of surly, savage Winter. 
Detraction's eye no aim can gain, 

Her winning powers to lessen • 
And spiteful Envy grins in vain, 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 



Ye Powers of Honour, Love, and Truth, 

From every ill defend her ; 
Inspire the highly-favour'd youth 

The destinies intend her ; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame, 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 



[" In these flattering stanzas Burns bade fare- 
well to one whom he had wooed for eight 
months, and solicited much by speech and 
song. Montgomery's Peggy seems to have 
been little moved by the sweet things of verse 
and prose ; she, perhaps, preferred a swain 
who, like the miller, in another ditty, could 
bring in money and meal to one who seemed 



skilful only at courting and complimenting. 
Peggy, in her marriage, showed that she pre- 
ferred " corn-rigs" to music and poetry — she 
was worldly-wise, and in no way romantic in 
her affections." — Cunningham.] 



CI;e Cure for all Care. 



Tune— Prepare, my dear Brethren, to the Tavern let 'i 



No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, 
No sly man of business contriving a snare — 
For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care. 



The peer I don't envjr, I give him his bow 

I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low ; 

But a club of good fellows, like those that are 

here, 
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 



Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse ; 
There centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; 
But see you the Crown, how it waves in the air ! 
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. 



The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care. 



I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 

A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; — 

But the pursy old landlord just waddl'd up 

stairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 



" Life's cares they are comforts," * — a maxim 
laid down [black gown ; 

By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the 
And faith, I agree with th' old prig to a hair ; 
For a big-belly'd bottle 's a heav'n of a care. 



A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, 
And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
May ev'ry true brother of the compass and 
square [care ! 

Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass'd with 



[Masonic lyrics are generally about the plea- 



* Young's Night Thoughts. 



ELIZA— SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 



353 



sures of the table, or other friendly socialities, 
and deal in dark allusions to the 

" Mason's mystic word and grup." 

Some ot them perceive freemasonry in all 
things ; and one, in particular, hesitates not 
to claim Eve as a comrade of the mystic order, 
for — 

"A fig-leaf apron she put on, 
To show her masonrie." 

Tarbolton Lodge, of which the Poet was a 
member, had considerable fame in the west for 
its socialities, and also for its deep knowledge 
in the mysteries of masonry. The reputation 
of the Lodge of Kilmarnock is of old standing ; 
indeed, the west of Scotland has long been 
famous for its associations, social, political, and 
religious."] — Cunningham. 



Clt^a. 



Tune— Gilderoy. 



From thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel Fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar : 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee ! 



Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

"We part to meet no more ! 
The latest throb that leaves my heart, 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh ! * 



[" To the heroine of this song the Poet's 
thoughts turned when, rejected of Jean Armour, 
I he wrote his pathetic " Lament." She is the 
Miss Betty of one of his epigrams, where he 
praises her taste in dress ; and she figures in 
the first edition of the " Vision." He is speak- 
ing of Coila i — 



* [Eliza long survived the Poet, and, if we may judge from 
the following obituary notice of her, she must have been a 
person somewhat above the common standard : 

" At Alva, on the 28th ult. [1827], in the 74th v ea r of her 
age, Mrs. Elizabeth Black, relict of the late Mr. James 
Stewart, Vintner, there. Though early deprived of her part- 
ner, Mrs. Stewart, in her guarded walk and conversation, 
during the many years she spent in Alva, threw such a moral 
halo around her character as secured for her the unceasing 
esteem and good wishes of her fellow-villagers. * * She 



" Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
'Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my Bess I ween 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

Nane else cam near it." 

My friend John Gait informed me that this lady 
was his relative : he said her name was Eliza- 
beth Barbour ; she was handsome rather than 
beautiful, very lively and of ready wit. 

The Poet seems to have realized in his loves 
the fortune of the " wight of Homer's craft," in 
the " Jolly Beggars." When change of mind, 
marriage, or other casualties, carried away one 
of his heroines, he could sing, with justice, 

" I've lost but ane, I've twa behin." 

Or, if not content with what remained, his 
youth and eloquence soon supplied the vacancy 
with a lass from Lugar, or from Cessnock-bank. 
When he made his appearance among the 
polished dames of Edinburgh, he found that 
the language which caused the maids to listen 
on the Ayr and Doon wrought the same en- 
chantment elsewhere." — Cunningham.] 



€i)t ^mt£ of (Blti Mllit. 



Tune — Shawnboy. 



Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 

To follow the noble vocation ; 
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another 

To sit in that honoured station. 
I've little to say, but only to pray, 

As praying's the ton of your fashion ; 
A prayer from the muse you well may excuse, 

'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 



Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide, 

Who marked each element's border ; 
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim, 

Whose sovereign statute is order ; 
Within this dear mansion may wayward con ten - 

Or withered envy ne'er enter ; _ [tion 

May secrecy round be the mystical bound, 

And brotherly love be the centre ! 

[The original, in the Poet's handwriting, 



was Burns's " Eliza." She was born and brought up in 
Ayr-shire, and in the bloom of youth was possessed of no 
ordinary share of pergonal charms. She early became 
acquainted with Burns, and made no small impression on his 
heart. She possessed several love-epistles he had addressed 
to her. It was when Scotia's bard intended emigrating 
from his own to a foreign shore, that he wrote the stanz:v: 
beginning 

" From thee, Eliza, I must go," 



the subject being, of 



i, Elizabeth Black/'] 



-® 



354 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



belongs to Gabriel Neil, Glasgow, and has the 
following note attached to it : — " This song, 
wrote by Mr. Burns, was sung by him in the 
Kilmarnock Kilwinning Lodge, in 1786, and 
given by him to Mr. Parker, who was Master 
of the Lodge."] 



Mtnk: 



Tune — Johnny's Grey Breeks. 



Again rejoicing nature sees 

Her robe assume its vernal hues, 
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 

All freshly steep' d in morning dews. 

chorus. f 
And maun I still on Menie doat, 

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ? 
For it's jet, jet black, and it's like a hawk. 

And it winna let a body be ! 



In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 
In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; 

In vain to me, in glen or shaw, 
The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 



The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks ; 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 



The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And every thing is blest but I. 



The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, 
And owre the moorlands whistles shrill j 

Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step, 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 



And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, 

And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 



Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 



* Menie is the common abbreviation of Mariamne. 
the heroine was has not transpired. 



Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, 
When nature all is sad like me ! 
And maun I still on Menie doat, 

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ? 
For it's jet, jet black, and it's like a hawk 
And it winna let a body be. 



§&at|)u*ttu 31 affray. 



There liv'd a lass in yonder dale, 
And down in yonder glen, O ! 

And Katherine Jaffray was her name, 
Weel known to many men, O ! 



Out came the Lord of Lauderdale, 
Out frae the South countrie, O ! 

All for to court this pretty maid, 
Her bridegroom for to be, O ! 



He's tell'd her father and mother baith, 

As I hear sundry say, O ! 
But he has na tell'd the lass hersel, 

'Till on her wedding day, O ! 



Then came the Laird o' Lochinton, 
Out frae the English border, 

All for to court this pretty maid, 
All mounted in good order. 



[This Song is printed from a copy in the 
Poet's own hand, and appears in Pickering's 
Edition of the Poetical Works of Robert 
Burns. London, 1839.] 



THE FAREWELL 

TO THE 

3$retf)mt at &t. James's %&&*, 

TARBOLTON. 



Tune— Good night, and Joy be wi' you a' ! 



Adieu ! a heart- warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favour' d, ye enlighten' d few, 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ha', 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'. 



fThis chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman ia 
Edinburgh, a particular friend of the author. R. B. 



@^ 



ON CESSNOCK BANKS. 



355 



Oft have I met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night ; 
Oft, honor' d with supreme command, 

Presided o'er the sons of light : 
And, by that hieroglyphic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa' ! 



May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath th' Omniscient eye above, 

The glorious Architect Divine ! 
That you may keep th' unerring line, 

Still rising by the plummet's law, 
Till order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'. 



And You* farewell ! whose merits claim, 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honor'd, noble name, 

To masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a', 
One round — I ask it with a tear, 

To him, the Bard that's far awa'. 



[The Poet, it is said, recited or rather chanted 
this " Farewell " in the St. James's Lodge of 
Tarbolton, when his chest was on the way to 
Greenock, and he had composed the last song 
he ever expected to measure in Caledonia. The 
concluding verse affected his friends greatly. 
The voice of Burns was low, strong, and mu- 
sical ; when in the church, he usually joined 
in the bass, and good singers observed that he 
was ever in harmony. This song was first 
printed in the Kilmarnock edition : — several of 
the gentlemen who heard the Poet chant it are 
still living in the west of Scotland.] 



<®n Ce££no<:fc 3Sanktf . 



Tune— If he be a butcher neat and trim. 



O n Cessnock banks there lives a lass, 
Could I describe her shape and mien ; 

The graces of her weelfar'd face, 

And the glancin' of her sparklin' een. 






* Sir John Whitefoord, the Grand Master. 

t [The above exquisite song was published by Cromek. It 
was published from the oral communications of a lady resid- 
ing at Glasgow, whom the bard in early life affectionately 
admired ; and, he adds, " it was an early introduction." The 



She's fresher than the morning dawn 
When rising Phoebus first is seen, 

When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 
An' she's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

in. 
She's stately, like yon youthful ash, 

That grows the cowslip braes between, 
And shoots its head above each bush ; 

An' she's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

IV. 

She's spotless as the flow'ring thorn, 

With flow'rs so white and leaves so green, 
When purest in the dewy morn ; 

An 7 she 's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 
v. 
Her looks are like the sportive lamb, 

When flow'ry May adorns the scene, 
That wantons round its bleating dam ; 

An' she's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

VI. 

Her hair is like the curling mist 

That shades the mountain-side at e'en, 

When flow'r-reviving rains are past ; 
An' she 's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

VII. 

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow, 
When shining sunbeams intervene, 

And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
An' she's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

VIII. 

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush 
That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
An' she's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

IX. 

Her lips are like the cherries ripe 

That sunny walls from Boreas screen — 

They tempt the taste and charm the sight ; 
An' she's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

x. 

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep, 
With fleeces newly washen clean, 

That slowly mount the rising steep : 
An' she's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

XI. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That gently stirs the blossom' d bean, 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas , 
An' she ' s twa glancin', sparklin' een , 

XII. 

But it 's not her air, her form, her face, 
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen 

But the mind that shines in ev'ry grace 
An' chiefly in her sparklin' een.f 



following improved version hus been transcribed from the 
Poet's own manuscript. It contains an additional verse ; 
and the song is now presumed to be correctly printed. We 
are indebted to Pickering's edition of the Poetical Works of 
Burns for this precious gem] 



356 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



[The fair lass of Cessnock banks inspired a 
song of similes. Her looks were likened to 
those of the sportive lamb, and her teeth to the 
white fleeces of a newly- washen flock of sheep ; 
her locks to the curling mist of the mountain ; 
her breath to the fragrance of the summer wind 
among the blossomed bean, and her voice to the 
note of the thrush 

"That sings in Cessnock banks unseen." 

The name of the heroine has not transpired : 
her figure was tall, for the Poet compares her 
to a stately ash-tree ; and her eyes were bright, 
for their sparkling forms the o'er-word of the 
song.] 

<&n €tmxoc& 2San&S. 

IMPROVED VERSION. 



Tune— If he be a butcher neat and trim. 



On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells ; 

Could I describe her shape and mien ; 
Our lasses a' she far excels, — 

An' she J s twa sparkling, rogueish een. 
11. 
She's sweeter than the morning dawn, 

When rising Phcebus first is seen, 
And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, rogueish een. 
in. 
She's stately, like yon youthful ash, 

That grows the cowslip braes between, 
And drinks the stream with vigour fresh ; 

An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een. 

IV. 

She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn, 

With flow'rs so white, and leaves so green, 
When purest in the dewy morn ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, rogueish een. 
v. 
Her looks are like the vernal May, 

When evWdng Phoebus shines serene, 
While birds rejoice on every spray ; 

An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een. 

VI. 

Her hair is like the curling mist 

That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en, 

When flow'r reviving rains are past ; 
An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een. 

VII. 

Her forehead 's like the show'ry bow, 
When gleaming sunbeams intervene, 

And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, rogueish een. 

VIII. 

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, 
The pride of all the flow 'ry scene, 

Just opening on its thorny stem ; 

And she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een. 



Her teeth are like the nightly snow, 

When pale the morning rises keen, 
While hid the murmuring streamlets flow ; 

An' she 's tvm sparkling, rogueish een. 
x. 
Her lips are like yon cherries ripe. 

That sunny walls from Boreas screen, 
They tempt the taste and charm the sight ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, rogueish een. 

XI. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze, 
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, 

When Phcebus sinks behind the seas ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, rogueish een. 

XII. 

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush, 
That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, rogueish een. 

XIII. 

But it's not her air, her form, her face, 
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, 

'Tis the mind that shines in every grace ; 
An' chiefly in her rogueish een. 



$to ! 



Tune — Blue Bonnets. 



Powers celestial ! whose protection 

Ever guards the virtuous fair, 
While in distant climes I wander, 

Let my Mary be your care ; 
Let her form sae fair and faultless, 

Fair and faultless as your own, 
Let my Mary's kindred spirit 

Draw your choicest influence down. 
11. 
Make the gales you waft around her 

Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 
Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 

Soothe her bosom into rest : 
Guardian angels ! O protect her, 

When in distant lands I roam ; 
To realms unknown while fate exiles me, 

Make her bosom still my home ! 



[ a In the manuscript of the Poet this fine song 
is simply called " A Prayer for Mary ;" and 
there can scarcely be imagined one breathing 
better and purer feelings. Burns contemplated 
an arrangement of all his lyric compositions 
sometime before his death, and it was his inten- 
tion to add notes indicating the circumstances 
under which they were composed, and the 
names of the heroines. 

" The faultless form and gentle spirit of the 
inspirer of these verses incline us to believe that 



THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 



357 



Highland Mary was intended. Burns put 
almost every event of his early life, and every 
throb of his heart, into verse. He was shut out 
from knowledge ; his society consisted of men 
of ordinary minds, from whom little could be 
learned ; he saw nothing of the polite, of the 
learned, or the mercantile world ; he seems not 
to have aspired to imitate the strains of the 
southern bards ; he allowed his muse to do as 
she listed, and his song was of the maidens of 
Kyle and his humble compeers of the hamlet. 
The air of the song is true old pastoral." — 
Cunningham.] 



€f)e IUs'3 ot 23aIlod)ms)Te. 



Tune— Mis* Forbes's Farewell to Banff. 



'Twas even — the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls hang, 
The zephyrs wanton'd round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the while. 
Except where greenwood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.* 



* [" The braes of Ballochmyle extend along the right or 
north bank of the Ayr, between the village of Catrine and 
Howford Bridges, and are situated at the distance of about 
two miles from Burns's farm ofMossgiel. They form the 
most important part of the pleasure grounds of Ballochmyle 
House, the seat of Claud Alexander, Esq. 

A short while before the incident which gave rise to the song, 
Ballochmyle, its broad lands, and lovely braes, had been 
parted with by the representative of an old and once powerful 
Ayr-shire family, Sir John Whitefoord. Burns had sung this 
incident also, in a set of plaintive verses, referring to the 
grief of Maria Whitefoord, now Mrs. Cranston, on leaving 
her family inheritance : — 

" Through faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while, 
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, 
Fare well the braes o' Ballochmyle." 

Ballochmyle was purchased from Sir John Whitefoord by 
Claud Alexander, Esq., a gentleman of considerable fortune, 
whose family had been formerly possessed of property in the 
County of Ayr, and whose ancestors were descended from 
Alexander of Menstrie (first Baron of Menstrie, and after- 
wards created Earl of Stirling). 

Mr. Alexander had recently taken possession of the man- 
sion, when, one summer evening, his sister, Miss Wilhel- 
mina Alexander, a young lady distinguished by every grace 
of person and mind, walking out along the braes, after din- 
ner, encountered a plain-looking man, in rustic attire, who 
appeared to be musing, with his shoulder placed against one 
of the trees. The grounds being forbidden to unauthorized 
strangers, the evening being far advanced, and the encounter 
very sudden, she was startled, but instantly recovered herselt 
and passed on. She thought no more of the matter till some 
months after she received a letter from Burns, recalling the 
circumstance to her mind, and enclosing the rich descriptive 
stanzas just quoted. The exact or direct purpose of this letter 
has been disguised by Dr. Currie, in consequence of the 
omission of the concluding sentence, in which the Poet re- 
quested Miss Alexander's permission to print the verses in 
the second Edition of his Poems. We are therefore to con- 
sider his resentment of th/> lady's silence as not altogether 
based on the supposition of ^er having slighted his poetical 
powers. Burn., would probabiy feel chagrined at not receiv- 
ing either her permission to print the poem, or a statement 



With careless step I onward stray'd, 

My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, 
"When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd, passing by, 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle !f 

hi. 
Fair is the morn in flow'ry May, 

And sweet is night in autumn mild ; 
When roving thro' the garden gay, 

Or wand'ring in the lonely wild : 
But Woman, Nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile ; 
Ev'n there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

IV. 

O ! had she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' shelter' d in the lowest shed 

That ever rose on Scotland's plain : 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain, 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil 5 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle ! 



of reasons for the contrary, besides, perhaps experiencing 
some mortification under the reflection that his talents did 
not appear sufficient, in the eyes of this young lady, even 
when employed in celebrating her own charms, to entitle him 
to the honor of her correspondence. Miss Alexander has 
been blamed by various writers for her reserve ; and certainly 
it is now to be regretted that she was not so fortunate as to 
cultivate the friendship of the Poet." 

tVAR. — The lily's hue and rose's dye 

'Bespoke the lass o' Ballochmyle. 

" The heroine of the braes of Ballochmyle has since dis- 
played no imperfect sense of the honour which the genius 
of Burns conferred upon her. She preserves the original 
manuscript of the poem and letter with the greatest care, 
and she some years ago pointed out, as nearly as she could 
recollect, the exact spot where she had met the Poet, in 
order that it might be distinguished by an appropriate orna- 
ment in the form of a rustic grotto or moss-house. The 
ornamented twig-work of this rustic monument contains 
some appropriate devices ; and on a tablet in the back there 
is inscribed a fac-simile of two of the verses of the poem, as 
it appears in the autograph of the author. The spirit which 
has dictated the construction and decoration of this grotto 
is a right one. The lord of a piece of territory may justly 
value its fertility, its beauty, and its importance in his 
rent-roll ; but what character can be attached to a piece of 
nature's soil, compared to that which the Poet can confer 
upon it ? Burns perhaps entered these grounds without the 
' bauld baron's leave,' and was liable at the moment to be 
snarled away from them by some churlish minister of the 
baron's pleasure ; and now the noblest and the proudest 
of the land will come to visit them for his sake, and 
deem that, rich as they are in natural loveliness, and still 
farther beautified by all the ornaments that wealth can 
confer, they would have been nothing more than thousands 
of other river sides, if he had not been once there, to beholl, 
to enjoy, and to celebrate them." — Professor Wilson'; 
Land of " 



Miss Willie Alexander, as she is familiarly called, is still 
alive (1840) and has a house in Kilmarnock. A gentleman 
was one day lately dining at Ballochmyle, when her nephew, 
the present Laird, asked her to give him the song to be kept 
as an heir-loom in the family. She replied " Na ! na I I will 
never part with it as long as I live I" 



358 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, 

Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine j 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks, or till the soil, 
And every clay have joys divine 

With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 



[" The whole course of the Ayr is fine ; but 
the banks of that river, as it bends to the east- 
ward above Mauchline, are singularly beau- 
tiful ; and they were frequented, as may be 
imagined, by our Poet in his solitary walks. 
Here the muse often visited him. In one of 
those wanderings he met among the woods a 
celebrated beauty of the west of Scotland ; a 
lady of whom it is said that the charms of her 
person corresponded with the character of her 
mind. This incident gave rise, as might be 
expected, to a poem, of which an account will 
be found in the following letter, in which he 
enclosed it to the object of his inspiration." — 
Currie. 

The letter is dated November 18, 1786 : it 
intimates that the song of the Lass of Balloch- 
myle was nearly taken from real life, — " Though 
I dare say, Madam," observes the Poet, " you 
do not recollect it, as I believe you scarcely 
noticed the poetic reveur as he wandered by 
you. I had roved out as chance directed in the 
favourite haunts of my muse, on the banks of 
the Ayr, to view nature in all the gaiety of the 
vernal year. The evening sun was flaming 
over the distant western hills: not a breath 
stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the 
verdant spreading leaf. It was a golden mo- 
ment for a poetic heart. Such was the scene, 
and such was the hour — when, in a corner of 
my prospect, I spied one of the fairest pieces 
of nature's workmanship that ever crowned 
a poetic landscape or met a poet's eye. The 
enclosed song was the work of my return home ; 
and perhaps it but poorly answers what might 
have been expected from such a scene." 

The fair heroine took no notice either of the 
letter or its enclosure, and thus appears to have 
offended the self-love of the Poet, who com- 
plains of her silence in his common-place-book.] 



Cije Bonnie SSmtfeS of &pr. 



Tune — Roslin Castle. 



The gloomy night is gathering fast, 
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast ; 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 



The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure ; 
While here I wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 



The autumn mourns her rip'ning corn, 
By early winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid, azure sky, 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave — 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 



'Tis not the surging billoAv's roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear ! 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound ; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 



Farewell old Coila's hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with those— 
The bursting tears my heart declare ; 
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr ! 



[The history of this affecting lyric is thus 
related by the author : — " I had been for some 
time skulking from covert to covert under all 
the terrors of a jail, as some ill-advised people 
had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at 
my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my 
few friends : my chest was on the road to 
Greenock, and 1 had composed the last song I 
should ever measure in Caledonia — 

' The gloomy night is gath'ring fast ;' 

when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend 
of mine overthrew all my schemes, by opening 
new prospects to my poetic ambition." Pro- 
fessor Walker adds ; ome interesting touches to 
the Poet's account. — " I requested him to com- 
municate some of his unpublished poems ; and 
he recited his farewell song to the Banks of 
Ayr, introducing it with a description of the 
circumstances in which it was composed, more 
striking than the poem itself. He had left 
Dr. Laurie's family, after a visit, which he 
expected to be the last, and on his way home 
had to cross a wide stretch of solitary moor. 
His mind was strongly affected by parting for 
ever with a scene where he had tasted so much 
elegant and social pleasure ; and, depressed by 



BONNIE DUNDEE, ETC. 



359 



the contrasted gloom of his prospects, the aspect 
of nature harmonized with his feelings : it was 
a lowering and heavy evening in the end of 
autumn. The wind was up and whistled 
through the rushes and long spear-grass which 
bent before it. The clouds were driving across 
the sky ; and cold pelting showers at intervals 
added discomfort of body to cheerlessness of 
mind. Under these circumstances, and in this 
frame, Burns composed his poem."] 



33amm ^tmttee.* 



Tune — Bonnie Dundee. 



O, whare did ye get that hauver meal bannock? 

O silly blind body, O dinna ye see ? 
I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie, 

Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. 
O gin I saw the laddie that gae me 't ! 

Aft has he doudl'd me up on his knee ; 
May heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, 

And send him safe hame to his babie and me ! 



My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie, 

My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e bree ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, 

Thou's aye be dearer and dearer to me ! 
But I'll big a bower on yon bonnie banks, 

Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear ; 
And I'll deed thee in the tartan sae fine, 

And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. 



Tune — Maggy Lauder. 



I married with a scolding wife, 
The fourteenth of November ; 

She made me weary of my lite, 
By one unruly member. 



* This song was published in the first volume of Johnson's 
Musical Museum. Burns lays claim to only one stanza 
of it, as the following laconic epistle which accompanied it 
will show : " Dear Cleghorn, you will see by the above that I 
have added a stanza to ' Bonnie Dundee.' If you think it 
will do, you may set it a-going 

Upon a ten string instrument, 
And on the Psaltery — R. B. 

Mr. Cleghorn, 

Farmer. God bless the trade." 

The tune to which this song was composed is very old. 

Bonnie Dundee is also the name of a Jacobite song, com- 
posed on Viscount Dundee who fell at the battle of Killi- 
crankie. A better version of the words above given appears 
in the Harp of Caledonia, the additions to which are obviously 
from the pen of Burns : but the reader may judge for himself — 

whare gat ye that bonnie blue bonnet ? 

O what makes them aye put the question to me ? 

1 gat it frae a bonnie Scots callan, 
Atweeu St. Johnstoun and bonn'e Dundee. 



Long did I bear the heavy yoke, 
And many griefs attended ; 

But, to my comfort be it spoke, 
Now, now her life is ended. 



We liv'd full one-and-twenty years, 

A man and wife together ; 
At length from me her course she steer'd, 

And gone I know not whither : 
Would I could guess, I do profess, 

I speak, and do not flatter, 
Of all the women in the world, 

I never could come at her. 



Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide her ; 
But sure her soul is not in hell, 

The deil could ne'er abide her. 
I rather think she is aloft, 

And imitating thunder ; 
For why, — methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asunder. 



[The old Scottish lyric bards loved to sing of 
the sorrows of wedlock and the raptures of 
single blessedness. " The Auld Guidman" is 
an admirable specimen of matrimonial infelicity ; 
it forms a sort of rustic drama, and the surly 
pair scold verse and verse about. Burns, when 
he wrote " The Joyful Widower," thought on 
the strains of his elder brethren, and equalled, 
if he did not surpass, them. It was first printed 
in the Musical Museum.] 



€i)m foa£ a Wife. 

i. 

There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen, 

Scroggam ; 
She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen, 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 



O gin I saw the laddie that gae me't! 

Aft has he doudled me up on his knee ; 
May heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, 

And send him safe hame to his baby and me. 

My heart has nae room when I think on my laddie, 

His dear rosy haffets bring tears to my e'e — 
But, O ! he's awa, and I dinna ken whare he's — 

Gin we could ance meet we'll ne'er part till we die. 
O light be the breezes around him saft blawin'! 

And o'er him sweet simmer still blink bonnilie, 
And the rich dews o' plenty, around him wide fa'in, 

Prevent a' his fears for his baby and me ! 

My blessings upon that sweet wee lippie ! 

My blessings upon that bonnie e'e-brie ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, 

Thou's aye the dearer and dearer to me. 
But I'll big a bower on yon green bank sae bonnre, 

That's lav'd by the waters o' Tay wimplin clear, 
And deed thee in tartans, my wee smiling Johnnie, 

And make thee a man like thy daddie dear. 



SGO 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



The gudewife's docliter fell in a fever, 

Scroggam ; 
The priest o' the parish fell in anither, 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 



They laid the twa i' the bed thegither, 

Scroggam ; 
That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither, 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 



[This song is inserted in the Musical Museum, 
where it is stated to have been written by Burns, 
consequently it is here inserted among his 
other lyrical compositions.] 



Come fcoimt tlje 23acfc Jltau*3. 



Tune — Whistle, and I'll come to you, my Lad. 



O whistle, and I'll come 

To you, my lad ; 
O whistle, and I'll come 

To you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mither 

Should baith gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come 

To you, my lad. 

Come down the back stairs 

When ye come to court me ; 
Come, down the back stairs 

When ye come to court me ; 
Come down the back stairs, 

And let naebody see, 
And come as ye were na 

Coming to me. 



[Burns wrote a better version of this lyric for 
Thomson's Collection ; it is founded on the old 
fragment, but he poured his own feeling and 
fancy so happily through the whole that not a 
single line of it remains entire, nor can the new 
be pronounced free of the language of the older 
minstrel. The air was composed by John 
Bruce, an excellent fiddler, who lived in 
Dumfries.] 



Cijew'S fiefosf, ftaSStS, lltfug. 

i. 

There's news, lasses, news, 
Gude news I have tc tell ; 

There's a boat fu' o' lads 
Come to our town to sell. 



CHORUS. 

The wean wants a cradle, 
An' the cradle wants a cod, 

An' I'll no gang to my bed 
Until I get a nod. 



Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she, 

Do what you can, 
I'll no gang to my bed 

Till I get a man. 

The wean, &c. 



I hae as gude a craft rig 
As made o' yird and stane ; 

And waly fa' the ley-crap, 
For I maun till'd again. 

The wean, &c. 



[This humorous song likewise appears in the 
Musical Museum, where it is stated to have 
been written for that work by Burns.] 



Fnt o'er j>oung to iitan-y j)*t. 



Tune— Vm o'er young to marry yet. 



I am my mammy's ae bairn, 

Wi' unco folk I weary, Sir ; 
And lying in a man's bed, 

I'm fley'd wad mak me eerie, Sir. 

I'm o'er young to marry yet ; 

I'm o'er young to marry yet ; 
I'm o'er young — 'twad be a sin 
To tak me frae my mammy yet. 



My mammy coft me a new gown, 
The kirk maun hae the gracing o't ; 

Were I to lie wi' you, kind Sir, 
I'm fear'd ye'd spoil the lacing o't. 



Hallowmas is come and gane, 

The nights are lang in winter, Sir; 

An' you an' I, in ae bed, 

In trouth I dare na venture, Sir. 



Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind, 

Blaws thro' the leafless timmer, Sir ; 
But if ye come this gate again, 
I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir. 

I'm o'er young to marry yet ; 

I'm o'er young to marry yet ; 
I'm o'er young — 'twad be a sin 
To tak me frae my mammy yet. 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 



361 



The title of this song and a part of the 

chorus are old : the rest is by Burns : of the 

old words, snatches still remain on men's 
memories : — 

" My mither coft me a new gown, 

The kirk maun hae the gracing o't ; 
Were I to meet wi' you, kind sir, 
I'm rad I'd spoil the lacing o't, 

I'm owre young, I'm owre young, 

I'm far c^vre young to marry yet ; 
I'm sae young t'wad be a sin 
To tak me frae my mammy yet. 



19 ante it ants J^glbia. 



Tune — The tither mom, as I forlorn. 



Yon wand'ring rill, that marks the hill, 

And glances o'er the brae, Sir, 
Slides by a bower where mony a flower, 

Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir. 
ii. 
There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay, 

To love they thought nae crime, Sir ; 
The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang, 

While Damon's heart beat time, Sir. 



€i> 23tr&3 of Hnerfeltsp. 

Tune— The Birks of Aberfeldy. 



Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Will ye go, will ye go ; 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go 
To the birks of Aberfeldy ? 
i. 
Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays ; 
Come, let us spend the lightsome days 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
ii. 
While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 
The little birdies blithely sing, 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
in. 
The braes ascend, like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep-Toaring fa's, 
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

IV. 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And rising, weets wi' misty showers 

The birks of Aberfeldy. 
v. 
Let fortune's gifts at random flee, 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 

In the birks of Aberfeldy. 



@~ 



Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Will ye go, will ye go ; 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go 
To the birks of Aberfeldy ? 



Burns says he wrote this song while standing 
under the Falls of Aberfeldy, near Moness, in 
Perthshire, in September, 1787. He was on his 
way to Inverness. The air is very old and very 
sprightly. 

" Every reader," says Professor Walker, 
"must have observed with what strokes of 
delicate and original description the songs of 
Burns are embellished. Thus in the present 
song we have this fine picture : — 

White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers 
The birks of Aberfeldy." 

Many of the songs of Burns had their origin 
in the snatches of verse and fragments of cho- 
ruses current during his day in Scotland. The 
forerunner of this sweet song is as follows : — 

" Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 

Will ye go, will ye go ; 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go 

To the birks of Abergeldie ? 
Ye shall get a gown o' silk, 

A gown o' silk, a gown o' silk ; 
Ye shall get a gown o' silk, 

And coat o' calimanco. 

" Na, kind sir, I dare na gang, 

I dare na gang, I dare na gang ; 
Na, kind sir, I dare na gang — 

My minnie she'll be angry. 
Sair, sair wad she flyte, 

Wad she flyte, wad she flyte ; 
Sair, sair wad she flyte, 

And sair wad she ban me." 

Abergeldy is an estate in Aberdeen-shire, for- 
merly remarkable for the production of birches, 
but now planted (by its proprietor, Mr. Gordon, 
of Abergeldy) with oaks and other more valu- 
able timber. 



ilHacpIjmJmt^ dfareioelL 



Tune — M'Pherson's Rant. 



Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 

The wretch's destinie ! 
Macpherson's time will not be long 

On yonder gallows-tree. 

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 
He play'd a spring, and dane'd it round, 

Below the gallows-tree. 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS* 



Oh ! what is death but parting breath ? — 

On mony a bloody plain 
I've dar'd his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 
in. 
Untie these bands from off my hands, 

And bring to me my sword ! 
And there's no a man in all Scotland 

But I'll brave him at a word. 

IV. 

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife ; 

I die by treacherie : 
It burns my heart I must depart, 
And not avenged be. 
v. 
Now farewell light — thou sunshine bright, 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame distain his name, 
The wretch that dares not die ! 
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 
He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round, 
Below the gallows-tree. 



[" Macpherson's Lament," says Sir Walter 
Scott, " was a well-known song many years 
before the Ayr-shire Bard wrote these additional 
verses, which constitute its principal merit. 
This noted freebooter was executed at Inver- 
ness about the beginning of the last century. 
When he came to the fatal tree, he played the 
tune to which he has bequeathed his name, upon 
a favourite violin : and, holding up the instru- 
ment, he offered it to any one of his clan who 
would undertake to play the tune over his body 
at the lyke-wake. As none answered, he 
dashed it to pieces on the executioner's head, 
and flung himself from the ladder." * 

" Sir Walter Scott has said that this noted 
freebooter was executed at Inverness, but a 
writer in the New Monthly Magazine, Vol. 1. 
p. 142, corrects this error. Macpherson was 
executed at Banif, early on Friday morning, 
November 16th, in the year 1700, several hours 
before the time specified in the sentence for his 
execution. It is said that his execution was 
hurried on by the Magistrates, and that they 



* The Banff tradition relates that Macpherson was chief 
of a branch of the clan Chattan : a freebooter by choice or 
chance, and of unequalled strength and courage. He ima- 
gined, as he descended with his followers from the moun- 
tains, that he was but asserting the independence of his wild 
tribe, and believed, when he harried the vales, that he was 
taking a lawful prey. Macduff, of Braco, was not of this 
opinion : he resisted the spoliation of his lands, and, in seve- 
ral encounters with Macpherson, ascertained that stratagem 
was more likely to be successful than open force. Having 
heard that the freebooter was at the fair of Keith, with only 
one companion, he instantly entered the town, singled him 
out, and attacked him in the market-place. Macpherson 
fought with the most desperate courage — several fell by his 
hand, and he made his way through all opposition to the 
churchyard, but, stumbling as he defended himself, he was 
overpowered and captured, conveyed to Banff, and condemned 
to die. His execution was attended by those romantic cir- 



also caused the messenger intrusted with the re- 
prieve for this notorious criminal to be stopped 
by the way, in consequence of which acts of 
injustice, it is alleged, the town of Banff was 
deprived of the power of trying and executing 
malefactors. 

" The following is said to be the real compo- 
sition of the unfortunate Macpherson himself 
when in jail, waiting the severe sentence of the 
law, and owes its preservation to the following 
cause : — A young woman of respectable parents, 
with whom he had lived during his unsettled 
life, had formed for him an inseparable attach 
ment, so that in his dungeon she was known 
to love him. She learned her lover's farewell, 
which she called ' the remains of her Jamie,' 
while in prison, and after having witnessed his 
final exit on an inglorious gallows, she returned 
to her wandering life, which she led ever after, 
and sung, wherever she went, the following 
song, as composed by Macpherson : — 

' I've spent my time in rioting, 

Debauch'd my health and strength, 
I squander' d fast as pillage came, 
And fell to shame at length. » 
But dantinly and wantonly, 

And rantinly I'll gae, 
I'll play a tune, and dance it roun', 
Below the gallows-tree. 

' To hang upon the gallows-tree, 

Accurs'd, disgraceful, death ! 
Like a vile dog hung up to be, 

And stifled in my breath ! 

' My father was a gentleman 

Of fame and lineage high ; 
Oh ! mother, would you ne'er had borne 

A wretch so doom'd to die. 

' The laird o' Grant, with power aboon 

The royal majesty, 
He pled fu' well for Peter Brown, 

But let Macpherson die. 

' But Braco Duff, in rage enough, 

He first laid hands on me; 
If death did not arrest my course, 

Avenged I should be. 

' But vengeance I did never wreak 

■When power was in my hand, 
And you, my friends, no vengeance seek. 

Obey my last command. 



cumstances related by Scott ; his body was buried on the 
Gallow-hill, beneath the gallows-tree — The sword and shield 
of Macpherson are deposited in the Earl of Fife's armoury 
at Duff-house, near Banff, and are in a state of tolerable pre- 
servation, though it is evident they had undergone much tear 
and wear while in the hands of their original owner. The 
sword is double-handed, six feet in length, and waved or 
scalloped along the edge of the blade, which is about the 
breadth of a common scythe. The shield is composed of 
wood, bull's-hide, and brass nails, with the latter of which 
it is curiously ornamented. Such a ponderous weapon re- 
quired a powerful man — and such, indeed, he was ; for, when 
his grave was opened some years ago, his bones exceeded 
in strength those common to nature. The shield is hacked 
and dinted in several places ; one or two bullets, too, have 
passed through the thick studding and the massive wood, 
and are lodged in the outside coating of leather. They are 
viewed with much interest bv the curious. 



MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL. 



363 



' Forgive the man whose rage could seek 

Blacpher son's worthless life, 
When I am gone, be it ne'er said 

My legacy was strife. 

' And ye that blame with cruel scorn 

The wand'ring gipsy's ways ; 
Oh ! think, if homeless, houseless bom, 

Ye could spend better days. 

' If all the wealth on land and sea 

Within my power was laid, 
I'd give it all this hour to be 

On the soldier's dying bed. 

'I've led a life o' meikle strife, 

Sweet peace ne'er smil'd on me ; 
It grieves me sair that I maun gae 
An' nae avenged be. 

But dantinly and wantonly, 

And rantinly I'll gae, 
I'll play a tune, and dance it roun', 
Below the gallows-tree.' 

" The last four lines of another recited copy 
seem to be at variance with the above, for in 
them he is said to have had a wife and bairns ; 
but, if we take to account the unsettled ways 
of the gipsy tribe to which Macpherson belonged, 
and that they were allowed the same indulgence 
as the patriarchs of old — polygamy, or a plura- 
lity of wives and concubines — the precediug 
will be, as a painter would say, quite in keep- 



' Farewell my comrades ane an' a', 

Farewell my wife an' bairns ; 
Some small repentance in my heart. 

The fiddle's in my arms. 
Sae wantonly, &c.' 

" The fiddle, which was then in his arms, 
and had been his solace in many a gloomy 
hour, was offered to several of the bystanders, 
but, none having courage to accept of the prof- 
fered boon, he dashed it to pieces, that it might 
perish with himself, and so went singing into 
eternity. His body afterwards found a resting- 
place beneath the gallows-tree on which he 
paid the forfeit of his life." 

We shall now conclude this interesting notice 
of Macpherson, by giving the account we have 
of him in the New Monthly Magazine. " James 
Macpherson was born of a beautiful gipsy, who, 
at a great wedding, attracted the notice of a 
half- intoxicated Highland gentleman. He ac- 
knowledged the child, and had him reared 
in his house, until he lost his life in bravely 
pursuing a hostile clan, to recover a herd of 
cattle taken from Badenoch. The gipsy woman, 
hearing cf this disaster, in her rambles the fol- 
lowing summer, came and took away her boy ; 
but she often returned with him, to wait upon 
his relations and clansmen, who never failed to 
clothe him well, besides giving money to his 
mother. He grew up to beauty, strength, and 
stature, rarely equalled. His sword is still pre- 
served at Duff House, a residence of the Earl 



of Fife, and few men of our day could carry it, 
far less wield it as a weapon of war ; and if it 
must be owned that his prowess was debased by 
the exploits of a free-booter, it is certain no act 
of cruelty, no robbery of the widow, the father- 
less, or the distressed, and no murder, were ever 
perpetrated under his command. He often 
gave the spoils of the rich to relieve the poor ; 
and all his tribe were restrained from many 
atrocities and rapine by the awe of his mighty 
arm. Indeed, it is said that a dispute with an 
aspiring and savage man of his tribe, who wished 
to rob a gentleman's house while his wife and 
two children lay on the bier for interment, was 
the cause of his being betrayed to the vengeance 
of the law. The Magistrates of Aberdeen were 
exasperated at Macpherson's escape, and bribed 
a girl in that city to allure and deliver him into 
their hands. There is a platform before the jail, 
at the top of a stair, and a door below. When 
Macpherson's capture was made known to his 
comrades by the frantic girl, who had been so 
credulous as to believe the magistrates only 
wanted to hear the wonderful performer on the 
violin, his cousin, Donald Macpherson, a gen- 
tleman of Herculean powers, did not disdain to 
come from Badenoch, and to join a gipsy, Peter 
Brown, in liberating the prisoner. On a mar- 
ket-clay they brought several assistants ; and 
swift horses were stationed at a convenient dis- 
tance. Donald Macpherson and Peter Brown 
forced the jail ; and, while Peter Brown went 
to help the heavily-fettered James Macpherson 
in moving away, Donald Macpherson guarded 
the jail-door with a drawn sword. Many per- 
sons assembled at the market had experienced 
James Macpherson's humanity, or had shared 
his bounty ; and they crowded round the jail 
as in mere curiosity, but, in fact, to obstruct the 
civil authorities in their attempts to prevent a 
rescue. A butcher, however, was resolved to 
detain Macpherson, expecting a large recom- 
pense from the magistrates : he sprung up the 
stairs, and leaped from the platform upon Donald 
Macpherson, whom he dashed to the ground by 
the force and weight of his body. Donald Mac- 
pherson soon recovered, to make a desperate 
resistance ; and the combatants tore off each 
other's clothes. The butcher got a glimpse of 
his dog upon the platform, and called him to 
his aid; but Macpherson, with admirable pre- 
sence of mind, snatched up his own plaid, which 
lay near, and threw it over the butcher, thus 
misleading the instinct of his canine adversary. 
The dog darted with fury upon the plaid, and 
terribly lacerated his master's thigh. In the 
meantime, James Macpherson had been carried 
out by Peter Brown, and was soon joined by 
Donald Macpherson, who was quickly covered 
by some friendly spectator with a hat and great 
coat. The magistrates ordered webs from the 
shops to be drawn across the Gallowgate ; but 
Donald Macpherson cut them asunder with his 



364 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



sword, and James, the late prisoner, got off on 
horseback. He was, some time after, betrayed 
by a man of his own tribe ; and was the last 
person executed at Banff, previous to the abo- 
lition of hereditable jurisdiction. He was an 
admirable performer on the violin ; and his 
talent for composition is still evidenced by Mac- 
phcrson's Rant, and Macpherson's Pibroch. 
He performed these tunes at the foot of the fatal 
tree ; and then asked if he had any friend in 
the crowd to whom a last gift of this instrument 
would be acceptable. No man had hardihood 
to claim friendship with a delinquent, in whose 
crimes the acknowledgment might implicate 
an avowed acquaintance. As no friend came 
forward, Macpherson said the companion of so 
many gloomy hours should perish with him ; 
and, breaking the violin over his knee, he threw 
away the fragments. Donald Macpherson 
picked up the neck of the violin, which to this 
day is preserved, as a valuable memento, by the 
family of Cluny, chieftain of the Macphersons."] 



^raly £ata of <§al!a OTater. 



Tune— Galla Water. 



CHORUS. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

O braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 
And follow my love thro' the water. 
i. 
Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie ; 
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou', 
The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie, 
ii. 
O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, 

O'er yon moss amang the heather ; 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 
And follow my ]ove thro' the water. 

in. 
Down amang the broom, the broom, 

Down amang the broom, my dearie, 
The lassie lost a silken snood, 

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

O braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love thro' the water. 



[Perhaps the air of this song is the very 
sweetest of all the fine airs of Caledonia. It 



* Viscount Strathallan, whom these verses commemorate, 
was James Druramond, who escaped with difficulty from the 
field of Culloden, where his father fell, and died abroad", 
an exile. — " The air," says the Poet, "is the composition of 
one of the worthiest and best-hearted men living — Allan 
Masterton, schoolmaster in Edinburgh. As he and I were 



charmed Haydn so much that he wrote under it 
in the best English he could muster, " This one 
Dr. Haydn favourite song." The air is very 
old, nor are some of the verses modern : these 
are the most ancient : — 

" Braw, braw lads of Galla Water, 
Braw, braw lads of Galla water ; 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 
And follow my love through the water. 

" O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, 
O'er yon moss amang the heather, 
I'll kilt my coat aboon my knee, 
And follow my love through the water." 

Burns admired the air so much that he wrote, 
in 1793, another version of the song which will 
be found in his correspondence with Thomson : 
less of the old strain mingles with his second 
effort. The naivete of the first verse of the first 
hasty version will always make it a favourite.] 



H>taj) m» Charmer. 



Tune — An Gille dubh ciar dhulh. 



Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 

Well you know how much you grieve me ; 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

ii. 

By my love so ill requited ; 

By the faith you fondly plighted ; 

By the pangs of lovers slighted ; 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 



[The air to which these verses were composed 
is called " The black-haired lad :" it is simple 
and affecting. Burns picked it up in the north ; 
and, touched by the slight which a Highland 
damsel put on him by quitting his side when he 
was discoursing on tender things, he embodied 
his feelings in these fine verses.] 



Strati) allan'S Eammt* 



Thickest night, o'erhang my f dwelling ! 

Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 
Turbid J torrents, wintry § swelling, 

Still surround my || lonely cave ! 



both sprouts of Jacobitism, we agreed to dedicate the words 
and air to that cause. To tell the truth, except when my 
passions were heated by some accidental cause, my Jacobidsiu 
was merely by way of vive la bagatelle." 

t Var. Darkness surround. J Sweeping 

§ Turbid. || Roaring by. Poet's MS. 



MY HOGGIE— HER BADD1E FORBAD. 



365 



Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 

Busy haunts of base mankind, 
Western breezes softly blowing, 

Suit not my distracted mind, 
in. 
In the cause of right engaged, 

Wrongs injurious to redress, 
Honour's war we strongly waged, 

But the heavens denied success. 

IV. 

[Farewell, fleeting, fickle treasure, 

'Tvveen Misfortune and Folly shar'd ! 

Farewell Peace, and farewell Pleasure ! 
Farewell, flattering man's regard !] 

v. 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,* 
Not a hope that dare attend, f 

The wide world is all before us — J 
But a world without a friend ! 

[The additional verse is from the Poet's own 
manuscript.] 



jfflfc ftoflgte. 



Tune — What will I do gin my Hoggie die? 



What will I do gin my hoggie die ? 

My joy, my pride, my hoggie ! 
My only beast, I had nae mae, 

And vow but I was vogie ! 

The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld, 

Me and my faithfu' doggie ; 
We heard nought but the roaring linn, 

Amang the braes sae scroggie ; 

But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa', 

The blitter frae the boggie, 
The tod reply' d upon the hill, " 

I trembPd for my hoggie. 

When day did daw, and cocks did craw, 

The morning it was foggie ; 
An' unco tyke lap o'er the dyke, 

And maist has kill'd my hoggie. 



[Burns has refrained from claiming this song 
— it is his, however, beyond all question ; he 
communicated it to Johnson with the following 
remarks : — " Dr. Walker, who was Minister at 
Moffat in 1772, and is now (1791) Professor of 
Natural History in the University of Edin- 
burgh, told me the following anecdote concern- 
ing this air. — He said that some gentlemen, 
riding a few years ago through Liddesdale, 
stopped at a hamlet consisting of a few houses, 
called Moss Piatt ; when they were struck with 



* Var: Me.' f Nor dare my fate a hope attend. 
% Me. — Poet's MS. 



this tune, which an old woman, spinning on a 
rock at her door, was singing. — All she could 
tell concerning it was that she was taught it 
when a child, and it was called, ' What will 1 
do gin my hoggie die.-' No person, except a 
few females at Moss Piatt, knew this fine old 
tune 5 which, in all probability, would have been 
lost, had not one of the gentlemen, who hap- 
pened to have a flute with him, taken it down."] 



?!n- ©aitou dfarfeafi. 



Tune — Jumpin' JoJin. 



Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad ; 

Forbidden she wadna be : 
She wadna trow't the browst she brew'd 

Wad taste sae bitterlie. 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie, &c. 

11. 

A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, 
And thretty guid shillin's and three ; 

A vera gude tocher, a cotter-man's dochter, 
The lass with the bonnie black e'e. 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie, &c. 



[Part of these verses are from the pen of 
Burns, and part from a humorous old ballad of 
the olden day, of which some fragments still 
remain among the curious — 

"Jumpin' John o' the green 
He has tint his dearie, 
Sour milk carries nae cream, 
Hey, come blirt, come blearie !" 

More verses might be quoted, but they 
are more lively than delicate — an imperfection 
common to our early songs. Our simple an- 
cestors made use of expressions and allusions 
then reckoned perfectly innocent ; but the 
meaning has been pronounced indecorous by 
their more scrupulous descendants. 

The air to which the words are adapted has 
a strong affinity to the well-known tune called 
Lillibulero, composed, it is said, by Henry 
Purcell : but the name Lillibulero, at least, 
was popular before the days of that eminent 
composer. — Cunningham.] 



WL$ in tfy jjj&ormitfl €art». 



Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, 

I m sure it's winter fairly. 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, 

The drift is driving sairly ; 
Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 



The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 

A' day they fare but sparely ; 
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn — 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 
Up in the morning early ; 

When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, 
I'm sure its winter fairly. 



[" The chorus of this song," observes Burns, 
" is old ; the two stanzas are mine." The 
following have since been added : — 

" O spring-time is a pleasant time, 
When green the grass is growing ; 
And summer it is sweeter still, 
When sun-warm streams are flowing. 

" But winter it is thrice as sweet, 

When frosts bite sharp and sairly ; 
Up in the morning 's no for me, 
Up in the morning early. 

" The thrush sits chittering on the thorn ; 
The sparrow dines but sparely, 
The crow longs for the time o' corn — 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

" The plough stands frozen in the fur, 
And down the snow comes rarely ; 
Up in the morning's no for me, 
Up in the morning early." 

The air is ancient, and well known in England; 
it was a great favourite with Mary Stuart, 
Queen of William III. ; and on one occasion 
she nettled Purcell by preferring it to his most 
scientific compositions. Probably the follow- 
ing may have been the song of which that of 
Burns is a brief rifacciamento : — 

' Cauld blaws the wind frae north to south, 

And drift is driving sairly ; 
The sheep are couring i' the cleugh, 

O sirs I its winter fairly. 
Now up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
I'd rather gang supperless to my bed, 

Than rise in the morning early. 

• Rude rairs the blast amang the woods, 

The branches tirlin barely ; 
Amang the chimney-taps it thuds, 

And frost is nippin sairly. 
Now up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
To sit a' the night I'd rather agree, 

Than rise in the morning early. 



' The sun peeps o'er the southlan' hill, 

Like onie timorous carlie ; 
Just blinks a wee, then sinks again, 

And that we find severely. 
Now up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When snaw blaws into the chimley cheek, 

Wha'd rise in the morning early? 

' Nae Unties lilt on hedge or bush, 

Poor things, they suffer sairly ; 
In cauldrife quarters a' the night, 

A' day they feed but sparely. 
Now up in the morning 's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
Nae fate can be waur, in winter time, 

Than rise in the morning early. 

' A cosey house, and cantie wife, 

Keeps aye a body cheerly ; 
And pantry stow'd wi' meal and mau', 

It answers unco rarely. 
But up in the morning, na, na, na, 

Up in the morning early ; 
The gowans maun glent on bank and brae, 

When I rise in the morning early.' " 



gjjung $|ig!)lantj 3ftobn\ 



Loud blaw the frosty breezes, 
The snaw the mountains cover ; 

Like winter on me seizes, 

Since my young Highland Rover 
Far wanders nations over. 

Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 
May Heaven be his warden ; 

Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 
And bonnie Castle-Gordon ! 



The trees now naked groaning, 
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging, 

The birdies dowie moaning, 
Shall a' be blithely singing, 
And every flower be springing. 

Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, 
When by his mighty warden 

My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey, 
And bonnie Castle- Gordon. 



[The young Highland Rover is supposed to 
be the young Chevalier, Prince Charles Ed- 
ward. — Currie. 

Jacobitism was long worn as a sort of cos- 
tume by families in the north ; the ladies loved 
the white rose, and it is not improbable that 
her Grace the Duchess encouraged the Bard 
to wish Prince Charles back in Strathspey, 
and bonnie Castle-Gordon. Morag, the name 



HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER, ETC. 



367 



of the air, corresponds with the lowland Ma- 
rion. Songs, in which the white rose of Jaco- 
bitism flourishes, are numerous. Most of them 
have been collected into volumes, by the Ettrick 
Shepherd; they are of various merit; some, 
full of hope and heroics — others breathe vex- 
ation and anger, and many show deep sorrow 
— more particularly those which related to the 
sad fortunes of the exiled prince, and his suffer- 
ing companions. — Cunningham.] 



$?*£, tyt Jtatg ^TOTcr. 



Tune— The Dusty Miller. 



Hey, the dusty miller, 

And his dusty coat ; 

He will win a shilling, 

Or he spend a groat. 

Dusty was the coat, 

Dusty was the colour, 
Dusty was the kiss 
I got frae the miller 

ii. 
Hey, the dusty miller, 
And his dusty sack ; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Fills the dusty peck, 

Brings the dusty siller ; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 



[The present strain was modified for the Mu- 
seum by Burns, and is a very happy specimen 
of his skill and taste in emendation. Other 
verses may be found in our* collections : — 

" Hey, the merry miller ! 

As the wheel rins roun', 
And the clapper claps, 

My heart gies a stoun' ; 
Water grinds the corn, 

Water wins the siller ; 
When the dam is dry, 

I daute wi' the miller." 

The air is cheerful, like the words, and was in 
other days played as a single hornpipe in the 
Scottish dancing schools.] 



i. 

As I came in by our gate end, 

As day was waxin' weary, 
O wha came tripping down the street, 

But bonnie Peg, my dearie ! 

* First published in the Edinburgh Magazine for 1818. 



Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 
Wi' nae proportion wanting, 

The Queen of Love did never move 
Wi' motion mair enchanting. 



Wi' linked hands, we took the sands 

Adown yon winding river ; 
And, oh ! that hour and broomy bow'r, 

Can 1 forget it ever 2- — 
& 



Cljeve iua£ a 5U&J. 



Tune — Duncan Davison. 



There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 

And she held o'er the moors to spin ; 
There was a lad that follow' d her, 

They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 
The moor was driegh, and Meg was skiegh, 

Her favour Duncan could na win ; 
For wi' the roke she wad him knock, 

And aye she shook the temper-pin. 



As o'er the moor they lightly foor, 

A burn was clear, a glen was green, 
Upon the banks they eas'd their shanks, 

And aye she set the wheel between : 
But Duncan swore a haly aith, 

That Meg should be a bride the morn, 
Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith, 

And flang them a' out o'er the burn. 



We'll big a house — a wee, wee bouse, 

And we will live like king and queen, 
Sae blythe and merry we will be 

When ye set by the wheel at e'en. 
A man may drink and no be drunk ; 

A man may fight and no be slain ; 
A man may kiss a bonnie lass, 

And aye be welcome back again. 

[The old song of this name, sung to the tune 
of "You'll aye be welcome back again," is 
much inferior to the Duncan Davison of Burns 
in wit and delicacy. The Poet was delighted 
with this lively old air, and, brooding over the 
old words, conceived the present strain, which 
is full of the graphic spirit of other days.] 



£$*IaS ®>pnL 

When first I began for to sigh and to woo her, 
Of many fine things I did say a great deal, 

But, above all the rest, that which pleas'd her 
the best, 
Was, Oh ! will you marry me, Shelah O'Neil ? 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



My point I soon carried, for straight we were 

married, 
Then the weight of my burden I soon 'gan to 

feel, — 
For she scolded, she fisted, O then I enlisted, 
Left Ireland, and whiskey, and Shelah O'Neil. 

Then tir'd and dull-hearted, O then I deserted,. 

And fled into regions far distant from home, 

To Frederick's army, where none e'er could 

harm me, 
Save Shelah herself in the shape of a bomb. 
I fought every battle, where cannons did rattle, 
Felt sharp shot, alas ! and the sharp-pointed 

steel ; 
But, in all my wars round, thank my stars, I 

ne'er found 
Ought so sharp as the tongue of curs'd Shelah 

O'Neil. 



CJjemel §&m\it'# hsmnit plarj). 



Tune— The Ruffian's Rant. 



In coming by the brig o' Dye, 
At Darlet we a blink did tarry ; 

As day was dawin in the sky, 

We drank a health to bonnie Mary. 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 

Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theniel' s bonnie Mary. 

ii. 

Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, 
Her haffet locks as brown's a berry ; 

And aye, they dimpl't wi' a smile, 
The rosy cheeks o' bonnie Mary. 

in. 
We lap and danc'd the lee lang day, 

Till piper lads were wae an' weary ; 
But Charlie gat the spring to pay, 

For kissin' Theniel' s bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 

Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theme? s bonnie Mary. 



[This song seems to have been written by 
Burns, during his first Highland tour, when 
he danced among the merry lasses of the north 
all night to the air of " Bab at the Bowster," 
and went out with a bowl of punch between 
his hands in the morning, to drink a welcome 
to the god of day, rising over the peak of 
Ben-Lomond. Who " Theniel Menzie's bonnie 
Mary" was, it is now, perhaps, vain to in- 
quire ; that she was a lass of spirit, the disaster 



that befel the plaid of Charlie Gregor suffi- 
ciently intimates. The Poet composed other 
verses to the same air : it is the well-known 
melody of that exquisite song, " Boy's Wife 
of Aldivalloch." 

The following is the old version of this 
song : — 

In Scotland braid and far awa', 
Where lasses painted, busk sae braw, 
A bonnier lass I never saw 

Than Thenie Menzie's bonny Mary. 



Thenie Menzie's bonny Mary, 
Thenie Menzie's' bonny Mary; 
A' the warld would I gie 

For a kiss o' Thenie 's bonny Mary. 

The miser's joy and gowden bliss 
I never kent, nor sought to guess ; 
I'm rich when I hae ta'en a kiss 
O' Thenie Menzie's bonny Mary. 

Some dozen'd loons sit douf and caul', 
And they hae liv'd till they've grown aul', 
Scarce ever kent they had a saul, 
Till they saw Thenie 's bonny Mary. 

Her dimply chin and rosy cheeks, 

Her milk-white hands sae saft and sleek, 

And twa bricht een that seem to speak, 

Hae tied my heart to Thenie's Mary. 

Thenie Menzie's bonny Mary, 

Thenie Menzie's bonny Mary ; 

A' the warld would I gie 

For a kiss o' Thenie's bonny Mary.] 



CJe 33an&£ qI i y gt Btbtrn. 



Tune — Bhannerach dhon na chri. 



How pleasant the banks of the clear winding 

Devon, [blooming fair ! 

With green-spreading bushes, and flowers 

But the bonniest flower on the banks of the 
Devon [Ayr- 

Was once a sweet bud, on the braes of the 

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 
In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew ! 

And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 



O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 

With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn ! 
And far be thou distant, thou reptile, that seizes 
The verdure and pride of the garden and 
lawn ! 
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 
And England, triumphant, display her proud 
rose : 
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys, 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering 
flows. 



DUNCAN GRAY.— THE PLOUGHMAN. 



369 



" These verses," says Burns, in his notes in 

; the Musical Museum, "were composed on a 

charming girl — Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who 

is now married to James Mackittrick Adair, 

physician. She is sister to my worthy friend,. 

Gavin Hamilton, of Mauchline, and was born 

; on the banks of the Ayr ; but was, at the time 

J I wrote these lines, residing at Harvieston, in 

j Clackmannan- shire, on the romantic banks of 

j the little river Devon. I first heard the air 

j from a lady in Inverness, and got the notes 

j taken down for this work." The Poet, as 

; has been intimated in his Life, was more than 

j an admirer of this young lady ; but she refused 

to be won by the charms of verse, having 

, already set her heart upon a more favoured 

! lover. 



OTcavp JV j>oit, Duncan <Sraj). 



Tune — Duncan Gray. 



Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
When a' the lave gae to their play, 
Then I maun sit the lee lang day, 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae, 

And a' for the girdin o't. 



Bonnie was the Lammas moon — 
Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 

Glowrin' a' the hills aboon — 
Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 



* The following in the original version of Duncan Gray.- 

As I came in by Aberdeen, 

Hech hey the girdin o't : 
I met a lassie clad in green, 

And that's the lang girdin o't ; 
The brawest lass that e'er was seen 
She might compete wi' Venus queen, 
And by the glancin' o' her e'en, 

I kent she knew the girdin o't. 

My bonny lass, I then did say, 

Hech hey the girdin o't : 
How far hae ye to gang this way, 

And that's the lang girdin o't? 
Quickly then she answered me, 

Hech hey the girdin o't ; 
I'm gaen three miles out ower the lea. 

And that's the lang girdin o't. 

Gin ye will gang alang wi' me, 

Hech hey the girdin o't ; 
Sae weel's I like your companie, 

And that's the lang girdin o't? 
I said, wi' her I'd walk a mile, 
And then I jumped ower a stile, 



The girdin brak, the beast cam down, 
I tint my curch, and baith my shoon j 
Ah ! Duncan, ye're an unco loon — 
Wae on the bad girdin o't! 

in. 

But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! — 
Ise bless you wi' my hindmost breath — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith — 
The beast again can bear us baith, 
And auld Mess John will mend the skaith, 

And clout the bad girdin o't.* 



[The elder " Duncan Gray," out of which 
the present song was manufactured by Burus, 
was composed by a Glasgow carman, from 
whose whistling it was noted down. The Poet 
says : — " Duncan Gray is that kind of light 
horse-gallop of an air which precludes senti- 
ment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature." 
This song appeared in the Musical Museum ; a 
second version was afterwards written for Thom- 
son, which will be found in the Poet's corres- 
pondence with that gentleman,] 



€i)e ^lottgljinan. 



Tune — Up wi' the Ploughm 



The ploughman he's a bonnie lad, 

His mind is ever true, jo ; 
His garters knit below his knee, 

His bonnet it is blue, jo. 

Then up wi' my ploughman lad, 
And hey my merry ploughman ! 

Of a' the trades that I do ken, 
Commend me to the ploughman. 



Gin she wov'd tarry here awhile, 
And dance wi' me the girdin o't. 

We baith sat down upon the green, 

Hech hey, the girdin o't ; 
Where we were neither heard nor seen, 

And that's the lang girdin o't. 
There I play'd her Duncan Gray, 
Out ower the hills and far away ; 
The lassie smil'don me right gay, 

Then danc'd wi' me the girdin o't. 

But when will we twa meet again ? 

Hech hey the girdin o't ; 
Foro' your company I'm fain, 

And that's the lang girdin o't. 
Gin ye will play me Duncan Gray, 
Out ower the hills and far away, 
I will adore you night and day; 

And that's the lang girdiD o't. 

There are two other stanzas, which, in deference to the taste 
of the age, we cannot give ; they are like the majority of the 
songs of the olden time. The above is valuable only as illus- 
trating that freedom of manners and broad humour which 
prevailed among our ancestors. The version of Burns now 
entirely supersedes the original. 

2 B 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



My ploughman he comes hame at e'en, 
He's aften wat and weary ; 

Cast off the wat, put on the dry, 
And gae to bed, my dearie ! 



I v, ill wash my ploughman's hose, 
And I will dress his o'erlay ; 

I will mak my ploughman's bed, 
And cheer him late and early. 

IV. 

I hae been east, I hae been west, 
I hae been at Saint Johnston ; 

The bonniest sight that e'er I saw 
Was the ploughman laddie dancin'. 

v. 

Snaw-white stockins on his legs, 
And siller buckles glancin' ; 

A guid blue bonnet on his head — 
And O, but he was handsome ! 

VI. 

Commend me to the barn-yard, 

And the corn-mou, man ; 
I never gat my coggie fou, 
Till 1 met wi the ploughman. 
Then up wi' my ploughman lad, 

And hey my merry ploughman ! 
Of a' the trades that I do ken, 
Commend me to the ploughman. 



The old words of this song are in Herd's 
collection ; some of which have been adapted 
by Burns : — 

"The ploughman he's a bonnie lad, 
And a' his wark's at leisure ; 
And when that he comes home at e'en 
He kisses me wi' pleasure. 

Up wi't now, my ploughman lad, 

Up wi't now, my ploughman : 
Of a' the lads that I do see, 

Commend me to the ploughman. 

Now the blooming spring comes on, 

He taks his yoking early, 
And whistling o'er the furrow'd land, 

He goes to fallow clearly; 

When my ploughman comes hame at e'en, 

He's aften wet an' weary; 
Cast aff the wet, put on the dry, 

And gae to bed, my deary. 

I will wash my ploughman's hose, 

And I will wash his o'erlay : 
And I will make my ploughman's bed, 

And eheer him late and early. 

Plough you hill, and plough you dale, 
And plough you faugh and fallow ; 
Wha winna drink the ploughman's health 
He's but a dirty fallow." 
Merry but, and merry ben, 
Merry is my ploughman ; 
Of a' the lads that I do ken,* 
Commend me to the ploughman." 



EaivQlafcj), fount t¥)e 3£afom. 



Tune— Hey Tutti, Taiti. 



Landlady, count the lawin, 
The day is near the dawin ; 
Ye're a' blind drunk, boys, 
And I'm but jolly fou. 
Hey tutti, taiti, 
How tutti, taiti — 
Wha's fou now ? 

ii. 

Cog an' ye were aye fou, 

Cog an' ye were aye fou, 

I wad sit and sing to you, 

If ye were aye fou. 

in. 
Weel may ye a' be ! 
Ill may we never see ! 
God bless the king, boys, 
And the companie ! 
Hey tutti, taiti, 
How tutti, taiti — 
Wha's fou now ? 



Two of the verses of this song are by .burns : 
the concluding stanza is taken from a political 
song composed when Charles XII. of Sweden 
threatened to unite with Russia, repair to Eng- 
land, and restore the line of the Stuarts. Two 
verses of this old strain are as follow : 

" Here's to the king of Swede! 
May fresh laurels crown his head ; 
Foul fall every sneaking blade, 
That winna do't again. 

When you hear the pipe soun's, 
Tuttie tattie to the drums, 
Up your swords and down your guns, 
And at the loons again." 

A far nobler strain, called " Hey now the day 
daues," is well known to every lover of Scot- 
tish song : it is quoted by Gawin Douglas in his 
13th prologue to the Scottish Virgil, and is 
mentioned by Dunbar: — 

" Hey now the day dauis, 
The jollie cock crauis, 
Now shrouds the shauis, 

Throw nature anone. 
The thissle-cock cryis 
On lovers wha lyis, 
Now skaillis the skyis, 
The night is nigh gone." 

But the old and true reading of the song, 
which bears the name, and to which Burns is 
indebted for part of the chorus and many of 
the ideas, is the following : — 

" Hey tutti, taittie, 
Hey talarettie, 
Hey my bonnie Mallie, 
She's aye roarin' fou'. 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING. 



371 



I will drink to you, love, 

Bot nae to fill you fou, love, 

O had your tongue rny bonny thing,— 

I'll kiss my bonny doe, &c." 



gs l)M Hint MTvancj, %a$$it. 

CHORUS. 

Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, 

Ye've lien a' wrang ; 
Ye've lien in an unco bed, 
And wi' a fremit man. 
i. 
Your rosy cheeks are turn'd sae wan, 
Ye're greener than the grass, lassie ; 
Your coatie's shorter by a span, 
Yet ne'er an inch the less, lassie. 
ii. 
O, lassie, ye hae play'd the fool, 

And ye will feel the scorn, lassie ; 
For aye the brose ye sup at e'en, 
Ye bock them ere the morn, lassie. 

in. 
O ance ye danc'd upon the knowes, 

And through the wood ye sang, lassie, 
Bat in the berrying o' a bee byke, 
I fear ye've got a stang, lassie. 
Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, 

Ye've lien a' wrang, 
Ye've lien in an unco bed, 
And wi' a fremit man. 



Sfta&fng OTmtfS avouoB l)tv fcloimng. 



Tune — Macgregor of Ruara's Lament. 



Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray'd deploring : — 
" Farewell hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 
Hail thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
Cheerless night, that knows no morrow ! 

ii. 
" O'er the past too fondly wandering, 
On the hopeless future pondering ; 
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Load to misery most distressing, 
O how gladly I'd resign thee, 
And to dark oblivion join thee !" 



" I composed these verses," says Burns, " on 
Miss Isabella M'Leod of Rasay, alluding to her 
feelings on the death of her sister, ^and the still 
more melancholy death of her sister's husband, 



&= 



the late Earl of Loudon." (He died suddenly 
of a broken heart, in the year 1786.) " Mac- 
gregor of Ruara's Lament" is a Gaelic melody 
of great beauty, force, and tenderness. It has 
been attempted in English : — 

" From the chase on the mountain 

As I was returning, 
By the side of a fountain 

Malvina sat mourning ; 
To the winds that loud whistled 

She told her sad story, 
And the valleys re-echoed — 

Macgregor a ruadhri ! 
Like a flash of red lightning 

O'er the heath came Macara, 
More fleet than the roebuck 

On lofty Benlara ; 
O, where is Macgregor ? 

Say, where does he hover? 
Thou son of bold Calmar, 

Why tarries my lover?" 



momn'2 JKmto. 



Tune—" For a' that." 



Though women's minds like winter winds 
May shift and turn, and a' that, 

The noblest breast adores them maist, 
A consequence I draw that. 

CHORUS. 

For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as muckle's a' that, 
The bonnie lass that I lo'e best 
She'll be my ain for a' that. 
ii. 
Great love I bear to all the fair 

Their humble slave, and a' that ; 
But lordly will, I hold it still, 
A mortal sin to thraw that, 
in. 
But there is ane aboon the lave, 

Has wit, and sense, and a' that; 
A bonnie lass, I like her best, 

And wha a crime dare ca' that ? * 



[There are two other verses the same as the 
Bard's song in the Jolly Beggars. The second 
verse, which we have repeated here, is also in- 
cluded in that celebrated Cantata. The rest 
are new, and in the hand-writing of the Poet.] 



Hofo Ions antt tJrearg tS Xl)z ^t^t. 



To a Gaelic Air. 



How lang and dreary Is the night 5 
When I am frae my dearie ! 

* [This verse is omitted in the Musical Museum.] 
2 B 2 



372 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, 
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 

I sleepless lie frae e'en to mom, 
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 

II. 

When I think on the happy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie, 

And now what lands between us lie, 
How can I be but eerie ! 

And now what lands between us lie, 
How can I be but eerie ! 

in. 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 
As ye were wae and weary ! 

It was na sae ye glinted by 
When I was wi' my dearie. 

It was na sae ye glinted by 
When I was wi' my dearie. 



[" Burns, during his excursions in the High- 
lands, threw himself in the way of the district 
musicians, and sought the acquaintance of all 
who were skilful in the native music. In this 
way he picked up many fine airs ; and it has 
been remarked that he always selected the 
finest set of the air. Though not a musician 
himself, and scarcely a singer, he had a natural 
tact and taste which served him, instead of sci- 
entific acquirements, in judging of Scottish me- 
lodies. The air of this affecting song is true 
Highland: the Poet, as will be found, resumed 
the subject, and improved upon the first ver- 
sion." (See his Correspondence with Thomson, 
Oct. 19th, 1794.)— Cunningham.] 



JKus'mg on tl)e Soaring @«an. 



Tune — Druimion dubh. 



Musing on the roaring ocean, 

Which cli vides my love and me ; 
Wearying ] [eaven in warm devotion, 

For his v> eal where'er he be. 
ii. 
Hope and fear's alternate billow 

Yielding, late to nature's law, 
Whisp'rinj; spirits round my pillow 

Talk of him that's far awa. 
ill. 
Ye whoui sorrow never wounded, 

Ye w qo never shed a tear, 
Care-u a troubled, joy-surrounded, 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 

IV. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me ; 

Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; 
Spirits kind, again attend me, 

Talk of him that's far awa ! 



Burns composed these verses out of compli- 
ment to Mrs. M'Lauchlan, whose husband was 
an officer, at that period serving in the East 

Indies. 



mityz foasi ^e. 



Tune — Andrew and Ids Cutty Gun. 



Blithe, blithe, and merry was she, 
Blithe was she but and ben •- 

Blithe by the banks of Era, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 

i. 

By Auchtertyre grows the aik, 

On Y&rrow banks the birken show ; 

But Phemie was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 



Her looks were like a flow'r in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 

She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
As light 's a bird upon a thorn. 

in. 

Her bonnie face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lea ; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet, 

As was the blink o' Phemie's ee. 



The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 

But Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 

Blithe, blithe, and merry was she. 
Blithe was she but and ben ; 

Blithe by the banks of Ern, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 



[The heroine of this song was Euphemia 
Murray of Lintrose, called, in the poetic lan- 
guage of the Scottish mountains, the Flower 
of Strathmore. She happened to meet with 
Burns during one of his northern tours, and, 
by her affability and beauty, called forth this 
charming lyric. She accompanied him as one 
of a small party, along the banks of Ern, to 
romantic Glenturit, and loved to stand by the 
Poet's side and point out what pleased her in 
the landscape. From living beauty he took 
the hint for his song, and happily has he han- 
dled the subject ; only two lines of the chorus 
belong to the elder muse. — " I composed these 
verses," says the Poet, in his notes in the 
Museum, "while I stayed at Auchtertyre with 
Sir William Murray."] 



O'ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE.— A ROSE-BUD. 



373 



Co 23atmton me. 



Tune— To Daunton me. 



The blude red rose at Yule may blaw, 

The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, 

The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; 

But an auld man shall never daunton me. 
To daunton me, and me so young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue, 
That is the thing yc*i ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



For a' his meal and a' his maut, 
For a' his fresh beef and his saut, 
For a' his gold and white monie, 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 



His gear may buy him kye and yowes, 
His gear may buy him glens and knowes ; 
But me he shall not buy nor fee, 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



He hirples twa-fauld as he dow, 
Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow, 
And the rain dreeps down frae his red bleer'd e'e- 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 
To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, 
To boat me o'er to Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 
We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 

Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 



I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 
Tho' some there be abhor him : 

But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame, 
And Charlie's faes before him ! 



I swear and vow by moon and stars, 

And sun that shines so early, 
If I had twenty thousand lives, 

I'd die as aft for Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water, and o'er the sea, 
We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 

Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie ! 



[The Poet had a Jacobite song of the same 
name in his thoughts when he wrote his pithy 
lyric ; some of the old verses are curious and 
to the point : — 

"To daunton me, to daunton me, 
D'ye ken the things wad daunton me ? 
Eighty-eight and eighty-nine, 
And a' the dreary years sin syne, 
With cess and press and Presbytry, 
Gude faith, these were like to hae daunton' d me. 

" But to wanton me, but to wanton me, 
D'ye ken the things that wad wanton me ? 
To see gude corn upon the rigs, 
An' banishment to a' the Whigs, 
An' right restor'd where right should be, 
O ! these are the things that wad wanton me."] 



Come fcoat me o'er to CIjarTte. 



Tune — O'er the Water to Charlie. 



Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 
Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; 



["Some of these lines are old, and some of 
them are from the pen of Burns ; the second' 
stanza is his, and most of the third. Many 
songs on the same subject and to the same 
air were once current in Scotland : in Hogg's 
Jacobite Relics another version may be found : 
there are stray verses, too, worthy of being 
gathered : — 

' We'll o'er the water, we '11 o'er the sea, 

We '11 o'er the water to Charlie; 

The mirkest night will draw to light — 

There's sunshine yet for Charlie.' 

One version takes the song from the lips 
of a soldier, and gives it to those of a lady. 
President Forbes bears testimony to the violent 
admiration of the Scottish ladies for the exiled 
prince, and Ave have the assurance of Ray that 
they would not listen to reason, but were Jaco- 
bites, one and all." — Cunningham.] 



% 2ao3e4mo' bg mj) 3£arly OTalfe. 



Tune — The Rose-bud. 



A rose-bud by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 

All on a dewy morning. 
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
In a' its crimson glory spread 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 

It scents the early morning. 



Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 

Sae early in the morning. 
She soon shail see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 

Awake the early morning. 



So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair ! 
On trembling string, or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 

That tends thy early morning. 
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 

That watch 7 d thy early morning. 



[The Rose-bud was composed in honour of 
Miss Jean Cruikshanks, daughter of William 
Cruikshanks, of St. James's-square, one of the 
masters of the High School of Edinburgh. To 
the same young lady was addressed that sweet 
and tender poem, beginning — 

"Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay."] 

The air was composed by David Sillar. 



$&attlut% 2ftoarm> Wlillis. 



Tune — Rattlin', roarin' Willie. 



O rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

O, he held to the fair, 
An' for to sell his fiddle, 

An' buy some other ware ; 
But parting wi' his fiddle, 

The saut tear blin't his e'e 5 
And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye 're welcome hame to me ! 



O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

O sell your fiddle sae fine ; 
O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

And buy a pint o' wine ! 
If I should sell my fiddle, 

The warl' would think I was mad ; 
For mony a rantin' day, 

My fiddle and I hae had. 



As I cam by Crochallan, 
I cannily keekit ben — 

Rattlin', roarin' Willie 

Was sitting at yon board en' ; 



Sitting at yon board en', 
And amang guid companie ; 

Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
Ye 're welcome hame to me ! 



["The hero of this chant," says Burns, 
" was one of the worthiest fellows in the world 
— William Dunbar, Esq., writer to the Signet, 
Edinburgh, and colonel of the Crochallan 
corps — a club of wits, who took that title at 
the time of raising the Fencible regiments." 
The Rattlin', roarin' Willie of Border song was 
another sort of person : — 

' ' Our Willie 's away to Jeddart, 

To dance on the rood-day ; 
A sharp sword by his side, 

A fiddle to cheer his way. 
The joyous thairms o' his fiddle, 

Rob Roole he handled rude ; 
And Willie left New-Mill banks, 

Red wat wi' Robin's blude." 

Willie was pursued by Elliot of Stobbs, and 
taken sleeping among the broom in one of the 
links of Ousenam-water. What happened to 
him may be gathered from another stanza ; — 

" Now may the name of Elliot 

Be cursed frae firth to firth, 
He has fettered the gude right hand 

That keepit the land in mirth ; 
That keepit the land in mirth, 

And charmed maids' hearts frae dool ; 
O sair will they waut thee, Willie, 

When birks are bare at Yule."] 



Braking aitgrg WinUx'& J^tormg. 



Tune — Neil Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny. 



Where, braving angry winter's storms, 

The lofty Ochels rise, 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes ; 
As one who by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam, 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 



Blest be the wild sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour, 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, 

When first I felt their pow'r ! 
The tyrant death, with grim controul, 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



[The heroine of this fine song was Margaret 



BONNIE CASTLE GORDON, ETC. 



375 I 



Chalmers. The Poet calls her "one of the 
most accomplished of women."] 



C$1) tc 29 miliar. 



Tune— Johnny M'Gill. 



O, wilt thou go wi' me, 

Sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 
O, wilt thou go wi' me, 

Sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 
Wilt thou ride on a horse, 

Or be drawn in a car, 
Or walk by my side, 

O sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 

ii. 

I care na thy daddie, 

His lands and his money, 
I care na thy kin, 

Sae high and sae lordly : 
But say thou wilt hae me 

For better for warn* — 
And come in thy coatie, 

Sweet Tibbie Dunbar ! 



[The air to which Burns wrote this pleasant 
'ittle song was composed by John M'Gill, a 
fiddler of Girvan, who named it after himself, 
riie following words have been added to the 
iong :— 

" O, see yon green mountain 

Beneath yon bright star ! 
O, see yon moon shining 

On turret and scaur ! 
O, haste thee and mount thee, 

For we maun fly far ; 
It is time to be going, 

Sweet Tibbie Dunbar. 
O, farha'e I ridden, love, 

All for to see thee ; 
Much ha'e I bidden, love, 

All to be near thee ; 
For he that loves truly 

Maun dree an' maun daur — 
So come now or never, 

Sweet Tibbie Dunbar !"] 



Hream^ tfjat glfoe tn <&mnt plains. 



Tune— Morag, 



Streams that glide in orient plains, 
Never bound by winter's chains ! 
Glowing here on golden sands, 



*[" The oldest title," says Burns, " I ever heard to this air, 
was 'The Highland Watch's Farewell to Ireland.' The 
chorus I picked up from an old woman in Dumblane ; the 
rest of the song is mine." Part of the farm of Mossgiel 



There commix'd with foulest stains 
From tyranny's empurpled bands : 

These, their richly-gleaming waves, 

I leave to tyrants and their slaves ; 

Give me the stream that sweetly laves 
The banks by Castle Gordon. 

ii. 

Spicy forests, ever gay, 
Shading from the burning ray, 

Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
Or the ruthless native's way, 

Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil : 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slave, 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 

The storms, by Castle Gordon. 

in. 
Wildly here without controul, 
Nature reigns and rules the whole ; 

In that sober pensive mood, 
Dearest to the feeling soul, 

She plants the forest, pours the flood : 
Life's poor day I'll musing rave, 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 

By bonnie Castle Gordon. 



[Burns conceived the idea of these verses 
during his too brief visit to Gordon Castle in 
1787 : he wrote them down as he hurried on to 
the south, and enclosed them to James Hoy, 
then residing as librarian with his Grace of 
Gordon. The duchess guessed them to be 
written by Dr. Beattie, and when told they 
were by Burns, she wished they had been writ- 
ten in the Scottish language. She afterwards 
sent a copy of the song to a Mrs. McPherson. 
in Badenoch, who sang Morag, and other 
Gaelic songs, in great perfection. The captious 
humour of Nicol, it will be remembered, short- 
ened the stay of the Poet in the north.] 



Pig $?an:g i»aS a ©allant 6ag. 



Tune — Highlander' s Lament.* 
I. 

My Harry was a gallant gay, 
Fu' stately strode he on the plain ; 

But now he's banish'd far away, 
I'll never see him back again. 

for him back again ! 

O for him back again ! 

1 wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land, 

For Highland Harry back again. 



bears the name of Knockhaspie's land: the Poet recollected 
this when he modified the chorus from recitation : it is almosf 
needless to add that "The Highland Watch " is the gallant 
forty-second regiment : and that Highland Harry was Prince 



376 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



When a' the lave gae to their bed, 
I wander dowie up the glen ; 

I set me down and greet my fill, 
And aye I wish him back again. 

in. 
O were some villains hangit high, 

And ilka body had their ain ! 
Then I might see the joyfn' sight, 

My Highland Harry back again. 

for him back again ! 
O for him back again ! 

1 wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land 
For Highland Harry back again. 



%\)z Catlar. 



Tune— The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' 



The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a', 
The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a' ; 
The blankets were thin, and the sheets they 

were sma', 
The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'. 



; The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill, 
\ The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill ; 

The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still, 
| She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill. 



Gie me the groat again, canny young man ; 
Gie me the groat again, canny young man ; 
The day it is short, and the night it is lang, 
The dearest siller that ever I wan ! 



Henry Stuart, the last male of the ancient Scottish line. 
That prince lived to a good old age, and when he died a 
monument was raised to his memory at the expense of 
George IV., sculptured by the skilful hand of Canova. — 

lUNNINGHAM.J 

[Instead of the Highland Harry here alluded to being 
IVince Henry Stuart, he was the second son of a Highland 
chieftain who came down to the Garioch, a district in Aber- 
deen-shire, and made love to Miss Jeannie Gordon, daughter 
to the Laird of Knockhaspie. This lady was afterwards mar- 
ried to her cousin Habichie Gordon, second son of the Laird 
of Rhynie. A farther interesting fact is mentioned by Mr. 
Buchan of Aberdeen, that sometime after the iady had been 
married, Harry Lumsdale, the hero of the song, and her for- 
mer lover, accidentally met her ; and while in the act of shak- 
ingher kindly by the hand, was treacherously assailed by her 
husband, who, drawing his sword, lopped off several of Lums- 
dale's fingers. This the young man took so much to heart that 
he died shortly after. 

The following are a few verses of the old song, which is 
given entire in Hogg and Motherwell's edition of Burns.— 
Vol. ii. p. 197- 

Then fare ye weel, my Jeannie fair, 
Ijin' to my suit ye ii nae comply ; 

Now for your sake I'll never come 
To court a wife sae far away. 



There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
There's some that are dowie, I trow wad be fain 
To see the bit tailor come skippin' again. 



Of the present song, the second verse and the 
fourth are by Burns : the rest is very old : the 
air is beautiful, and is played by the Corpora- 
tion of Tailors at their annual elections and 
processions. Pennycuik wrote a poem in hon- 
our of the trade : a tailor, he said, was accounted 
by this sarcastic world the ninth part of a man, 
whereas he was even more than a whole one. 
The chalk, the shears, the thimble, and the 
thread, when guided by a scientific eye, pro- 
duced garments of such beauty as hid the im- 
perfections of the human frame, and enabled 
the lank and the mis-shapen to assume the port 
of gods. Even the Bard had reason to rejoice : — 

" My breeks were such an arrant clout, 
No longer I could go decent out." 

The shears, the needle, and the goose do their 
work so much to his satisfaction that he ex- 
claims, at the close of his meritorious rhyme, — 

" I vow the tailor is more than man !" 

The two following appear to have furnished 
Burns with the ideas of the present song. The 
first is to be found in Herd's collection. 

The tailor came to clout the claise, 

Sic a braw fellow ! 
He fill'd the house a' fu' of fleas, 

Damn down and daffin down. 
He fill'd the house a' fu' of fleas, 

Daffin down and dilly. 

The lassie slept ayont the fire, 

Sic a braw hizzy ! 
Oh ! she was a' his heart's desire, 

Daffin down, &c, 



Then Harry's on the Murray road, 
And Jeannie to Knockhaspie gane, 

Wi' mony a heavy sigh and sob, 
For Harry Lumsdale back again. 

for him back again ! 

O for him back again ! 

1 would gie a' Knockhaspie's land, 
For ae shake 0' my Harry's hand. 

Harry gaed in by yon stane park, 

Sometimes light, and sometimes dark, 

By a' the lads that I do see, 
My Harry is the lad for me.] 

* The chorus of this song was taken from a very old one of 
the same name, which follows. — 

The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles and a', 
The tailor fellthro' the bed, thimbles and a', 
The beddie was narrow, the sheetie was sma', 
He came wi' a rizzle, and rave them in twa. 

The beddie was tied frae head to feet, 
Wi' ropes o' hay that were wondrous sweet, • 
And by came the calfie and ate them awa',— 
Deal hooiy, my laddie, the beddie will fa*. 



SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME.— ROSY MAY. 



377 



The lassie she fell fast asleep, 


Ay wakin O, 


Sic a braw hizzy ! 


Wakin ay and wearie ; 


The tailor close to her did creep ; 
Daffin down, and daffin down. 


Come a pleasant dream, 
Waft me to my dearie." 


The tailor close to her did creep, 
Daffin down and dilly. 


There is another version of this song entirely 
in the poet's hand-writing, entitled " When I 


The tailor he came here to sew, 
And weel he kent the way to woo, 


sleep I dream," in which the first verse is 
omitted, and the third reads as follows :- 



And aye he pried the lassie's mou, 
As he gaed but and ben, O ; 

Sae weel's he kent the way o't, 
The way o't, the way o't; 
Sae weel's he kent the way o't, 
That she did love the game, O. 

[There are other two stanzas to this old ditty, 
! but in the present age they are scarcely admis- 
! sible.] 



^tmmcv'S a pleasant Ctme. 

Tune — Aye waukin o'. 



Simmer's a pleasant time / 
Flow'rs of ev'ry colour ; 

The water rins o'er the heugh, 
And I long for my true lover. 

Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 



When I sleep I dream, 
When I wauk I'm eerie ; 

Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dear' 



Lanely night comes on, 

A' the lave are sleepin' ; 
I think on my bonnie lad, 

And I bleer my een with greetin'. 

Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie ; 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 



The first verse is by Burns ; the remainder 
had only the benefit of his revisal. Tytler and 
Ritson unite in considering this one of our oldest 
melodies. 

Some of the old verses of this song are still 
held in remembrance ; they have a spice of the 
ridiculous, and also of the gentle : 

" I sat down and wrote 
My true love a letter ; 
My love canna read 

I love him a' the better ; 



" Lanely night comes on, 

A' this house are sleeping, 
I think on the bonnie lad 

That has my heart a keeping." 



Beta are o' 35rjnme $mt. 



Tune— Ye Gallants bright. 



Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right, 

Beware o' bonnie Ann ; 
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae jimply lae'd her genty waist, 

That sweetly ye might span. 

ii. 
Youth, grace, and love, attendant move, 

And pleasure leads the van : 
In a' their charms, and conquering arms, 

They wait on bonnie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands, 

But love enslaves the man ; 
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', 

Beware o' bonnie Ann ! 



[The heroine of this song was Ann Master- 
ton, daughter of Allan Masterton, one of the 
Poet's steadfast friends, and author of the air 
of " Strathallan's Lament." She is now Mrs. 
Derbishire, and resides in London. In her 
father's house the Poet passed many happv 
evenings.] 



CT1)W ros'g ffelap tomcS in tot' Jflafosrs. 



Tune — The Gardener wi' his paidle. 



When rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers, 
Then busy, busy, are his hours — 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 
The crystal waters gently fa' ; 
The merry birds are lovers a' ; 
The scented breezes round him blaw— 

The gard'ner wi' his paidle# 



378 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



When purple morning starts the hare 

To steal upon her early fare, 

Then thro' the dews he maun repair — 

The gard'ner \vi' his paidle. 
When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws of nature's rest, 
He flies to her arms he lo'es the best— 

The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 



[" In other days every trade and vocation had 
a tune to dance or march to : the air of this 
song is the march of the gardeners : the title 
only is old — the rest is the work of Burns. 
Song was once as natural to man as music 
is to the birds of the air ; but hard work — 
incessant drudgery rather — has silenced song at 
the plough — at the loom — in the forge — in the 
garden — at the carpenter's bench, and at the 
mason's banker. A song is seldom heard in 
the land now, save when some ragged wretch 
raises i a melancholious croon' as he holds 
out his hat for alms. Perhaps the ploughman 
still chants an air as he turns his furrow, and 
the shepherd still sings as he watches his lambs 
among the pastoral mountains : in the cities 
music is mute, save when hired ; the pale 
mechanic has so much to endure in keeping 
his soul and body together that song is out of 
the question. Music with him has died into ' a 
quaver of consternation.' " — Cunningham.] 



23Iooinhtg f^etlp. 



Tune— On a bank of Flowers. 



On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, 

For summer lightly drest, 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay, 

With love and sleep opprest ; 
When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood, 

Who for her favour oft had sued, 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 

And trembled where he stood. 



Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd, 

Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd, 

It richer cly'd the rose. 
The springing lilies sweetly prest, 

Wild — wanton, kiss'd her rival breast ; 



* [" Written in honour of the anniversary of the marriage 
of Mr. and Mrs. Riddel, of Friars-Carse. The sense, wit, 
and loveliness of the lady were sung in the same strain in 
which the contest for the Whistle is celebrated. In John- 
son s Musical Museum the air is maiked as the composition 
of Mr. Riddel ; but, as Mr. Thomson remarks, " If it be so. 
Burns' silence as to that circumstance is unaccountable, 
considering how eagerly he inquired after the origin of our 



He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd— 
His bosom ill at rest. 

hi. 

Her robes, light waving in the breeze, 

Her tender limbs embrace ! 
Her lovely form, her native ease, 

All harmony and grace ! 
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 

A faltering, ardent kiss he stole ; 
He gaz'd, lie wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 

And sigh'd his very soul. 

IV. 

As flies the partridge from the brake, 

On fear-inspired wings, 
So Nelly, starting, half-awake, 

Away affrighted springs : 
But Willie follow'd — as he should, 

He overtook her in the wood ; 
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 

Forgiving all and good. 



[This song is an improvement on an English 
lyric, which is given in Allan Ramsay's Tea 
Table Miscellany. The first verse is as fol- 
lows ; — 

" On a bank of flowers 
In a summer day, 
Inviting and undrest, 
In her bloom of youth 
Fair Celia lay, 
With love and sleep opprest ; 
When a youthful swain 
With admiring eyes, 
Wished that he durst 

The sweet maul surprise." 

The second verse is very free and graphic ; the 
third contains a pretty image ; — 

"All amaz'd he stood, 

With her beauties fir'd, 
And blest the courteous wind ; 

Then in whispers -sigh'd, 

And the gods desir'd 
That Celia might be kind : 

When with hopes grown bold 
He ad vane' d amain, 

But she laugh' d loud 
In a dream, and again 

RepelPd the amorous swain, j 



Cljc 13 ag afotumtf.* 



Tune — Seventh of November 



The day returns, my bosom burns, 
The blissful day we twa did meet, 



airs." The correspondence betwixt the poet ar.d Johnson is 
unfortunately not extant, otherwise this point would, in all 
probability, have been cleared up." — Cunningham. 

In a letter to Miss Chalmers, dated Ellisland, Sept. l6th, 
1/83, Burns expressly states the air to have been " composed 
by a musical gentleman of my acquaintance, for the anniver- 
sary of his wedding-day, which happens on the 7th of 
November.] 



MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET, ETC. 



379 



Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 
Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. 

Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 
And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 

Than kingly robes, than crowns and _ 

Heaven gave me more — it made thee mine ! 



While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give, 
While joys above my mind can move, 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part, 
The iron hand that breaks our band 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 



ffilv %abe 3iys ftut a VLaMit pet. 



Tune — Lady BadinscotW s Reel. 



My love she 's but a lassie yet, 

My love she 's but a lassie yet j 
We'll let her stand a year or twa, 

She '11 no be half sae saucy yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, O, 

I rue the day I sought her, O ; 
Wha gets her need na say she 's woo'd, 

But he may say he's bought her, O ! 



Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet, 

Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet ; 
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, 

But here I never miss'd it yet. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't, 

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't 5 
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 

An' could na preach for thinkin' o't. 



[Variations abound in this song ; some of 
them are not without merit : — 

" My love she's but a lassie yet, 
My love she's but a lassie yet ; 
When she's drap ripe, she's theirs that like, 
She'll no be half sae saucy yet." 

" We're a' dry wi' drinking o't, 

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 
The piper kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 

And could na play for thinking o't. 
And yon's the moon that's moving, O, 

The hour for maidens' loving, O ; 
But madam moon, till this bowl's done, 

I'll gang nae mair a roving, O !'] 



The title and somo lines are old 5 
song is by Burns.] 



the rest of the 



1 Vak. Sweet and harmless as a child. M.S. 



Sarnie, come trj) me. 



Tune — Jamie, come try me. 



Jamie, come try me, 
Jamie, come try me, 
If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 



If thou should ask my love, 
Could I deny thee ? 

If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 



If thou should kiss me, love, 

Wha could espy thee ? 
If thou wad be my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 

Jamie, come try me, 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 



[" This air is Oswald's," says Burns ; " the 
song is mine." He took the idea from an 
ancient strain, of which these words only are 
remembered : — ■ 

" If ye wad be my love, 
Jamie, come try me." 

Other songs to the same air supply pleasing 
variations : — 

" My heart leaps lightly, love, 

When ye come nigh me ; 
If I had wings, my love, 

Think na I'd fly thee. 
The bright moon and stars, love, 

None else espy thee ; 
And if ye wad win my love, 

Jamie, come try me." 

Stanzas, containing a similar strain of senti- 
ment, abound; — 

" I come from my chamber, 

When the moon's glowing; 
I walk by the streamlet, 

Through the broom flowing ; 
If ye wad woo me, love, 

Wha could deny thee ? 
I'm far aboon fortune, love, 

When I am by thee."] 



JKj) bmime fKa^g. 



Tune— Go fetch to me a Pint 0' Wine. 



Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 
An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS 



That I may drink, before I go, 
A service to my bonnie lassie ; 

The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry ; 

The ship rides by the Berwick-law. 
And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 



The trumpets sound, the banners fly, - 

The glittering spears are ranked ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me lunger wish to tarry ; 
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar — 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 



[The Poet recited this song to his brother 
Gilbert, as a relique of the olden minstrelsy, 
and inquired if he did not think it beautiful? — 
" Beautiful !" said his brother ; " it is not only 
that, but the most heroic of lyrics. Ah ! Robert, 
if you would write oftener that way, your fame 
would be surer." Another account says that 
Gilbert really believed it to be old, and called 
it an unequalled thing. Burns speaks of it to 
Mrs. Dunlop as the work of the old Scottish 
muse : but, in his notes on the Museum, he 
says : — " This air is Oswald's ; the first half- 
stanza of the song is old, the rest mine." It 
was written by Burns out of compliment to the 
feelings of a young officer about to embark for 
a foreign shore, whose ship rode by the Ber- 
wick-law, and who was accompanied to the 
pier of Leith by a young lady — the bonnie 
Mary of the song. 

A complete version of the old song is given 
in Hogg and Motherwell's Edition of Burns, 
from which we select a few stanzas : — 

" As I went out to take the air, 

'Twas on the banks of Diveron water, 
I chose a maid to be my love, 
Were it my fortune for to get her. 

Her equal 's not on Diveron side, 

Nor any part of Gawdie water ; 
I dinna care what may betide, 

In any way, if I could get her 

She's of a genteel middle size, 

Her body's always neat and slender, 

Her lips are sweet as honey pear, 
To which I am an oft pretender. 

When I look to her weel-faur'd face, 
Her lily hands and lovely fingers, 

I clasp her in my arms twa, 

Saying, " Waes my heart that we should sinder." 

Her cheeks are like the crimson rose, 

Her eyes like stars when brightly shining ; 

She is the ^irl I dearly love, 

And I've wish'd lang out of this pining. 

Tho' I had all king Croesus' rents, 
And all possess'd by Alexander ; 



I'd give it all, and ten times more, 
For ae poor night to lie beyond her. 

Ye'll bring me here a pint of wine, 

A server and a silver tassie, 
That I may drink before I gang, 

A health to my ain bonny lassie. 

Ye powers above increase her love, 
That such a prize I may inherit ; 

To gain her love is all I crave, 
And after that we shall be married !" 

The author of the above was Alexander Les- 
ley, Esq. of Edin, on Divern side, and grand- 
father to the late Archbishop Sharp of St. An- 
drew's. The fair one whom he thus immor- 
talizes was named Helen Christie. He sold the 
lands of Edin, and removed to a small farm on 
the estate of Lord Pitsligo, in the parish of 
Pitsligo, where he died, and was buried in the 
churchyard of Banff. A stone to his memory 
marks the spot. The song was composed in the 
year 1636.] 



Ci)e %a\v Pteit, 



Tune — Here's a health to my true love. 



The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 
Concealing the course of the dark winding rill; 
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, ap- 
pear ! 
As autumn to winter resigns the pale year. 
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, 
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown : 
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, 
How quick time is flying, how keen fate pur- 



How long I have liv'd — but how much liv'd in 

vain ! 
How little of life's scanty span may remain ! 
What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has 

worn ! 
What ties, cruel fate in my bosom has torn ! 
How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd ! 
And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, 

how pain'd ! 
This life's not worth having with all it can give — 
For something beyond it poor man sure must 

live. 



[All that Burns says about the authorship of 
" The Lazy Mist " is, " This song is mine." 
The air as well as the name may be found in 
Oswall's Collection : but the olden time has no 
farther claims upon the authorship. 

This song is a favourite with the Scottish 
peasantry. The grave and moralizing strain 
corresponds with the reflecting character of the 
people.] 



OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW 



381 



Clje Captain'* Eatfj). 



Tune — mount and g 



O mount and go, 

Mount and make you ready ; 
O mount and go, 

And be the Captain's Lady. 

i. 

When the drums do beat, 

And the cannons rattle, 
Thou shall sit in state, 

And see thy love in battle. 

ii. 

When the vanquished foe 

Sues for peace and quiet, 
To the shades we'll go, 
And in love enjoy it. 
O mount and go, 

Mount and make you ready ; 
O mount and go, 

And be the Captain's Lady. 



I" Part of this song is old, and part of it by 
3urns: he has not acknowledged it, though 
Cromek saw it among Johnson's papers in the 
Poet's handwriting. Some of the old verses 
are curious : — 

' I will away, 
And I will not tarry : 
I will away, 

And be a captain's lady. 
A captain's lady 
Is a dame of honour : 
She has her maidens 
Ay to wait upon her, 
Ay to wait upon her, 
And get all things. 
I will away 
And be a captain's lady.' 

"■ The conception of the song is superior to the 
execution : the dancing measure is difficult to 
suit with words. 

" A very eminent author has sneered at the 
idea of a lady sitting in state and looking at 
her lover engaged Jn battle : the picture is in its 
nature chivalrous : a tournament gave the ex- 
press image conveyed in the verse of Burns: 
other instances, not only from poetry, but from 
history, might be adduced to prove the accuracy 
ol the most accurate of all poets." — Cunning- 

EAiVt.] 



Witt miUit <§ra» 



W-'ee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet ; 
feel a willow-wand to be him boots & jacket : 



The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and 

doublet, [doublet. 

The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and 



Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet ; 
Twice a lily flower will be him sark and cravat : 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet, 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet. 



[This and the following song are imitations 
of old ballads.] 



<© <&uttl &U comtfi. 



O guid ale comes, and guid ale goes, 
Guid ale gars me sell my hose, 
Sell my hose, and paAvn my shoon, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

I. 

I had sax owsen in a pleugh, 

They drew a' weel eneugh, 
I sell'd them a' just ane by ane ; 

Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

II. 

Guid ale bauds me bare and busy, 

Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, 
Stand i' the stool* when I hae done, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

O guid ale comes, and guid ale goes, 
Guid ale gars me sell my hose, 
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 



[The above song is printed in Johnson's Mu- 
sical Museum, " corrected by R. Burns," and 
has been collated with a copy in the hand- 
writing of the Poet.] 



(31 a* tyt Sirts t§e WUriH can fclafo. 



Tune — Miss Admiral Gordoti's Strathspey. 



Or 5 a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
There wild- woods grow, and rivers row, 

And mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' mv Jean. 



* Stool of repentance. 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tuneful birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green, 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me o' my Jean. 

hi. 

Upon the banks o' flowing Clyde 

The lasses busk them braw ; 
But when their best they hae put on, 

My Jeannie dings them a' : 
In hamely weeds she far exceeds 

The fairest o' the town ; 
Baith sage and gay confess it sae, 

Tho' drest in russet gown. 



The gamesome lamb, that sucks its dam, 

Mair harmless canna be ; 
she has nae taut (if sic ye ca't,) 

Except her love for me ; 
The sparkling dew, o' clearest hue, 

Is like her shining een : 
In shape and air nane can compare 

Wi' my sweet lovely Jean. 



blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft 

Amang the leafy trees, 
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale 

Bring hame the laden bees ; 
And bring the lassie back to me 

That's aye sae neat and clean ; 
Ae smile o' her wad banish care, 

Sae charming is my Jean. 



What sighs and vows amang the knowes 

Hae passed atween us twa ! 
How fond to meet, how wae to part, 

That night she gaed awa ! 
The powers aboon can only ken, 

To whom the heart is seen, 
That nane can be sae dear to me 

As my sweet lovely Jean ! 



[ This is a very popular song, and deservedly 
so. Burns wrote it in honour of his wife, and 
" during the honey-moon," as he archly informs 
us in his notes. The compliment to simple 
rural beauty and pure innocence was never 
more felicitously expressed than in the second 
stanza. The four concluding stanzas do not 
appear in the earlier editions of this song. They 
were subsequently added by Burns, who very 
naturally was fond of the subject. They con- 
tain a part of the author's history, and deserve 
fco be held in remembrance.] 



tettc o'tx tf)c %abt o't. 



Tune — Whistle o'er the lave o't. 



First when Maggy was my care, 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air ; 
Now we're married — spier nae mair — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonnie Meg was nature's child ; * 
Wiser men than me's beguil'd — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 
ii. 
How we live, my Meg and me, 
How we love, and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see ; 

Whistle o'er the lave o't.— 
Wha I wish were maggots' meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see't — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 



[ "The minstrel muse of Scotland supplied 
this air with very merry verses, which may be 
read in Herd ; and sometimes heard sung when 
the punch-bowl is reeking, and 

"The noise and fun grow fast and furious. ' 

Few of the verses will bear quotations : — 

" She sent her daughter to the well, 
Better she had gane hersel ; 
She miss'd a foot, and down she fell — 
Whistle o'er the lave o't." 

Burns composed his song to supersede the 
old verses, and he succeeded. The air was 
composed, some hundred and odd years ago, by 
John Bruce, a musician, belonging to the town 
of Dumfries, whose merits as a player of reel 
tunes on the violin are still held in remembrance. 
Old people said that the heaviest foot became 
light, and the toil-bent frame erect when Bruce 
drew his best bow — and that he made the fiddle 
speak the words of the tune as plain as with a 
tongue. He is celebrated by John Mayne, in 
his poem of the ' Siller Gun. ; " — Cunning- 
ham.] 

[ " The music of this song has long been 
popular. ' Gentle and simple ' have equally 
acknowledged its life - invigorating notes." 
Motherwell,] 



<& can ge labour Its.. 
i. 

O, can ye labour lea, young man, 

An' can ye labour lea ; 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 

Ye'se never scorn me. 

* Var —Sweet and harmless as a child. — MS. 



O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL, ETC, 



383 



1 feed a man at Martinmas, 

Wi' airl- pennies three ; 
An' a' the fau't I fan' wi' him, 

He couldna labour lea. 

in. 

The stibble rig is easy plough'd, 

The fallow land is"free ; 
But wha wad keep the handless coof, 

That couldna labour lea? 



Clje SSanfcS of &tt. 



To thee, lov'd Dee, thy gladsome plains, 
Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd, 

Though prest wi' care, and sunk in woe, 
To thee, I bring a heart unchang'd. 



I love thee, Dee, thy banks and braes, 
Tho' there Remembrance wake the tear; 

For taere he rov'd that brake my heart 
Yet to that heart still fondly dear. 



[This song occurs in Thomson's Collection, 
vol. vi. p. 62. with Burns's name attached to it. 
There is a similar song " To thee lov'd Nit/i," 
in page 427 of this edition, with the exception 
of the second line of the second verse, printed 
in Italics, as above. There are some other 
trifling variations given by Thomson and an 
additional verse by another hand. The present 
version is taken from the original in the Poet's 
own hands.] 



<®, hym # on ^arna^uS' fKH. 



Tune— My love is lost to me. 



O, were I on Parnassus' hill ! 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill 

To sing how dear I love thee. 
But Nith maun be my muse's well, 
My muse maun be thy bonnie sel' ; 
On Corsincon I'll glow'r and spell, 

And write how dear I love thee. 



Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay ! 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day 
I cou'dna sing, I cou'dna say, 

How much, how dear, I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green, 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een — 

By heaven and earth I love thee ! 



By night, by day, a-fleld, at hame, 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 
And aye I muse and sing thy name — 

I only live to love thee. 
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was ran ; 

Till then — and then I'd love thee. 



[In this fine song the Poet welcomed his wife 
to Ellisland: the Nith, his muse's well, was 
flowing at hand ; and Corsincon, his Niths- 
dale Parnassus, was at no great distance. It 
was no sooner written than it became popular : 
he presented a copy to Miss Staig of Dumfries, 
with the following characteristic note: — "Mr. 
Burns presents his most respectful compliments 
to Miss Staig, and has sent her the song. Mr. 
B. begs to be forgiven his delaying so long to 
send it ; and allows Miss S. to impute the neg- 
lect to any cause under heaven, except want of 
respect for her commands. Mr. B. would just 
give the hint to Miss S., tnat, should the re- 
spectful timidity of any of her lovers deny him 
his powers of speech, that then she will teach him 
Mr. Burns's song ; so that the poor fellow may 
not be under the double imputation of being 
neither able to sing nor say." 

The Rev. Hamilton Paul says of this beau- 
tiful song: — "There is nothing in the whole 
circle of lyrical poetry, ancient or modern, to 
be named with it. It bids defiance to compar- 
ison." He then quotes the latter half of the 
second stanza, and exclaims : — " This is what 
may be called the paroxysm of desire. He 
draws the picture from nature, — he becomes 
enamoured, — he forgets himself, he pants for 
breath, he is unable to continue the description, 
— and he gives utterance to his feelings in an 
oath — 

" By heaven and earth I love thee."] 



<& ism mo ilobe von ittlac fair. 



Tune— Hughle Graham. 



O were my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 



384 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



And I a bird to shelter there, 

When wearied on my little wing. 

ii. 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn, 

By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 
But I wad sing, on wanton wing, 

When youtlifu' May its bloom renew'd. 
in. 
O gin my love were yon red rose, 

That grows upon the castle wa', 
And I mysel' a drap o' dew, 

Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! 

IV. 

O ! there beyond expression blest, 
I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 

Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
Till fley'd awa' by Phcebus' light ! 



[The first two stanzas only of this beautiful 
song are by Burns. — The last two are old.] 



turn's' a gaud) in tljte Cttj). 



Tune— Neil Gow's Lament. 



There's a youth in this city, 

It were a great pity 
That he frae our lasses shou'd wander awa' ; 

For he's bonnie an' braw, 

Weel favour'd witha', 
And his hair has a natural buckle an' a'. 

His coat is the hue 

Of his bonnet sae blue : 
His fecket* is white as the new driven snaw ; 

His hose they are blae, 

And his shoon like the slae, 
And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 



For beauty and fortune 

The laddie's been courtin' ; 
Weel - featured, weel-tocher'd, weel -mounted, 
and braw ; 

But chiefly the siller, 

That gars him gang till her, 
The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. 

* Fecket. An under waistcoat with sleeves. 

f The following is a complete copy of the old Song : — 

O Donaldie, Donaldie, where hae you been ? 

A hawking and hunting,— gae make my bed clean ; 

Gae make my bed clean, and stir up the strae, 

My heart's in the Highlands wherever I gae. 

Let's drink and gae hame, boys, let's drink and gae hame, 

If we stay ony langer we'll get a bad name ; 

We'll get a bad name, and we'll fill oursel's fou, 

And the lang woods o' Derry are ill to gae thro'. 

My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 

My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 



There's Meg wi' the mailen 

That fain wad a haen him ; 
And Susie, whose daddy was laird o' the ha' ; 

There's lang-tocher'd Nancy 

Maist fetters his fancy — 
But the laddie's dear sel' he lo'es dearest of a', 



[In his notes to the Museum, Burns says— 
" This air is claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it a 
Lament for his brother. The first half-stanza of 
the song is old, the rest is mine." " It must be 
borne in mind that the Poet was sometimes sum- 
moned hastily to fill up the gaps which time had 
made in ancient song, and that he supplied the 
publisher with the first-fruits of his fancy. Yet, 
even in the most careless of these effusions, there 
is a happiness of thought or of expression which 
few can reach by study."— Cunningham.] 



fto Hearts m tf)e ftigfoUritl*. 



Tune — Failte na Miosg. 



My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not 

here ; 
My heart 's in the Highlands a chasing the deer ; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 

ii. 

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with 

snow ; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; 
Farewell to the forests and wild hanging woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not 

here, 
My heart 's in the Highlands a chasing the deer ; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
My heart 's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 



[" The first half-stanza," says Burns, " of 
this song is old, the rest is mine."f " Burns 



A-chasing the wild deer, and catching the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

O bonny Portmore, ye shine where you charm, 
The more I think on you, the more my heart warms ; 
When I look from you, my heart it is sore, 
When I mind upon Valianty, and on Portmore. 

There are mony words, but few o' the best, 
And he that speaks fewest lives langest at rest ; 
My mind, by experience teaches me so, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

" Donald Cameron was the author of this very beautiful 
and very old song. It is well known to most poetical readers, 
with how little success Burns endeavoured to graft upon this 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 



385 



had the north of Scotland spirit strong within 
him. His language is tinged with that of the 
district of ' The Keith Marischall,' and his love 
of the wild woods and lonesome glens is Celtic 
rather than Saxon. This accounts for his love 
of Ossian's poems : no one can properly feel the 
poetry of those compositions who shares not in 
the blood of the Gael, and is unacquainted with 
Highland scenery and Highland chivalry." — 
Cunningham.] 



Bd)\x HnttevSon, mj> §o. 



Tune— John Anderson, my Jo. 



John Anderson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent ; 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is beld, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

II. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And mony a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither : 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go ; 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 



[Brash and Reid of Glasgow gave what they 
called an improved version of " John Ander- 
son " from the pen of Burns. The following 
are the additional stanzas : — 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

I wonder what you mean, 
To rise so soon in the morning, 

And sit up so late at e'en ; 
Ye'll blear out a' your e'en, John, 

And why should you do so ? 
Gang sooner to your bed at e'en, 

John Anderson, my jo. 



John Anderson, my jo, John, 
When nature first began 



stock a twig of his own rearing. Even Mr. Cunningham, in 
his songs of Scotland, admits the fact, and regrets that he 
could give no more than the first four lines of the original. 
The whole is now, for the first time, given complete, from 
the recitation of a very old person." — Buchan. 

Notwithstanding the specialities enumerated by our friend 
Mr. Buchan, we are inclined to look upon this song as an 
importation from the north of Ireland. The province of 
Ulster, we believe, is still an untrodden field for (he collec- 
tion of ancient Scottish song and ballad lore, which would 
be well worth the while of any one, having sufficient leisure 
and a taste that way, to explore. In a colony, old songs and 
traditions are generally preserved in a higher state of purity 



To try her cannie hand, John, 

Her master-work was man ; 
And you amangthem a', John, 

Sae trig frae tap to toe, 
She prov'd to be nae journey-work, 

John Anderson, my jo.* 
in. 
John Anderson, my jo, John, 

Ye were my first conceit, 
And ye need na think it strange, John, 

Tho' I ca' ye trim and neat : 
Tho' some folks say ye're auld, John, 

I never think ye so, 
But I think ye're aye the same to me, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

IV. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

We've seen our bairns' bairns, 
And yet, my dear John Anderson, 

I'm happy in your arms ; 
And sae are ye in mine, John — 

I'm sure ye'll ne'er say no, 
Tho' the days are gane that we have seen, 

John Anderson, my jo. 
v. 
John Anderson, my jo, John, 

What pleasure does it gie 
To see sae mony sprouts, John, 

Spring'up 'tween you and me / 
And ilka lad and lass, John, 

In our footsteps to go, 
Makes perfect heaven here on earth, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

VI. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

Frae year to year we've past, 
And soon that year maun come, John ; 

Will bring us to our last ; 
But let na that affright us, John, 

Our hearts were ne'er our foe, 
While in innocent delight we liv'd, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

" These additional stanzas," says Currie, 
" though they are in the spirit of our Bard, 
yet every reader of discernment will see they 
are by an inferior hand. They are not, how- 
ever, without merit, and may serve to prolong 
the pleasure which every person of taste must 
feel, from listening to a most happy union of 
beautiful music, with moral sentiments that are 
singularly interesting." 

The old minstrel sings in Percy's Black 
Book of Ballads as follows : — 



Woman. — " John Anderson my jo, 
Come in as ye gae by ; 



and perfection than even in the mother country, for reasons 
obvious to every understanding; for in no other case are tht 
words of the poet more forcibly exemplified, than in the 
affection of the emigrant for all that brings fresh to his heart 
the undying recollection of his native land : 

Where'er I roam, whatever lands I see, 
My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee. 

MOTHEBWEU. 



* The hand of Burns is so vi 
might safely add it, were the 
voice already. 



sible in this verse that a ringer 
long not long enough for the 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



And ye sail get a sheep's head 
Weel baken in a pie, 

Weel baken in a pie, 

And the haggis in a pat ; 

John Anderson my jo, 

Come in an' ye's get that." 

ii. 
Man. -And how do ye, Cummer ? 
And how hae ye thriven ? 
And how mony bairns hae ye ? 
Woman. — Cummer, I hae seven. 

Man. — Are they to your ain guidman ? 
Woman. — Na, Cummer, na ; 

For five of them were gotten, 
When he was awa.* 



(But Hfyxiafiti flourish* &*&$ antJ fai'v. 



Tune — Awa, Whigs, awa. 



Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, 
And bonnie bloom'd our roses ; 

But Whigs cam like a frost in June, 
And wither'd a' our posies. 

CHORUS. 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Ye'll do nae guid at a'. 



Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust — 
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't ; 

And write their names in his black beuk 
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't ! 

in. 

Our sad decay in Church and State 

Surpasses my descriving ; 
The Whigs cam o'er us for a curse, 

And we hae done wi' thriving. 

IV. 

Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap, 
But we may see him wauken ; 

Gude help the day when royal heads 
Are hunted like a maukin ! 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Ye'll do nae gude at a'. 



cient crown's fa'n in the dust," and " Grim 
vengeance lang has ta'en a nap," are from his 
hand. Tradition supplies more : — 

" The deil he heard the strife o' tongues, 
And rampin' cam' amang us ; 
But pitied us sae wi' cursed Whigs, 
He turned an' wadna wrang us." 

The succession of the House of Hanover was 
long resented by the northern minstrels.] 



[Burns trimmed up this Jacobite song for the 
Museum, and added some of its bitterest 
touches : — the verses beginning with " Our an- 



* In the first edition of Bishop Percy's work, the second 
stanza ran thus : — 

" And how do ye, Cummer ? 
And how do ye thrive ? 
And how mony b;urnshae ye? 



Ca* tfje (Eioetf. 



Tune — Ca" the Ewes to the Knowes. 



As I gaed down the water-side, 
There I met my shepherd lad, 
He row'd me sweetly in his plaid, 
And he ca'd me his dearie. 

CHORUS. 

Ca' the ewes to the knowes, 
Ca' them whare the heather grows 
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes. 
My bonnie dearie ! 

ii. 

Will ye gang down the water-side. 

And see the waves sae sweetly glide, 

Beneath the hazels spreading wide ? 

The moon it shines fu' clearly. 

in. 

I was bred up at nae sic school, 
My shepherd lad, to play the fool, 
And a' the day to sit in clool. 
And naebody to see me. 

IV. 

Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet, 
Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, 
And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep, 
And ye sail be my dearie. 



If ye'll but stand to what ye've said, 
I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad, 
And ye may rowe me in your plaid, 
And I sail be your dearie. 



While waters wimple to the sea ; 
While day blinks in the lift sae hie ; 
'Till clay-cauld death sail blin' my e'e, 
Ye sail be my dearie. 



Woman. — Cummer, I Yi&tfive. 

Man. — Are they all to your ain guidman ? 
Woman. — Na, Cummer, na ; 

For three of them were gotten 
When Willie was awa. 



THE BRAES O' B ALLOCH M YLE, ETC. 



387 



Ca' the ewes to the knowes, 
Ca' them whare the heather grows, 
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes, 
My bonnie dearie ! 



[" Much of this sweet pastoral is old ; Burns 
made several changes and emendations in the 
ancient words, and added the concluding lines. 
An old verse or so will show the nature of the 
Poet's alterations : — 

' Yon yowes an' lambs upo' the plain, 
Wi' a' the gear my dad didhain, 
I'se gie thee if thou'lt be my ain, 
My bonnie dearie. 

Come weal, come woe, whate'er betide, 
Gin ye'll be true, I'se be your bride, 
And ye sail row me in your pl.iid, 
My winsome dearie.' 

" The Poet afterwards mused upon the same 
subject and air, and produced a pastoral lyric 
more worthy of his fame than this pieced and 
patched composition. The scene of the new 
song is laid in Cluden side, nigh the ruined 
towers : the flowers and the hazels which flou- 
rish in the verse are to be found on the banks 
of the stream ; and all the singer has to do is to 
add the figure of some one dear to him, and 
the picture of the Poet is complete." — Cun- 
ningham.] 



23ro^e art& Butter. 



O gie my love brose, brose, 
Gie my love brose and butter ; 

For nane in Carrick or Kyle 
Can please a lassie better. 

11. 
The lav'rock lo'es the grass, 

The muirhen lo'es the heather ; 
But gie me a braw moonlight, 

And me and my love together. 



<& mtrrg ijae % fc«n ttttfyin' a l)ttMt. 



Tune — Lord Breadalbane's March. 



O merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, 

And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon ; 
And merry hae I been cloutin' a kettle, 

And kissin' my Katie when a' was done. 
a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, 

An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing, 
A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer, 

An' a' the lang night am as happy 's a king. 



Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins, 

O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave : 
Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linnens, 

And bly the be the bird that sings on her grave ! 
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, 

An' come to my arms and kiss me again ! 
Drunken or sober, here 's to thee Katie ! 

And blest be the day I did it again. 



[" Flax-dressing is a dusty business, nor did 
the Poet love it much ; for he but twice alludes 
to it in his poetry. In his letter to Parker, he 
says of taste in Nithsdale, 

' Here words ne'er crost the muses' heckles, 
Nor limpit in poetic shackles.' 

" In the song before us he goes no deeper 
into the mystery. It is put into the hands of a 
travelling tinker, whose craft extended to the 
repairing of pots and pans, clasping of china, 
making of spoons, and the teething of heckles. 
The flax-dresser, as he pulls the head or handful 
of lint across the steel prongs, is apt, if he pulls 
rashly, to break some of the teeth, which are 
made of sheer steel. To restore these is to teethe 
a heckle." — Cunningham.] 



%l)z braes o' Ballod) nun>. 



' Ballochmule. 



The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea,* 
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, 

But nature sicken'd on the e'e. 
Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the while, 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the Braes 0' Ballochmyle ! 

11. 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, 

Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair ; 
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, 

Again ye'll charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile ; 
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle !f 

[" Maria Whitefoord, eldest daughter of Sir 
John Whitefoord, and now Mrs. Cranston, was 
the heroine of this sweet song ; it was written as a 



* Catrine, in Ayr-shire, the seat of the late Dugald Stewart, 
Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edin- 
burgh. 

| [Var. Nae joys, alas ! for me are here, 
Nae pleasure find I in this soil, 
Until Maria 'gain appear, 
Farewell the braes o' Ballochmyle.] 
2 C 2 



388 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



farewell to the family residence. The scenery- 
is varied and beautiful ; the banks of the river 
are broken into fine dens and glades, and 
clothed with rich wood — part natural, part 
planted. The ancestor of the Whitefoords 
supplied, it is said, the groundwork of the cha- 
racter of Sir Arthur Wardour in the Antiquary : 
one of the family, Caleb Whitefoord, was a 
small Poet and critic, and lived and died in 
London. Ballochmyle passed into the hands of 
Mr. Alexander, a gentleman who had enriched 
himself by trade : it is now the property of his 
son, who resides almost constantly on the estate, 
and, by his attention to the condition of his pea- 
santry, supplies worthily the place of the ancient 
family." — Cunningham.] 

The song was first published in the Musical 
Museum, to a tune by Allan Masterton. 



lament. 

WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE POET WAS 
ABOUT TO LEAVE SCOTLAND * 



Tune— The Banks of the Devon. 



O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone moun- 
tain straying, [rave, 
Where the wild winds of winter incessantly 
What woes wring my heart while intently sur- 
veying [wave ! 
The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the 



Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to wail, 
Ere ye toss me afar from my lov'd native shore ; 

Where the flow'r which bloom'd sweetest in 
Coila's green vale, 
The pride of my bosom, my Mary's no more ! 



No more by the banks of the streamlet we'll 

wander, [wave ; 

And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the 

No more shall my arms cling with fondness 

around her, ("grave. 

For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her 



No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my 
breast, 
I haste with the storm to a far- distant shore; 
Where unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall 
rest, 
And joy shall revisit my bosom no more. 



Co Plavp tn flatten. 



Tune— Death of Captain Cook. 



Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast 
II. 
That sacred hour can I forget ? 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love ? 
Eternity willf not efface 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 

in. 
Ajrr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene ; 
The flow'rs sprang Avanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on every spray — 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west, 

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 

IV. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 

A_nd fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but th' impression stronger makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful J rest ? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast 



* Originally published in the Dumfries Journal. 



[The story of Mary Campbell, and the his- 
tory of this exquisite soug, have been related in 
the life of the Poet. She was from Campbell- 
Town, in Argyll -shire, and lived at Coilsfield/ii; 
the humble situation of dairy-maid to Colonel 
Montgomery. She also lived, at one time, as 
nursery-maid in the family of Burns's friend 
and patron, Gavin Hamilton, Esq., of Mauch- 
line, where Burns visited her clandestinely. She 
was handsome rather than lovely, and had the 
neat foot, and the low melodious voice which 
the Poet loved. Burns was delighted with her 
good sense, and on Sundays loved to show her 
his favourite' walks on the banks of the Ayr, in 
the woods of Coilsfield, and by the stream of 
Faile, where a thorn is pointed out as connected 

t Var.- Can.— Poet's own MS. % Var.~ Heavenly.— MS. 



EVAN BANKS.— EPPIE ADAIR. 



389 



with their story. Her death, which was sud- 
den, he mourned with much sincerity, and on 
the anniversary of the day on which she died 
he was observed to be dull and low spirited. 

This affecting and sublime ode was the fruit 
of one of those annual fits of melancholy mus- 
ing. It seems to ha ;e been composed at the 
time intimated in the first verse. The Poet re- 
quested Johnson to set it to the plaintive air of 
Captain Cook. 

Lockhart characterizes "Mary in Heaven" 
as the " noblest of all his ballads."] 



3£ban Eanfe*. 



Tune— Savourna L'elish. 



Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires, 
The sun from India's shore retires : 
To Evan Banks with temp'rate ray, 
Home of my youth, he leads the day. 

ii. 
Oh ! banks to me for ever dear ! 
Oh ! stream whose murmurs still I hear ! 
All, all my hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. 

III. 
And she, in simple beauty drest, 
Whose image lives within my breast ! 
Who, trembling, heard my parting sigh, 
And long pursued me with her eye ; 

IV. 

Does she, with heart unchanged as mine, 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? 
Or, where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ? 

v. 
Ye lofty banks that Evan bound ! 
Ye lavish woods that wave around, 
And o'er the stream your shadows throw, 
Which sweetly winds so far below ; 

VI. 

What secret charm to mem'ry brings 
All that on Evan's border springs ! 
Sweet banks ! ye bloom by Mary's side : 
Blest stream ! she views thee haste to Clyde. 

VII. 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absence lost ! 
Return, ye moments of delight ; 
With richer treasures bless my sight ! 



* Those who are acquainted with the old song, called 

" The Earl of Kilmarnock's Lament," will be at no loss to 

trace a similiarity to Eppie Adair. We give the first two 

verses : — 

Hey my Eppie, 
And how my Fppie 
Sae lang as she 11 think ere she see me now: 



VIII. 

Swift from this desert let me part, 
And fly to meet a kindred heart ! 
Nor more may aught my steps divide 
Erom that dear stream which flows to Clyde. 



[This exquisite song is printed in the " Musi- 
cal Museum," p. 516, with Burns's name at- 
tached to it. A copy of the first verse, in his 
own hand-writing, with the music, also exists. 
The Poet imagines himself in India, and his 
allusion to Mary in Heaven is extremely pa 
thetic.l 



€p)u'e Sfoatr. 



Tunc — My Eppie. 



An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie ! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
By love, and by beauty, 
By law and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 

My Eppie Adair ! 



An' O ! my Eppie 
My jewel, my Eppie ! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair? 
A' pleasure exile me, 
Dishonour defile me, 
If e'er I beguile thee, 

My Eppie Adair ! 



[Other verses, corresponding in measure and 
sentiment with this clever little song, may be 
found in our collections : — 

" An' O ! my fair one, 
My gentle, my rare one, 
My heart is a sair one, 

O'erladen wi' care. 
Frae pleasure exile me, 
Dishonour defile me, 
If e'er I beguile thee, 

My Eppie Adair !" 

Burns found the air under the name of " My 
Eppie," in Oswald's Caledonian Pocket Com- 
panion, and gave it the benefit of his genius. 



In strong prison I lie, 

Has no power to fly, 
And I'll never return to my Eppie, I trow. 

Farewell to my Eppie, 

My wish be wi' Eppie, 
Too soon will my Eppie receive my Adieu ; 

My sentence is past, 

The morn is my last. 
And I'll never win hame to my Eppie, I trc* 



390 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



There is sometimes more true genius visible in 
these hasty and sketchy things than in elaborate 
compositions.] 



fjt battle of ^mfejfttotr. 



Tune — Cameronian Rant. 



" O cam ye here the fight to shun, 
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man 1 
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see, man V 
I saw the battle sair and tough, 
And reekin'-red ran mony a sheugh, 
My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough, 
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, 
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 

Wha giaum'd at kingdoms three, man. 



The red-coat lads, wi' black cockauds, 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd, 

And mony a bouk did fa', man : 
The great Argyle led on his files, 

I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles : 
They hack'd and hash'd, while broadswords 

clash'd, 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 

'Till fey men died awa, man. 

in. 
But had ye seen the philibegs, 

And skyrin tartan trews, man ; 
When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large, 
When baiginets o'erpower'd the targe, 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 



* [" This Poem," says Gilbert Burns, " I am pretty well 
convinced, is not my brother's, but more ancient than his 
birth." Johnson, in his Musical Museum, assigns it to 
Burns. On a comparison with the original song, it appears 
that Burns has both modified and improved his version. He 
was offended with Barclay, a dissenting minister in Edin- 
burgh, for having handled the Highland clans and chiefs ra- 
ther abruptly, in his rhyming dialogue between Will Lick- 
ladle and Tarn C'eancogue, on the battle of Sherriff-muir. 
Some of the verses of Barclay have both spirit and humour. 
The following are those from which Burns has selected for 
the subject of his song: — 

WILL. 

Pray came you here the fight to shun? 

Or keep the sheep with me, man? 
Or were you at the Sheriff-moor, 
And did the battle see, man ? 

Pray tell me whilk of the parties won 
For well I wat I saw them run, 
Both south and north when they begun, 
To pell and mell, and kill and fell, 
With muskets snell, and pistols knell, 
>.nd some to hell 

Did flee, man. 

TAM, 

But, my dear Will, I kenna still 
Whilk o' the twa did lose, man ; 



Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath 
Drew blades o' death, 'till, out o' breath, 
They fled like frighted doos, man. 



" O how deil, Tam, can that be true ? 

The chace gaed frae the north, man ; 
I saw mysel they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 
And at Dunblane, in my ain sight, 
They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight ; 
But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut ; 
And mony a huntit, poor red-coat, 

For fear amaist did swarf, man !" 



" My sister Kate cam up the gate 

Wi' crowdie unto me, man ; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Their left-hand general had nae skill, 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neebors' blude to spill ; 
For fear by foes, that they should lose 
Their cogs 0' brose, they scar'd at blows, 

And hameward fast did flee, man." 



They've lost some gallant gentlemen, 
Amang the Highland clans, man ; 

11 1 fear my Lord Panmure is slain," 
Or in his en'mies' hands, man : 

Now wad ye sing this double fight, 

Some fell for wrang, and some for right ; 

And mony bade the warld guid-night ; 

Say pell, and mell, wi' muskets' knell, 

How Tories fell, and Whigs to hell 
Flew off in frighted bands, man.* 



For weel I wat they had good skill 
To set upo' their foes, man ; 

The red-coats they are train' d, you see, 
The clans always disdain to flee, 
Wha then should gain the victory ? 
But the Highland race, all in a brace, 
With a swift pace, to the Whigs' disgrace, 
Did put to chase 

Their foes man. 

WILL. 

Now how deil, Tam, can this be true? 
I saw the chace gae north, man. 

TAM. 

But well I wat they did pursue 
Them even unto Forth, man. 
Frae Dumblain they ran in my own sight, 
And got o'er the bridge with all their might, 
And those at Stirling took their flight. 
Gif only ye had been wi' me, 
You had seen them flee of each degree, 
For fear to die 

Wi' sloth, man 

WILL. 

My sister Kate came o'er the hill, 

Wi' croivdie unto me, man, 
She swore she saw them running still 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man. 
The left wing gen'ral had na skill, 



WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT. 



391 



SJouncj $oduj?. 



Tune— Young Jockey. 



Young Jockey was the blythest lad 

In a' our town or here awa : 
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud, 

Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'. 
He roos'd my een, sae bonnie blue, 

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma', 
And aye my heart came to my mou' 

When ne'er a body heard or saw. 
II. 
My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw ; 
And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain, 

When Jockey's owsen haraeward ca'. 
An' aye the night comes round again, 

When in his arms he taks me a', 
An' aye he vows he'll be my ain, 

As lang 's he has a breath to draw. 



["Johnson put the letter Z to this song de- 
noting that it was old, with additions. What 
is old of it may be found in Oswald's Collec- 
tion, under the title of — 

' Jockie was the blythest lad in a' our town.' 

With the exception of three or four lines, it is 
the work of Burns. The Poet often sat down 
to modify old strains to suit the music, and rose 
after having penned verses wholly, or almost 



The Angus lads had no good will 
That day their neighbours' blood to spill ; 
For fear by foes that they should lose 
Their cogues of brose, all crying woes, 
Yonder them goes, 

D'ye see, man ? 

TAIL 

I see but few like gentlemen 

Araang yon frighted crew, man ; 
I fear my lord Panmure be slain, 
Or that he's ta'en just now, man ; 
For tho' his officers obey, 
His cowardly commons run away, 
For fear the red coats them should slay; 
The sodgers' hail make their hearts fail, 
See how they scale, and turn their tail, 
And plow, man. 

WILL. 

But Scotland has not much to say, 

For such a fight as this is, 
Where baith did fight, baith run away, 
The devil take the miss is 

That ev'ry officer was not slain 
That run that day, and was not ta'en, 
Either flying from or to Dumblain ; 
When Whig and Tory, in their ' fury,' 
Strove for glory, to our sorrow 
The sad stury 

Hush is.] 
* In the Harp of Caledonia we find an interesting sequel 
to this Song, by its Editor, Mr. Struthers, the author of the 
"Poor Man's Sabbath," alike creditable to the head and 
Ueart of that amiable individual. 

The night it flew, the grey cock crew, 

Wi' blythesome clap o'er a' the three ; 
But pleasure beam'd ilk moment new, 
And happier still they hop'd to be. 



wholly, new. He had no pleasure in allowing 
an old song to pass through his hands without 
bestowing upon it a few characteristic touches. 
to mend the humour and improve the sentiment 
It will generally be found that he has bestowed 
life and truth wherever he made an alteration, 
and that he has obeyed the spirit of the oh 
composition." — Cunningham.] 



h miWz bwfo'tf a $*cfc o'flflaut.* 



Tune— Willie brew'd a Peck o' Maut. 



O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 
And Rob and Allan cam to see ; 

Three blither hearts, that lee lang night, 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 

CHORUS. 

We are na fou, we 're nae that fou, 
But just a drappie in our e'e ; 

The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. 

11. 
Here are we met, three merry boys, 

Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 
And mony a night we've merry been. 

And mony mae we hope to be ! 

in. 

It is the moon — I ken her horn. 
That's blinkin in the lift sae hit- ; 



For they were na fou, na, nae that ibu, 

But just a drap in ilka e'e ; 
The cock might craw, the day might daw, 

They sippled aye the barley bree. 

The moon that from her silver horn 

Poui d radiance over tower and tree, 
Before the fast approaching morn, 
Sank far behind yon western sea. 
Yet they were na fou, na, nae that fou, 

But just a drap in ilka e'e ; 
The cock might craw, the day might daw, 
They sippled aye the barley bree. 

And soon the gowden beams o' day 

Ting'd a' the mountain taps sae hie, 
And burnies' sheen with bickering play 
Awoke the morn's wild melody. 

But aye they sat, and aye they sang. 

" There's just a wee "drap in our e'e ; 
And monie a day we've happy been, 
And monie mae we hope to be." 
That moon still fills her silver horn, 

But ah ! her beams nae mair they see : 
Nor crowing cock or dawning morn 
Disturbs the worm"s dark revelry. 

For they were na fou, na, nae that fou, 

But clay-cauld death has clos'd ilk e'e ; 
And waefu', now the gowden morn 
Beams on the graves o' a' the three. 

Nae mair in learning Willie toils, 

Nor Allan wakes the melting lay, 
Nor Rab, wi' fancy-witching wiles, 
Beguiles the hour o' dawning day. 
For though they were na very fou, 
That wicked wee drap in the e'e 
Has done its turn — untimely, now 
The green grass waves o'er a' the three.] 



392 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
But, by my sooth, she '11 wait a wee ! 

IV. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa', 
A cuckold, coward loon is he ! 
Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 
He is the king araang us three ! 
We are na fou, we 're nae that fou, 

But just a drappie in our e'e ; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
And aye we '11 taste the barley bree. 



[" The scene of this song is Laggan, in 
Dunscore, a small estate which Nicol bought 
that he might be near Burns; which induced 
the latter to call him ironically "The illus- 
trious lord of Laggan's many hills." It was 
composed to commemorate the "house-heat- 
ing," as entering upon possession of a new 
house is called in Scotland. William Nicol 
made the browst strong and nappy ; and Allan 
Masterton, then on a visit at Dalswinton, 
crossed the Nith, and, with the Poet and his 
celebrated punch-bowl, reached Laggan 

" A wee before the sun gaed down." 

The sun, however, rose on their carousal, if the 
tradition of the land may be trusted. 

a t \y e i mc [ sucn a joyous meeting/ says 
Burns, ' that Masterton and I agreed, each in 
our own way, to celebrate the business.' Allan 
accordingly composed the air, and Robert wrote 
the verses. They became almost instantly popu- 
lar. The punch was made, it is said, by the 
experienced hand of Nicol, a jovial man and 
no flincher ; and more merry stories and more 
queer tales were told on that night, as a person 
who waited on them asserted, " than wad hae 
made a book." It was the pleasure of Nicol, 
sometimes, when at table, to assert that, as a 
punishment for keeping other than sober com- 
pany, he was enduring a sort of hell upon 
earth — nay, he would declare that he was dead 
and condemned — suffering penal torments — 
and relate conversations which he had held 
with the Prince of Darkness concerning friends 
left behind. These strange sallies had gene- 
rally an ironical meaning ; and once, it is said, 
when glancing at the Poet's irregularities, the 
latter exclaimed — 

' Losh, man, hae mercy wi' your knatch — 
Your bodkin's bauld.' 

" The bowl in which Willie made the punch 
for this carousal is formed of Inverary marble, 
and was wrought for the Poet by his father-in- 
law, a skilful mason. On the death of Burns, 
it was rimmed and bottomed with silver, and 
presented to Alexander Cunningham. On his 
death, after several vicissitudes of fortune, it 
fell into the hands of my friend Archibald 



Hastie, of London (now the honourable mem- 
ber for Paisley), who, sensible of the worth 
and the use of a relic so precious, preserves 
it with proper care ; and duly, on the 25th of 
January, sets it before a select company of 
Burns-ites, full of the reeking liquor which its 
great owner loved. An Irish gentleman wished 
to know, it is said, if gold could buy it ; but, 
observing the owner shake his head, exclaimed, 
' It is very well where it is, but I wished to 
take it to Ireland with me, for Burns, to be a 
Scotchman, had more of the right Irish heart 
about him than any boy that ever penned 
ballads.' " — Allan Cunningham.] 



flappw dfrtmtte'Ijtp. 

Here around the ingle bleezing, 
Wha sae happy and sae free ; 

Tho' the northern wind blaws freezing, 
Frien'ship warms baith you and me. 

CHORUS. 

Happy we are a' thegither, 
Happy we '11 be yin an' a', 

Time shall see us a' the blyther 
Ere we rise to gang awa'. 

II. 

See the miser o'er his treasure 

Gloating wi' a greedy e'e ! 
Can he feel the glow o' pleasure 

That around us here we see ? 

in. 

Can the peer, in silk and ermine, 
Ca' his conscience half his own ; 

His claes are spun an' edged wi' vermin, 
Tho' he stan' afore a throne ! 



Thus then let us a' be tassing 
Aff our stoups o' gen'rous flame ; 

An', while roun' the board 'tis passing, 
Raise a sang in frien' ship's name. 

v. 

Frien'ship maks us a' mair happy, 
Frien'ship gies us a' delight ; 

Frien'ship consecrates the drappie, 
Frien'ship brings us here to-night. 

Happy we've been a' thegither, 
Happy we've been yin an' a', 

Time shall find us a' the blyther 
When we rise to gang awa'. 



[The history of the above heart-stirring song 
— now for the first time communicated to the 
public— is as follows: — Burns, on one occasion, 
was on a visit at a friend's house for two or 
three days : and, during his stay there, a con- 
vivial party met, at which the bard was re- 



THE BANKS OF NITH, ETC. 



393 



quested to favour the company with a poetical 
effusion. He promptly complied by writing 
the song in question. The original MS. is 
now in the possession of Captain Hendries, 
who commands a Scottish trading vessel, and 
who is nephew to the gentleman at whose 
festive board Burns was entertained on the 
evening alluded to. We are indebted, for this 
interesting relic of the immortal bard, to Mr. 
J. Burden, jun., of Camden Town, who sup- 
plied the printer of this edition with a copy, while 
the work passing through the press. — C] 



Cfje $atttt of Millimmxkit. 



Tune — Killiecrankie. 



Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Where hae ye been sae brankie, O ? 
O, whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O ? 
An' ye had been whare I hae been, 

Ye wad na been so cantie, O ; 
An' ye had seen what I hae seen, 

On the braes of Killiecrankie, O. 



I fought at land, I fought at sea ; 

At hame I fought my auntie, O ; 
But I met the Devil an' Dundee, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr, 

An' Clavers got a clankie, O ; 
Or I had fed an Athole gled, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 



[" The battle of Killiecrankie, and the death 
of Viscount Dundee, are events well known. 
With that brave fierce man perished the cause 
of the Stuarts : he gained the victory over fear- 
ful odds, but fell in the moment of obtaining it. 
When the pursuit slackened, Mackay exclaimed, 
" Graham is dead! — Graham is dead !" One 
of the Viscount's veterans who fought in the 
battle of Sherriff-muir, on perceiving the hesi- 
tation of Erskine to attack the centre, after 
having defeated one of the wings, exclaimed 
bitterly, " Oh for one hour of Dundee!" His 
skill in improving an advantage was equal to 
his courage in obtaining it. Pitcur was a man 
of equal valour and strength : he fell in the 
midst of the action. 

The character of Graham has been handled 
with exquisite skill by Scott in " Old Mor- 
tality."— Cunningham.] 



Cije Mm^tU %*&$. 



Mr— The Blue-eyed Lass. 



I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright ; 

Her lips, like roses, wet wi' dew, 
Her heaving bosom, lily-white — 

It was her een sae bonnie blue. 

ii. 
She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd j 

She charm'd my soul — I wist na how ; 
And ay the stound, the deadly wound, 

Came frae her een sae bonnie blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 



[" The ' blue eyed lass was Jean Jeffrey, one 
of the daughters of the minister of Lochmaben. 
The Poet, on a visit to King Bruce's borough, 
drank tea, and spent an evening at the manse. 
The honours of the table were performed by 
Miss Jeffrey, a rosy girl of seventeen, with 
winning manners and laughing blue eyes. Next 
morning the Poet wrote and sent her the song, 
greatly to her surprise and pleasure. She is 
now Mrs. Renwick, and lives in New York. 

" The air to which the song is written was 
composed by Robert Riddel, of Glenriddell, and 
is a favourite in Dumfries-shire. It is, however, 
beyond the power of many good singers, and 
can only be given to perfection by a voice rich 
in tone, and high in its reach. It was the for- 
tune of Burns to meet with many friends whose 
knowledge in musical composition aided him in 
his lyric verse. Clarke, Masterton, and Riddel 
were all men of scientific skill. He had, how- 
ever, through the help of his mother and the 
dames of Kyle, mastered a great number of airs, 
and laid in a vast stock of old rhymes, such as 
starting-lines and choruses, which he wrought 
into his productions. His note-books are mil 
of snatches — some devout, some merry, and 
some wild." — Cunningham. 1 



%ty Kanfctf of £tti). 



Tune — Robie donna Goraeh. 



x. 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 
Where royal cities stately stand ; 

But sweeter flows the Nith, to me, 

Yfhere Cummins ance had high command : 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



"When shall I see that honour'd land, 

That winding stream I love so dear ! 
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep me here ? 
II. 
How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ! 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom ! 
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, 

Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, 
May there my latest hours consume, 

Amang the friends of early days !* 



Cam <3ltn. 



Tune— Tarn Glen. 



My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittle ! 

Some counsel unto me come len', 
To anger them a' is a pity, 

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ? 
ii. 
['m thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow, 

In poortith I might mak a fen' ; 
What care I in riches to wallow, 

If I mauna marry Tain Glen ? 
in. 
There's Lowrie the laird o' Drumeller, 

" Guicl day to you, brute !" he comes ben : 
He brags and he blaws o' his siller, 

But when will he dance like Tam Glen ? 

IV. 

My minnie does constantly deave me, 

And bids me beware o' young men ; 
They flatter, she says, to deceive me, 

But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ? 
v. 
My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, 

He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten : 
But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, 

O wha will I get but Tam Glen ? 

VI. 

Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, 
My heart to my mou' gied a sten ; 

For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written — Tam Glen. 



* [" The Poet imagined himself in a distant land ; and 
recalling the romantic hills and lovely valleys of Nithsdale, 
as he mused, composed this sweet song. The Comyns " once 
had high command" in the district: one of their strong 
places was at Castledykes, immediately below Dumfries : 
another was at Dalswinton, a spot of great beauty, now the 
residence of one more than worthy of being its proprietor — 
James Macalpine Leny, Esq. Part of Comyn's Castle was 
standing as late as the year 1794. The walls were twelve feet 
thick, composed of hewn free-stone, and cemented with mortar 
of such strength that the stones separated any where save at 
the joints. The castle had evidently been consumed by fire. 
Opposite Dalswinton stands The Isle, an old tower sur- 
rounded by gardens and orchards. Ellisland is farther up 
the Nith; with Friars-Carse, and Blackwood, the property 



The last Halloween I lay waukin 
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; 

His likeness cam up the house staukin, 
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen ! 

VIII. 

Come counsel, dear Tittie ! don't tarry — 
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, 

Gif ye will advise me to marry 
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 



[Tam Glen is the title of an old song an< 
older Scottish air. Of the former nothing re 
mains save a portion of the chorus ; and th< 
latter is not likely to die, if one of the clevere? 
lyrics of the north can preserve it. - This son; 
no sooner made its appearance than it became ; 
favourite : it was sung in the field and at th 
fire-side. Husbandman, as hemethusbandmai: 
slapped his thigh and exclaimed — ■ 

" The very grey breeks o' Tam Glen !"] 



Jaae tlje dfrimfts antr itantl Jf ICobt. 



Air — Carron Side. 



Fra.e the friends and land I love, 

Driv'n by fortune's felly spite, 
Frae my best belov'd I rove, 

Never mair to taste delight ; 
Never mair maun hope to find 

Ease frae toil, relief frae care : 
When remembrance wracks the mind, 

Pleasures but unveil despair. 



Brightest climes shall mirk appear, 

Desert ilka blooming shore, 
Till the fates, nae mair severe, 

Friendship, love, and peace restore ; 
Till Revenge, wi' laurell'd head, 

Bring our banish' d hame again ; 
And ilka loj^al bonnie lad 

Cross the seas and win his am. 



of William Copland, descended from John Copland who took 
David Bruce prisoner in the battle of Durham. The house 
of Blackwood stands on a bend of the stream ; behind is a 
lofty hill studded with fine clumps of natural wood, the relics 
of the old Caledonian forest ; before it the Nith winds along 
a rich extent of holmland ; while towards the north, in the 
middle of the high road from Glasgow, grows that mag- 
nificent oak called the " Three Brethren." Three straight, 
tall shafts spring up at an ea.ual distance from each other, 
and it is believed that they unite in the ground below : they 
are of similar girth : the branches of each are perfectly 
alike ; and the peasantry say there is not a bough nor a leal 
on one but the same will be found on the other. The three, 
at a distance, seem one vast tree, of a conical shape." — 
Cunningham.] 



SWEET CLOSES THE EVENING, ETC. 



395 



[Barns, in his notes on the Musical Museum, 
says of this song, " I added the last four lines 
by way of giving a turn to the theme of the 
poem — such as it is." Had the Poet been 
asked where he found the other twelve lines of 
the song, we know not what answer he would 
have made — for they are in none of our lyrical 
collections. In truth, they speak plainly of his 
own personal history : — the jacobitical conclu- 
sion was an after-thought. 

The air of the song is called " Carron Side/' 
and may be found in the eighth volume of Os- 
wald's Collection. The composer has, however, 
availed himself of some passages from the well- 
known old air of "Todlen' Hame." " A poet," 
says Burns, in allusion to his habit of amending 
the ancient strains, " should mend a song as the 
Highlander mended his pistol — he gave it anew 
stock, a new lock, and a new barrel."] 



j^iueet do$t$ tj)e €&emng. 



Tune — Craigieburn-wood. 



Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn-woocl, 
And blithely awaukens the morrow ; [wood 

But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn- 
Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 



Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, 
And O ! to be lying beyond thee ; 

O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep 
That's laid in the bed beyond thee ! 



I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 
I hear the wild birds singing ; 

But pleasure they hae nane for me, 
While care my heart is wringing. 



I canna tell, I maunna tell, 

I darena for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer. 



I see thee gracefu', straight, and tall, 
I see thee sweet and bonnie ; 

But oh, what will my torments be, 
If thou refuse thy Johnnie ! 



To see thee in anither's arms, 
In love to lie and languish, 

Twad be my dead, that will be seen, 
My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 



But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, 

Say, thou lo'es nane before me ; 
And a' my days o' life to come 

I'll gratefully adore thee. 

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, 
And O, to be lying beyond thee ; 

O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep 
That's laid in the bed bevond thee ! 



[" This song was composed in honour of the 
charms of Jean Lorimer, to whom, under the 
name of Chlobjs, the Poet has addressed 
several of his most enchanting songs, and who 
was then residing at Craigie-burn-wood, near 
Moffat ; the poet wrote it to aid the eloquence 
of a Mr. Gillespie, who was paying his ad- 
dresses to her. Neither the Poet's verse nor 
the lover's language prevailed : Jean married 
an officer, of the name of Whelpdale — lived 
with him a few months — quitted him, in conse- 
quence of great provocation, and then took up 
her residence in Dumfries, where she had many 
opportunities of seeing the Poet. The tune was 
picked up from a country-girl's singing, and is 
one of the finest of all the airs of Caledonia. 
Burns altered this song a little, and inserted it 
afterwards in the collection of George Thom- 
son : he very properly left out the words of the 
chorus, adopted from an old ballad — not remark- 
able for its delicacy." — Cunningham.] 



Corns retjt me, ID ante. 



Come rede me, dame, come tell me, dame, 

And nane can tell mair truly, 
What colour maun the man be of, 

To love a woman duly. 



The carlin clew baith up and down, 
And leugh and answer'd ready, 

I learn'd a sang in Annandale, 
A dark man for my lady. 



But for a country quean like thee, 
Young lass, I tell thee fairly, 

That wi' the white I've made a shift, 
And brown will do fu' rarely. 



There's mickle love in raven locks, 
The flaxen ne'er grows youden, 

There's kiss and hause me in the brown, 
And glory in the gowden. 



€tsck up gottr 33rabtr. 

Tune — Cock up your beaver. 



When first my brave Johnnie lad 

Came to this town, 
He had a blue bonnet 

That wanted the crown ; 
But now he has gotten 

A hat and a feather, — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver ! 
ii. 
Cock up your beaver, 

And cock it fu' sprush, 
We'll over the border 

And gie them a brush ; 
There's somebody there 

We'll teach better behaviour — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver ! 



[" This is a much amended version of a song 
partly published by Herd : some of the old lines 
are not amiss: — 

' Cock up your beaver, 

And cock it na wrang ; 
We'll a' to England 
Ere it be lang.' 

Burns seems to have glanced, in the second 
verse, at a sarcastic song directed by the Eng- 
lish against the Scots at the accession of the 
House of Stuart. The man of the south, with 
all the insolence of wealth, thus questions his 
northern neighbour : — 

' Well met, Jockie, whither away, 
Shall we two have a word or tway ? 
Thou wast so lousie the other day, 
How the devil conies you so gay ? 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! by sweet Saint Anne, 

Jockie is grown a gentleman. 
' Thy belt that was made of a white leather thong, 
Which thou and thy father wore so long, 
Are turned to hangers of velvet strong, 
With gold and pearl embroider'd among. 
' Thy bonnet of blue, which thou worest hither, 
To keep thy skonce from wind and weather, 
Is thrown away, the devil knows whither, 
And turn'd to a beaver hat and feather. 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! by sweet St. Anne, 

Jockie is turn'd a gentleman.' 

" This is a picture of prejudice as well as of 
costume. The Scotch were not insensible of the 
advantage of visiting their neighbours besouth 
the Tweed. One humble pedestrian, on reach- 
ing Lancashire, saw several bodies hanging on 
gibbets : he paused, and exclaimed, ' God be 
praised ! I have reached a civilized land at last 
— here the law is in full operation," — Allan 
Cunningham.] 



J&p €od}tr'3 fy« Btbitl 



Tune — My Tocher's the Jewel. 



O Meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie 

My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. 
It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree ; 

It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee ; 
My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller 

Ae canna hae luve to spare for me. 

ii. 
Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny, 

My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ; 
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin, 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, 

And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me. 



[" Burns wrote these verses for the Museum to 
an air by Oswald : the Poet wished them to be 
sung to a tune called ' Lord Elcho's favourite,' 
of which he was an admirer. Readers, ac- 
quainted with the Lowlands of Scotland, may 
perhaps remember rustic rhymes something akin 
to the last four lines of this song : — 

' I'll set her up on yon crab-tree, 
It's sour and dour, and so is she ; — 
I'll set her upon yon bane-dyke, 
For she'll be rotten ere I be ripe.' 

Burns had an intimate acquaintance with the 
quaint sayings, the curious remarks, the pithy 
saws, the moral adages, and the moralizing 
rhymes of Scotland. He introduces them often, 
and generally with great happiness." — Cun- 
ningham.] 

#utlDls3tft count t^e Hafom. 



Tune — Guidwife count the Laivin. 



Gane is the day, and mirk's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for fau't o' light, 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon, 
And blude-red wine's the rising sun. 
Then guidwife count the lawin, 

The lawin, the lawin, 
Then guidwife count the lawin, 
And bring a coggie mair ! 
ii. 
There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And semple-folk maun fecht and fen' 5 
But here we're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that's drunk 's a lord. 



THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE, ETC. 



397 



My coggie is a haly pool, 
That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An' ye drink but deep ye'll find him out. 
Then gudewife count the lawin, 

The lawin, the lawin ; 
Then gudewife count the lawin, 
And bring a coggie mair ! 

[Burns supplied the air as well as the words 
of this song to the Museum : he says in his 
notes, " The chorus of this is part of an old 
song, one stanza of which I recollect: — 

' Every day my wife tells me 
That ale and brandy will ruin me ; 
But if gude liquor be my dead, 
This shall be written on my head — 
O gudewife count the lawin, 

The lawin, the lawin : 
O gudewife count the lawin, 
And bring a coggie mair.' "] 



%\)txz y ll nc&ei' ht peace till j#anm 
tmm$ flame. 



Tune — There are few gude fellows when Willie's awa. 
I. 

B y yon castle wa', at the close of the day, 
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey ; 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came, 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

11. 
The church is in ruins, the state is in jars ; 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars; 
We darena weel say't, tho' we ken wha's to 

blame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame ! 

in. 
My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, 
And now I greet round their green beds in the 

yerd. [dame — 

It brak the sweetheart of my faithfu' auld 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

IV. 

Now life is a burthen that bows me down, 
Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ;' 
But till my last moments my words are the same — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame ! 



["The bard was in one of his jacobitical 
moods when he wrote this fine song ; that he 
was frequently so his lyrics sufficiently prove. 
As time passed on, the French revolution, up- 
setting all established things, and vindicating in 
theory, if not in practice, the great principle of 
equality, set opinions welcome to human nature 
afloat, and a change came over the musings of 
Burns. In this he was countenanced by many 
high and low ; the high-born Stanhope wrote 
himself " citizen" as well as the humble-born 
Joseph Ritson." — Cunningham.] 



€J)e JSoitim tafc tijat'3 far afoa': 



Tune — Owre the Hills and far awa\ 



O how can I be blythe and glad, 

Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 
When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 

Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 
When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 

Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 
II. 
It's no the frosty winter wind, 

It's no the driving drift and snaw ; 
But aye the tear comes in my e'e, 

To think on him that's far awa. 
But aye the tear comes in my e'e, 

To think on him that's far awa. 
in. 
My father pat me frae his door, 

My friends they hae disown'd me a', 
But I hae ane will tak' my part, 

The bonnie lad that's far awa. 
But I hae ane will tak' my part, — 

The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

IV. 

A pair o' gloves he bought for me, 

And silken snoods * he gae me twa ; 
And I will wear them for his sake, 

The bonnie lad that's far awa. 
And I will wear them for his sake, — 

The bonnie lad that's far awa. 
v. 
O weary winter soon will pass, 

And spring will deed the birken-shaw ; 
And my young babie will be born, 

And he'll be hame that's far awa. 
And my young babie will be born, 

And he'll be hame that's far awa. 

[" This little lamentation of a desolate dam- 
sel," says Jeffrey, " is tender and pretty." It 
was written, it is said, in allusion to the treat- 
ment of Jean Armour by her father, when he 
heard that she had not dismissed the Poet from 
her heart, but still kept up a correspondence. 
Herd's collection supplied him with strains 
which he has beautified greatly. The old song- 
begins thus : — 

' How can I be blythe or glad, 

Or in my mind contented be, 
When the bonny, bonny lad that I lo'ed best 

Is banish' d from my company ? 
Though he is banish' d. for my sake, 

I his true love will still remain ; 
But O that I was, and I wish I was, 
In the chamber where my true love is in.' " 

The air was unknown to our collections before 
the days of Burns : he is said to have caught 
it up from the singing of his mother.] 

* Ribands for binding the hair. 



398 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



$ fco fonfe33 tI)oit art £ae fair. 



Tune — I do confess thou art sue fair. 



I do confess thou art sae fair, 

I wad been o'er the lugs in hive, 
Had I na found the slightest prayer 

That lips could speak thy heart could muve. 
I do confess thee sweet, but find 

Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 
Thy favours are the silly wind, 

That kisses ilka thins: it meets. 



See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew, 

Amang its native briers sae coy : 
How sune it tines its scent and hue 

When pu'd and worn a common toy ! 
Sic fate, ere lang, shall thee betide, 

Tho' thou may gaily bloom awhile ; 
Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside 

Like ony common weed and vile. 



[Burns says, " This song is altered from a 
Poem by Sir Robert Aytoun, private secretary 
to Mary and Anne, queens of Scotland. The 
poem is to be found in James Watson's collec- 
tion of Scottish poems, the earliest collection 
printed in Scotland. — I think that I have im- 
proved the simplicity of the sentiments by giving 
them a Scots dress." The following are the old 
words of this song : — 

" I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, 

And I might have gone near to love thee ; 
Had I not found the slightest prayer, 

That lips could speak, had power to move thee ; 
But 1 can let thee now alone 
As worthy to be lov'd hy none. 

" I do confess thou'rt sweet ; yet find 
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 
Thy favours are but like the wind, 

That kisseth every thing it meets ; 
And since thou canst with more than one, 
Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none. 

" The morning rose, that untouch 'd stands, 
Arm'd with her briars, how sweetly smells ! 
But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, 

Her sweet no longer with her dwells, 
But scent and beauty both are gone, 
And leaves fall from her, one by one. 

" Such fate, ere long, will thee betide, 

When thou hast handled been awhile ; 
Like sun-flowers to be thrown aside, 

And I shall sigh while some will smile, 
To see thy love for more than one, 
Hath brought thee to be lov'd by none." 

A monument to Aytoun, surmounted by a 
very handsome bust, stands in Westminster 
Abbey.] 



^q\\ »tOJ fflotfy jPountatttf. 



Tune — Yon wild moss?/ Mountains. 



Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, 

That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 

Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the 

heather to feed, [his reed. 

And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on 

Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the 

the heather to feed, [on his reed. 

And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes 



Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's sunny 

shores, 
To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors ; 
For there, by a lanely, sequester' d clear stream, 
Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my 
dream. 
For there, by a lanely, sequester'd clear stream, 
Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my 
dream. 

in. 
Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my 
path, [strath ; 

Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day-lang I rove, 
While o'er us, unheeded, flee the swift hours o' 
love. 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day-lang I rove, 
While o'er us, unheeded, flee the swift hours 
o' love. 

IV. 

She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair ; 

O' nice education but sma' is her share ; 

Her parentage humble as humble can be ; 

But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 
Her parentage humble as humble can be, 
But I lo'e the dear lassie, because she lo'es me. 



To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, 
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and 
sighs ? [darts. 

And when wit and refinement hae polish' d her 
They dazzle our een as they flee to our hearts. 
And when wit and refinement hae polish' d 

her darts, 
They dazzle our een, as they flee to our hearts. 

VI. 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond spark- 
ling e'e, 
Has lustre outshining the diamond to me ; 
And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in 

her arms, 
O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms \ 
And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in 

her arms, 
O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms 1 






WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER-DOOR? ETC. 



["This song," says Burns in his memoranda, 
" alludes to a part of my private history, which 
it is of no consequence to the world to know." 
The heroine is either " Nannie," who dwelt 
near the Lugar, or " Highland Mary" — most 
likely the former, for he always spoke out when 
!ie alluded to Mary Campbell. It is printed in 
the Musical Museum.] 



#t te na, Steait, tlji) fcomrie face. 



Tune — The Maid's complaint. 



It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face, 

Nor shape, that I admire, 
Altho' thy beauty and thy grace 

Might weel awake desire. 
Something, in ilka part o' thee, 

To praise, to love, I find ; 
But, dear as is thy form to me, 

Still dearer is thy mind. 

II. 

Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae, 

Nor stronger in my breast, 
Than if I canna mak thee sae, 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if heaven shall give 

But happiness to thee : 
And, as wi' thee Fd wish to live, 

For thee Fd bear to die. 



[ These verses were originally in English : 
Burns bestowed a Scottish dress upon them, and 
made them utter sentiments connected with his 
own affections. They were printed in the Mu- 
seum : the air was composed by Oswald, and is 
one of his finest.] 



) 3afo pt im> ID earn. 

Tune — Eppie Macnab. 



saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
She's down in the yard, she's kissin' the laird, 
She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab. 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
Whate'er thou hast done, be it late, be it soon, 
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab. 

ii. 

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot, 
A.nd for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab. 



O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
As light as the air, as fause as thou's fair, 
Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab, 



[" The old song of Eppie Macnab," says Burns, 
" had more wit than decency." He took com- 
passion on the air, and wrote these words for the 
Museum. There is something truly whimsical 
and original in the idea of many of our old songs 
Eppie M'Nab is not an exception. 

" O come now, my dearie, 
My Eppie Macnab, — 

I'm wae and I'm weary 
For Eppie Macnab- — 

Gae dance on the win', 

Gae loup down the linn, 

For me thou'lt ne'er win- 
Take ye that, Jock Rab. 

" O had I ne'er seen thee, 

My Eppie Macnab ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, 

My Eppie Macnab ! — 
Thou'rt light as the air, 
And fauser than fair, 
And will never see mair 

O' thy ain Jock Rab."] 



jat^ tfjat at mv ^oimv^oov 



Tune — Lass, an' I come near thee. 



Wha is that at my bower door ? 

O, wha is it but Findlay ? 
Then gae yere gate, ye'se nae be here I 

Indeed, maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What mak ye sae like a thief ? 

O come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
Before the morn ye'll work mischief— 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



Gif I rise and let you in ? — 
Let me in, quo' Findlay ; 

Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din- 
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

In my bower if ye should stay ? 
Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 

I fear ye'll bide till break o'day — 
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



Here this night if ye remain ; — 

I'll remain, quo' Findlay. 
I dread ye'll ken the gate again ; — - 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bower, — ■ 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour '.- 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



40(J 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



[" The air to which this song is set had other 
words formerly—words which make the gravity 
of our forefathers a little questionable ; some of 
the lines may be acceptable as a sample : — 

' Lass, an I come near thee, 
Lass, an I come near thee, 
I'll gar a' thy ribbons reel, 
Lass, an I come near thee.' 

The "Auld Man's Address to the Widow," 
printed in Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, is 
said by Gilbert Burns to have suggested " Wha 
is that at my bower-door" to Robert : — 

* O who is at my chamber door ? 

Fair widow, are ye wauking? 
Auld carle, your suit give o'er, 

Your love lies a' in tauking. 
Gie me the lad that's young and tight, 

Sweet like an April meadow ; 
'Tis sic as he can bless the sight 

And bosom of a widow.' 

The old wooer is not disconcerted : he art- 
fully lets her hear the chink of gold, and de- 
sires his guineas to speak ; she suddenly relents, 
and declares that they express affection better 
than his tongue." — Cunningham.] 



TOjjat can a goting %K$$it fco. 

Tune — What can a young lassie do wV an auld man. 
I. 

What can a young lassie, what shall a young 



What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 
Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' ! 
Bad luck on the pennie, &c. 



* [In the " Pills to Purge Melancholy" the title of the air 
to this song stands thus : — 

" What shall a young woman do with an old man ?" 

An old strain to the same air makes the heroine threaten 
her ancient wooer with honours of a nature which few men 
covet, should he obtain her for his wife. The heroine in the 
version of Burns proposes a plan of domestic annoyance, 
which cannot fail to send her husband's grey hairs pretty 
quickly to the grave. Dr. Blacklock wrote a song to the 
same air, and at the same time with Burns : the best version 
of the old song is as follows : — 

Katy, dear Katy, I'll tell ye what grieves me, 
And for to advise me do all that ye can ; 

If ye could relieve me a present I'd give ye, 

What can a young lassie do with an auld man ? 

1 canna get sleeping for sighing and weeping, 
What shall I do, Katy ? O here take my fan ; 

My mind is sae crazy, I'm dull and uneasy, 
I am sae perplex' d wi' a crazy auld man. 

My mither she teazes me morning and e'ening, 

My auntie she vexes me a' the day lang, 
To marry the carle because o' his siller — 

But what can a lassie do wi' an auld man ? 



He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin% 
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang ; 

He's doyl't and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 
He's doyl't and he's dozin', &c. 

in. 

He hums and he hankers, he frets & he cankers, 
I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 

He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows ; 

O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man ! 

He's peevish and jealous, &c. 

IV. 

My auld auntie Katie upon me taks pity, 

I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ! 
I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart- 
break him, [pan. 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new 
I'll cross him, and wrack him, &c. * 



Cije fcamue iott Cf)t'tig. 



Tune — Bonnie wee Thing. 



Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 

Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 
I wad wear thee in my bosom, 

Lest my jewel I should tine. 
Wishfully I look and languish 

In that bonnie face o' thine j 
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, 

Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

ii. 
Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine j 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 



His heart it is cauld, and eke dull and hollow, 
The hale o' his carcase is a' skin and bane ; 

For him and his money I carena a penny — 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 

My Titty, the gipsy, (wha wouldna misca' her ?) 
On me takes nae pity, but join's wi' the clan, 

And says, I may never get sic a gude offer — 
But what can a lassie do wi' an auld man ? 

Sweethearts I've got mony, but she hasna ony, 
Sae weel's I can dive in the heart o' her plan : 

Because she's negleeted, my peace she has wrecket, 
And plagues me to marry a doited auld man. 

They keep me at hame frae the dance and the market, 
Because I am some years younger than Ann ; 

The tawpie's their dawtie, and they for to please hei 
Would sell a young lassie unto an auld man 

The rose in its splendour shall lilaw in December, 
The corbie and craw turn white as the swan, 

The owl it shall sing like the linnet in spring, 
Before that I marry that crazy auld man ! 

Miss Jane Allardyce, of Pittenween, was the heroine of 
this song, which she addresses to her comrade, Miss Kathtf* 
rine Gordon, of Wardass, in the year J 714.] 



THE TITHER MORN.— AE FOND KISS. 



401 



Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 

I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
Lest my jewel I should tine ! 



["Composed," says the Poet, "on my little 
idol, the charming lovely Davies." Burns paid 
this lovely little lady many pretty compliments, 
both in prose and verse. He enclosed this song 
and sent it to the lady in the following letter: — 
" When I meet with a person after my own 
heart, I positively feel what an orthodox Pro- 
testant would call a species of idolatry, which 
acts on my fancy like inspiration : and I can 
no more resist rhyming on the impulse than an 
iEolian harp can refuse its notes to the streaming 
air. A distich or two would be the consequence, 
though the object which hit my fancy were grey- 
bearded age : but where my theme is youth and 
beauty — a young lady, whose personal charms, 
wit, and sentiment, are equally striking and 
unaffected — by heavens ! though I had lived 
three-score years a married man, and three- 
score years before I was a married man, my 
imagination would hallow the very idea."] 



CJe tttfjer Plovrt, 



To a Highland Air. 



The tither morn, 

When I forlorn, 
Aneath an aik sat moaning, 

I did na trow 

I'd see my Jo, 
Beside me, gain the gloaming. 

But he sae trig 

Lap o'er the rig, 
And dawtingly did cheer me, 

When I, what reck, 

Did least expec' 
To see my lad sae near me. 



His bonnet he, 

A thought ajee, 
Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me ; 

And I, I wat, 

Wi' fainness grat, 
While in his grips he press'd me. 

Deil tak' the war ! 

I late and air 
Hae wish'd since Jock departed ; 

But now as glad 

I'm wi' my lad 
As short syne broken-hearted. 



in. 

Fu' aft at e'en 

Wi' dancing keen, 
When a' were blythe and merry, 

I car'd na by, 

Sae sad was I 
In absence o' my dearie. 

But, praise be blest, 

My mind's at rest, 
I'm happy wi' my Johnny ; 

At kirk and fair, 
I'se ay be there, 
And be as canty's ony. 

["This tune," says Burns, "is originally 
from the Highlands : I have heard a Gaelic 
song to it, which I was told was very clever, but 
not by any means a lady's song." The air, a? 
well as the song, appeared tor the first time in 
the Musical Museum : the second strain of this 
Highland tune bears a close resemblance to the 
second part of the tune of " Saw ye Johnnie 
coming."] 



®t fonft Hfe*. 



Tune — Rory DaWs Port. 



Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, and then, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

ii. 
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
But to see her was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love for ever. — 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

in. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee. 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee ! 



["These exquisitely affecting stanzas," says 
Scott, "contain the essence of a thousand love 
tales." The last half of the second stanza fur- 
nished Lord Byron with a motto to the " Bride 
of Abydos" one of his most splendid Poems 

2 i) 



402 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



The song was inspired, it is believed, by the fair 
Clarinda, and is worthy of her wit, her talents, 
and her beauty. The stanzas have something 
of Thomson's feeling in them : — 

" For ever, fortune, wilt thou prove, 
An unrelenting foe to love ; 
And when we meet a mutual heart, 
Step rudely in and bid us part; 
Bid us sigh on from day to day, 
And wish and wish the soul away ; 
Till youth and genial years are flown, 
And all the life of love is gone?"] 



Eobfli) JBabus. 



T\me—3Iiss Muir. 



O how shall I, unskilfu', try 

The poet's occupation, 
The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, 

That whispers inspiration? 
Even they maun dare an effort mair 

Than aught they ever gave us, 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse, 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 



Each eye it cheers, when she appears, 

Like Phoebus in the morning, 
When past the show'r, and every flower 

The garden is adorning. 
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, 

When winter-bound the wave is ; 
Sae droops our heart when we maun part 

Frae charming, lovely Davies. 

IIT. 

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift, 

That maks us mair than princes ; 
A sceptred hand, a king's command, 

Is in her darting glances : 
The man in arms, 'gainst female charms, 

Even he her willing slave is ; 
He hugs his chain, and ov/ns the reign 

Of conquering, lovely Davies. 



My muse to dream of such a theme, 

Her feeble pow'rs surrender ; 
The eagle's gaze alone surveys 

The sun's meridian splendour : 
I wad in vain essay the strain, 

The deed too daring brave is ; 
I'll drap the lyre, and mute, admire 
The charms o' lovely Davies. 
[ Most of Burns' heroines were handsome and 
witty. This song on " The charming lovely 
Davies" was written for the Museum.] 



* [Our Scottish ladies are never represented by the poets 
as unreasonably addicted to thrift: " a pund o' tow" is now 
a rare matter among the Scottish cottages ; the rock has long 
since been banished from our fire-sides, and the wheel is 
about to follow. In another score of years a woman spin- 
ning will likely be a matter of wonder among the northern 
mountaineers. The idea of this song is old, and also the 
ehorus. A few verses are here given as a sample : — 

Come all ye jolly bachelors 
That now would married be, 
I pray you be advised, 
And take this note frae me, 
A single life is free frae strife, 
And sorrow, grief, and woe, 
Besides a wife to deave my life, 
Wi' the weary pund o' tow. 
The weary pund, &c. 



€ty foearp ^uxits o' Cofo. 



Tune — The weary Pund o' Tow. 



I bought my wife a stane o' lint 

As gude as e'er did grow ; 
And a' that she has made o' that 

Is ae poor pund o' tow. 

CHORUS. 

The weary pund, the weary pund, 

The weary pund o' tow ; 
I think my wife will end her life 
Before she spin her tow. 
ii. 
There sat a bottle in a bole, 

Beyont the ingle low, 
And ay she took the tither souk, 
To clrouk the stowrie tow. 
in. 
Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty dame, 

Gae spin your tap o' tow ! 
She took the rock, and wi' a knock 
She brak it o'er my pow. 

IV. 

At last her feet — I sang to see't — 
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe ; 
And or I wad anither jad, 
I'll wallop in a tow. 

The weary pund, the weary pund, 

The weary pund o' tow ! 
I think my wife will end her life 
Before she spin her tow. * 



But if ye'll be advised, 
And warning take by me, 
First ye'll try your sweet-heart, 
And see what she can dee. 
See gin she can scratch and card, 
And milk baith cow and ewe, 
And rock the cradle wi' her foot, 
And spin the pund o' tow. 

The town and city damsels, 

They gang sae neat and fine, 

In drinking tea and brandy, 

Is a' that they incline. 

And for to powder, patch, and paint, 

And walk about the knowe, 

Is a' their wark,— they'll rather die 

Than spin the pund o' tow. 



O, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM! ETC. 



403 



$ ijae a WHiit o* im> ain. 



Tune— Naebody. 



I hae a wife o' my ain — 

I'll partake wi' naebody ; 
I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 

I'll gie cuckold to naebody. 
I hae a penny to spend, 

There — thanks to naebody ; 
I hae naething to lend — 

I'll borrow frae naebody. 



I am naebody' s lord — 

I'll be slave to naebody ; 
I hae a guid braid sword, 

I'll tak dunts frae naebody : 
I'll be merry and free, 

I'll be sad for naebody ; 
If naebody care for me, 

I'll care for naebody. 



[This cheerful air was once encumbered with 
very idle verses ; yet they contained the germ 
of this lively song by Burns ; the following is 
an old verse : — 

" I hae a wife o' my awn, 

I'll be hadden to naebody ; 
I hae a pot and a pan, 
I'll borrow frae naebody." 

" The Poet was accustomed to say that the 
most happy period of his life was the first 
winter he spent at Ellisland, for the first time 
under a roof of his own, with his wife and 
children about him, and, in spite of occasional 
lapses into the melancholy which had haunted 
his youth, looking forward to a life of well- 
regulated, and not ill-rewarded, industry . It is 
known that he welcomed his wife to her roof- 
tree at Ellisland in the above song." — Lock- 
hart.] 



^, for ane-an^timntg , Cam ! 



Tune — The Moudiewort. 



An O, for and ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 

And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, 

An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 



* The tune to which this lively song was composed is old 
and good. The following are the words : — 
I hae gotten a braw new gown, 

And Jamie's gotten a waistcoat o't ; 
I bade the tailor gie me room, 
Case Geordie bevil the body o't. 



They snool me sair, and haud me down, 
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ; 

But three short years will soon wheel roun' — 
And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

II. 

A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear, 

Was left me by my auntie, Tam j 
At kith or kin I need na spier, 
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
in. 
They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, 

Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ; 
But hear'st thou, laddie — there's my loof — 
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
An O for ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 

An hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, 
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. * 



[The Poet, in his memoranda on the Mu- 
seum, says simply, " This song is mine." It was 
composed on a story common to all countries ; 
a young girl of rich expectations was pressed 
by her friends to "make mickle mair," and 
marry an old and wealthy wooer, in preference 
to one handsome and young, on whom she had 
placed her affections. The entreaties of her 
relations only hastened the catastrophe ; she 
gave her hand and fortune to worthy Tam, as 
soon as twenty-one made her mistress of both, j 



^, itanutve^ mi aiitf a&a. 



Tune — Kenmure's on and awa, Willie. 



O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie ! 

O Kenmure's on and awa ! 
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord 

That ever Galloway saw. 

ii. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie ! 

Success to Kenmure's band ; 
There's no a heart that fears a Whig, 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 

in. 
Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie ! 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude 

Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 



The moudiewort 's a wylie beast, 
A cunning wee beast the moudiewort ; 

I biggit my house at the fit o' yon brae, 
And he crap in at the gavil o't. J 

2 D 2 



404 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 

O Kenmure's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal true- 

And that their faes shall ken. 
v. 
They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 

They'll live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon wi' sounding victorie, 

May Kenmure's lord come hame ! 

VI. 

Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! 

Here's him that's far awa ! 
And here's the flower that I lo'e best — 

The rose that's like the snaw ! 



["It is difficult to determine whether to 
ascribe this song wholly to Burns, or to give 
to his pen only the second and third stanzas. 
That it is partly old I never heard doubted ; 
and that it refers to the fortunes of the gallant 
Gordons of Kenmure, in the fatal " Fifteen," 
is quite evident. The Viscount left Galloway 
with two hundred horsemen well armed ; he 
joined the other lowland Jacobites — penetrated 
to Preston — repulsed, and at last yielded to, the 
attack of General Carpenter — and perished on 
the scaffold. He was a good as well as a brave 
man, and his fate was deeply lamented. The 
title has since been restored to the " Gordon's 
line." Burns, as may be seen in his corres- 
pondence, was, once at least, an invited guest 
at Kenmure." — Cunningham.] 



JBj) Collier Kaftie. 



Tune— The Collier Laddie. 



O whake live ye, my bonnie lass ? 
An' tell me what they ca' ye ? 



* Burnssays, "I do not know a blither old song than this." 
When Burns sent this song to the Museum, he sent it as 
in oM song, — some few words altered by himself : in proof 
if which we here give the original : — 

I hae been east, I hae been west, 

And I've been at Kirkaldie ; 
But the bonniest lass that e'er I saw 

Was following a collier laddie. 
Wi' siller slippers on her feet, 

Her body neat and handsome, 
And sky blue ribbons on her head, 

Where gowd aboon was glancin. 
Whaur are ye gaun, my bonnie lass ? 

Come tell me how they ca' thee ; 
My name it's Jane, the maid replied, 

I'm following my collier laddie. 
O would ye fancy ane that's black, 

And you sae fair and gawdie ? 
O fancy ane o' higher degree 

Than follow a collier laddie. 
I'll gie you ha's, I'll gie you bowers, 

I'll gie you gowd rings gawdie, 
I'll gie you gowd laid up in store, 

To leave your collier laddie. 



My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 
And I follow the Collier Laddie. 

My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 
And I follow the Collier Laddie. 



see you not yon hills and dales, 
The sun shines on sae brawlie ! 

They a' are mine, and they shall be thine, 

Gin ye leave your Collier Laddie. 
They a' are mine, and they shall be thine, 

Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie, 
in. 
And ye shall gang in gay attire, 

Weel buskit up sae gaudy ; 
And ane to wait at every hand, 

Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 
And ane to wait at every hand, 

Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 

IV. 

Tho' ye had a' the sun shines on, 
And the earth conceals sae lowly ; 

1 wad turn my back on you and it a', 
And embrace my Collier Laddie. 

I wad turn my back on you and it a', 
And embrace my Collier Laddie. 

v. 

I can win my five pennies a day, 

And spen 't at night fu' brawlie ; 
And mak my bed in the Collier's neuk, 

And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 
And mak my bed in the Collier's neuk, 

And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 

VI. 

Luve for luve is the bargain for me, 

Tho' the wee cot-house should haud me ; 

And the warld before me to win my bread, 
And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 

And the warld before me to win my bread, 
And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. * 



I value not your ha's and bowers, 
Nor yet your gowd rings gawdie ; 

Nor a' the gowd ye hae in store, — 
I'll keep my collier laddie. 

I wantna ha's, I wantna bowers, 

I wantna gowd rings gawdie ; 
I'll make my bed in's kitchen nook, 

And lie wi' my collier iaddie. 
Then he's gane to her father dear, 

To her father sae gawdie ; 
Says, — will ye gie me your bonny lass 

That's following the collier laddie? 

O would she marry a man that's black, 

And me sae braw and gawdie ? 
I'd raise her up to a higher degree 

Than following a collier laddie. 
Her father dear then vow'd and sware, 

Tho' he be black, he's bonny ; 
She's mair delight in him, I fear, 

Than you, wi' a' your money. 
When seven years were come and gane. 

And seven years sae gawdie, 
The gentleman came riding by, 

To see Jane's collier laddie. 



AS* I WAS A-WAND'RING, ETC. 



405 



&itl)*1l&U'si Welcome feme. 



The noble Maxwells and the powers, 

Are coming o'er the border, 
And they'll gae big Terreagle's towers, 

An' set them a' in order. 
And they declare Terreagle's fair, 

For their abode they chuse it ; 
There's no a heart in a' the land 

But's lighter at the news o't. 

ii. 
Tho' stars in skies may disappear, 

And angiy tempests gather ; 
The happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather : 
The weary night o' care and grief 

May hae a joyfu' morrow ; 
So dawning day has brought relief — 

Fareweel our night o' sorrow ! 



[The Maxwells were once the most powerful 
family in all the south of Scotland. The family 
rose on the fall of the great house of Douglas : 
a feud with the Annandale Johnstons cost them 
three earls : the wars of Charles and his Par- 
liament were very injurious — the rebellion of 
1786 deprived them of the title — and the truly 
noble name is no longer numbered with our 
nobility. Terreagles-house stands at the foot 
of a fine range of green and lofty hills : it was 
built in the days of the Poet, and to this the 
song alludes. The music was by Robert Rid- 
del, Esq., of Glenriddel.] 



Hme£ on a merrg :Ploucrf)man. 

A s I was a wand'ring ae morning in spring, 
I heard a merry ploughman sae sweetly to sing ; 
And as he was singin' thae words he did say, 
There's nae life like the Ploughman in the 
month o' sweet May. — 



hae ye money to lend, fair maid? 
Hae ye money sae gawdie ? 

For gin I e'er come this road again, 
I'll pay your collier laddie. 

Where are your ha's?— where are your bowers 
Where are your rings sae gawdie ? 

Where's a' the gowd ye promis'd me, 
To forsake my collier laddie ? 

1 wantna ha's, I wantna bowers, 
I wantna rings sae gawdie ; 

I wantna gowd and money to lend, 
Still kept my collier laddie. 

Now she is to her father gane, 

To her father dear sae gawdie, 
Says, — the thing ye promis'd me langsyne, 

Gie't to my collier laddie. 

Then he tauld down ten thousand crowns, 
Ten thousand crowns sae gawdie, 

Says, take ye that, my daughter Jane, 
Enjoy your collier laddie. 



The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her 

nest, 
And mount to the air wi' the dew on her breast ;* 
And wi' the merry Ploughman she'll whistle 

and sing ; 
And at night she'll return to her nest back again. 



[This beautiful fragment was printed in 
Cromek's Reliques, from the original MS. in 
Burns' own writing. Gilbert Burns says, " the 
verses are not my brother's, but were sung by 
every ploughman and ploughman's mistress 
in Ayr-shire before he was born." They are, 
however, again reproduced in Hogg and Mother- 
well's Edition of the Works of the Poet, and 
we have not thought it right to exclude them 
from the present Edition.] 



%L$ % foaS a4oanfc'rmg;. 



Tune— Rinn M'eudial mo Mhealladh.—A Gaelic Air. 



As I was a-wand'riDg ae midsummer e'enin', 

The pipers and youngsters were makin' their 
game ; 
Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover, 

Which bled a' the wound o' my dolour again. 
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae 
wi' him ; 

I may be distress' d, but I winna complain ; 
I'll flatter my fancy I may get anither, 

My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 



I couldna get sleeping till dawin for greetin', 
The tears trickl'd down like the hail and the 
rain : 

Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken, 
For, oh ! luve forsaken 's a tormenting pain ! 



The heroine of this song was Jane Cochrane, daughter to 
the laird of Bohill, near Kelso ; and the hero of the piece was 
Mr. Presley, proprietor of a very extensive coal work in that 
neighbourhood. The song is very old. Another ballad called 
the "Collier's Bonny Lassie," maybe found in Ramsay'a 
Tea Table Miscellany.] 

* [ It is pleasing to mark those touches of sympathy which 
show the sons of genius to be of one kindred. In the fol- 
lowing passage from the poem of his countryman, the same 
figure is illustrated with characteristic simplicity ; and never 
were the tender and the sublime of poetry more happUy 
united, nor a more affectionate tribute paid to the memory 
of Burns : 

" Thou, simple bird, 

Of all the vocal quire, dwell'st in a home 
The humblest ; yet thy morning song ascends 
Nearest to heaven ; — sweet emblem of his song,f 
Who sung thee wakening by the daisy's side 1" 

Grahame's Birds of Scotland, vol. ii. p. iv.l, 
t Burns. 



406 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



Although, he has left me for greed o' the siller, 

I dinna envy him the gains he can win ; 
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow 

Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. 
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae 
wi' him, 

I may be distress'd, but I winna complain ; 
I'll flatter my fancy I may get anither, 

My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 



[The air to which these affecting words were 
written is good old Highland, and the title 
means, " My love did deceive me." It was 
found by Burns during his last northern tour, 
and found — as all Gaelic melodies are — accom- 
panied by verse. The original was rendered 
into English by an Inverness-shire lady, and 
from her version he composed these stanzas. 
They were printed in the fourth volume of the 
Musical Museum.] 



23e£s; anfc fjer J£ptnmngvOT()e*l. 



Tune — The sweet Lass that lo'e 



O leeze me on my spinning-wheel, 
And leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! 
I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
While laigh descends the simmer sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
O leeze me on my spinning-wheel ! 

ii. 
On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
And meet below my theekit cot ; 
The scented birk and hawthorn white, 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 
And little fishes' caller rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel', 
Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel. 

in. 
On lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 
Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
The craik amang the clover hay, 
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley, 
The swallow jinkin round my shiel, 
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel. 

IV. 

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 
Amid their flaring, idle toys, 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel ? 



["The melody to which Burns composed those 
verses was written by Oswald. The theme is a 
favourite one with the Poet — virtue and thrift. 
The heroine rejoices in her rustic independence ; 
her wheel and reel are her truest friends, and 
clothe her and fill her cottage with comforts. 
Nor is she insensible to rural loveliness ; her 
house stands among trotting streams ; and birds 
sing and cushats wail on the bushes and trees 
around her. Machinery has stopt the spinning- 
wheel, and taken the distaff from the bosoms 
of our lasses ; on the rivulet side, now, no 
white-armed girls sing as they lave water on 
yarn of their own making — a shining and glossy 
grey, 

'Which glanc'd in a' our lads' een.' 

as they walked kirk-ward." — Cunningham.] 



<& Eitbe Ml fcrntuu in. 



Tune— The Posie. 



O luve will venture in 

Where it daurna weel be seen j 
O luve will venture in 

Where wisdom aince has been ; 
But I will down yon river rove, 

Amang the wood sae green — 
And a' to pu' a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

ii. 

The primrose I will pu', 

The firstling of the year ; 
And I will pu' the pink, 

The emblem o' my dear ; 
For she's the pink o' womankind, 

And blooms without a peer — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

in. 

I'll pu' the budding rose, 

When Phoebus peeps in view, 
For it's like a baumy kiss 

O' her sweet, bonnie mou' ; 
The hyacinth's for constancy, 

Wi' its unchanging blue — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May 

IV. 

The lily it is pure, 

And the lily it is fair, 
And in her lovely bosom 

I'll place the lily there ; 
The daisy's for simplicity, 

And unaffected air — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May.. 



O, LUVE WILL VENTURE IN, ETC. 



407 



The hawthorn I will pu', 

Wi' its locks o' siller gray, 
Where, like an aged man, 

It stands at break of day. 
But the songster's nest within the bush 

I winna tak away — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 



The woodbine I will pu', 

When the ev'ning star is near, 
And the diamond draps o' dew 

Shall be her een sae clear ; 
The violet's for modesty, 

Which weel she fa's to wear — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 



* [Similar sentiments to those of Burns inspired Meleager 
in his " Heliodora's Garland," thus translated by Professor 
Wilson : 

"I'll twine white violets, with soft myrtles too, 
Narcissus twine, hyacinth of purple hue, 
Twine with sweet crocus, laughing lilies twine 
With roses, that to lovers hopeful shine ; 
So that on Heliodora's perfumed head 
A wreath her beauteous ringlets may flower-spread." 

" The feeling of the Greek lines," says Wilson, " is tender, 
and the expression perfect ; but we cannot say more of the 
feeling than that it is a natural tenderness, inspired by the 
mingled breath of Hcliodora and her garland. The tender- 
ness is mixed, too, it may be said, with pride and homage. 
Meleager does the thing gracefully ; we see his figure in an 
imposing posture, as he fixes the wreath on her head. But 
compare'" the courtier with the peasant— Meleager with Burns. 
By the banks of every stream in Coila hath bold bright Bobby 
walked, with his arm round some sweetheart's waist, and 
helped her to pull the primrose or the hawthorn, 

' In many a secret place, 
Where rivulets danc'd their wayward round, 
And beauty, born of murmuring sound, 

Did pass into her face.' 

" The Scot surpasses the Greek in poetry as well as passion 
—his tenderness is more heartfelt — his expression is even 
more exquisite ; for the most consummate art, even when 
guided by genius, cannot refine and burnish, by repeated 
polishing, the best selected words, up to the breathing 
beauty that, warm from the fount of inspiration, sometimes 
colours the pure language of nature. 

" Lady ! we appeal to thee — while we place the posie on 
thy bosom. 

" In one of Mr. Merivale's notes — always so agreeable — 
allusion is made to Dr. Aikin's 'Essay on the application of 
Natural History to Poetry' — where he censures Pope for 
having in his Pastorals represented two flowers as blowing at 
the same time, when some months in reality intervene 
between the periods of their flowering ; 

' Here, the bright crocus and the violet grow ; 
Here western winds on breathing roses blow.' 

We have never seen the Doctor's Essay, but do not doubt 
the excellence of his prescription. 'Every flowery versilier,' 
he says, ' has materials at hand for a lover's bower ; but a 
botanist alone could have culled and sorted the plants which 
compose the Bower of Eve.' Poo-poo-poo. Milton was no 
botanist. Poets of course observe all natural phenomena ; 
when they wish to be accurate they generally are so ; and 
ignorance is unpardonable on all occasions where they profess 
to write according to knowledge. But feeling often forgets 
facts. Meleager gathers flowers for his Heliodora that are 
all naturally in blossom together, and it is well ; but Burns 
pu'd a posie for his own dear May, in despite of the Seasons 
and Dr, Aikin. He was as good a botanist as Milton — that is, 
iso botanist at all—but he knew every month by its flower. 



VII. 
I'll tie the posie round, 

Wi' the silken band of love, 
And I'll place it in her breast, 

And I'll swear, by a' above, 
That to my latest draught o' life 

The band shall ne'er remove — 
And this will be a posie 

To my ain dear May.* 
, 4. 

Countru Ha£3ie. 

Tune — The Country Lass. 



In simmer, when the hay was mawn, 
And corn wav'd green in ilka field, 

While claver blooms white o'er the lea, 
And roses blaw in ilka bield ; 



Nevertheless, his own dear May, more magical than even the 
month of that name, to his eyes covered the eanh at once 
with all the flowers of the year. As all the innocences were 
alive in her, so to his imagination were all their emblems in 
nature. The primrose — the firstling of the year— as he most 
tenderly calls it — the pink, which comes long after — the rose, 
which in Scotland at least is ' newly born in June' — the haw- 
thorn, seldom ' siller grey' before July — and the violet earlier 
far than the lily — though Heaven forbid the lily should be 
wanting— all are pu'd by the ploughman for one Posie, that 
in its profusion and confusion of balm and bloom, shall 
faintly but faithfully image his own clear May. Enough that 
both she and they were innocent and beautiful in the breath 
of Heaven. Nor is that all. He mingles the hours of the 
day as well as the seasons of the year. 

' I'll pu' the budding rose when Phoebus peeps in view' — 

an image of the dewy dawn ; but from morn to dewy eve is 
but a moment in 'love's young dream,' and, forgetful of the 
simplest and easiest chronology, he declares, 

' The woodbine I will pu' when the evening star is near !' 

We could expatiate for an hour on this Posie ; but the hint 
we have dropped is sufficient to settle Dr. Aikin." 

Another version of this beautiful lyric appeared above thirty 
years ago, set to music, and was afterwards printed in the 
Harp of Caledonia ; it exhibits many variations, and was no 
doubt the poet's first draught. It is here subjoined : — 

O luve will venture in whar it daurna well be seen ; 
O luve will venture in whar wisdom ance has been ; 
But I will down yon river rove, amang the leaves sae green, 
And a' to pu' a posie for my ain dear Jean. 

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem 0' my dear, 
I'll join the scented birk to the breathing eglantine, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear Jean. 

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, 
The morning's fragrance breathing like her sweet bonnie mou ; 
The hyacinth, of constancy the symbol shall be seen, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear Jean. 

I'll pu' the lily pure, that adorns the dewy vale, 
The richly blooming hawthorn, that scents the vernal gale, 
The daisy for simplicity, and unaffected mien, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear Jean. 

Th" woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, 
Gemm'd wi' diamond drops o' dew, like her twa e'en sae clear, 
The violet all modesty, the odour-breathing bean, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear Jean. 

I'll tie the posie round with the silken band o' luve, 
And I'llplaceitin her bosom, and I'll pray the powers above 
That to our latest breath o' life the band may aye remain, 
And this will be a posie to my ain dear Jean.] 



408 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel, 

Says — I'll be wed, come o't what will ; 

Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild — 
O' guid advisement comes nae ill. 

ii. 

It's ye hae wooers mony ane, 

And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken ; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, 

A routine but, a routine ben : 
There's Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen, 

It's plenty beets the iuver's fire, 
in. 
For Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye, 

He has nae luve to spare for me : 
But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : 
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. 

IV. 

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught ; 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair : 
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best, 

An hungry care's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some will spare, 

An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. 
v. 
O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome luve, 

The gowd and siller canna buy ; 
We may be poor — Robie and I, 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve bring peace and joy — 

What mair hae queens upon a throne ? 



["In the present song, a dame of wrinkled 
eild takes upon her the duty of monitress, and 
it cannot be said that she fails to make out a 
capital case in favour of a prudent match ; she 
asserts, with the wooer in Allan Ramsay, — 

"There's mickle true love in bands and bags, 
And gowd an' siller's a sweet complexion." 

The Poet has made a liberal use of proverb 
lore ; the fourth verse consists wholly of warn- 
ing saws and antique sayings ; the grey dame 
who uses them makes happiness of the house- 
hold of Mammon. In former times, before 
money was plentiful, it is said that a wooer 
waded the Nith to the Isle beside Ellisland, and 
made an offer for the hand of a farmer's daugh- 
ter: the young woman received his addresses 
with a sort of sarcastic coldness ; her father ap- 
proached, and rounded in her ear, ' Look at him 
twice, Jenny ; look at him twice — he's weel ar- 



rayed — he has twa tap-coats and a plaid on !** 
— Cunningham.] 

<> 

dfatr €lt$a. 

A Gaelic Air. 



Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rue on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart ? 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise ! 
II. 
Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ? 

The offence is loving thee : 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever 

Wha for thine wad gladly die ? 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe ; 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 
ill. 
Not the bee upon the blossom, 

In the pride o' sunny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy, 

All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet, in the moment 

Fancy lightens in his e'e, 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, 

That thy presence gies to me. 



[" The original title of this song was ' Fair 
Rabina :' the heroine was a young lady to 
whom one of the Poet's friends was attached, 
and Burns wrote it in compliment to his passion. 
Johnson, the proprietor of the Museum, disliked 
the name, and, desiring to have one more suit- 
able for singing, the Poet unwillingly changed 
it to Eliza. Burns thought very well of the 
composition, and said he had tasked his muse to 
the top of her performing. It is to be regretted 
that this change took place : it was something 
of a fraud, for it robbed the fair Rabina of an 
honour of which any one might be justly covet- 
ous, and bestowed it upon a shadowy dame of 
the fancy." — Cunningham.] 



l^e ^acfjlntcg fcp flame. 



Tune — Ye Jacobites by Name 



Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear j 
Ye Jacobites by name, 

Your fautes I will proclaim, 

Your doctrines I maun blame — 
You shall hear. 



THE BANKS OF DO ON, 



40S 



What is right, and what is wrang, by the law, 
by the law ? 
What is right, and what is wrang, by the law ? 
What is right, and what is wrang ? 
A short sword, and a lang, 
A weak arm, and a Strang 
For to draw. 
ill. 
What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar, fam'd afar ? 
What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar ? 
What makes heroic strife ? 
To whet th' assassin's knife, 
Or hunt a parent's life 
Wi' bluidie war. 

IV. 

Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the 
state ; 
Then let your schemes alone in the state ; 
Then let your schemes alone, 
Adore the rising sun, 
And leave a man undone 
To his fate. 



[Burns founded this song on some old verses, 
in which it was intimated that the extinction 
of the House of Stuart was sought for by other 
weapons than the sword. It cannot be denied 
that, if the House of Hanover had the affection 
of the people and the law of the land on their 
side, the exiled princes had the best poetry. 
This may be accounted for : the romantic ad- 
ventures, and daring exploits, and deep suffer- 
ings of Prince Charles enlisted sympathy on his 
side ; and the minstrels, regarding his fate and 
that of his brave companions as furnishing mat- 
ter for poetry only, sung with a pathos and a 
force which will likely be long remembered. 
It would seem by the last verse that Barns 
looked upon the cause as hopeless. The air is 
very popular. — Cunningham.] 



€3)e 25an&3 of Moon. 

FIRST VERSION. 
I. 

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fair ; 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae fu' o' care ! 
11 
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 

When my fause luve was true. 

in. 
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na 0' my fate. 



Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the woodbine twine, 
And ilka bird sang o' its love ; 

And sae did I o' mine, 
v. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Frae off its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver staw the rose, 

But left the thorn wi' me. 

[Cromek, who had a fine taste in poetry and 
art, found this version among the letters of the 
Poet, and admitted it into the Reliques. When- 
ever the genius of Burns was a topic of conver- 
sation, he loved to descant on the exquisite sim- 
plicity and force of his sentiments and language, 
and generally instanced the last two verses o\ 
the first version of the " Banks of Doon " as a 
fine specimen of his natural powers.] 



Clje 2SankS 0' 23oon. 

SECOND VERSION. 
Tune — Caledonian Hunt's Delight, 

r. 

Ye banks and braes 0' bonnie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ; 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae weary, fu' 0' care ! 
Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird. 

That wantons thro' the flowering thorn : 
Thou minds me o' departed joys, 

Departed — never to return ! 

11. 
Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver stole my rose, 

But, ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



i 



[The history of the air to which the " Banks 
o' Doon " was composed is curious. It hap- 
pened that James Miller, a writer in Edinburgh, 
was in company with Stephen Clarke the musi- 
cian : the conversation turned upon the beauty 
of the Scottish airs, when Miller declared he 
would like much to make one. Clarke, in a 
jocular way, told him that nothing was more 
easy — he had only to keep to the black keys of 
the harpsichord — preserve some kind of rhythm 
— and the result would be a true Scottish air. 
What the musician meant for a joke, Miller 
took seriously. To the harpsichord he went, 
and applied his fingers with such success to the 
black keys that he speedily produced his tune, 



410 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



which, on receiving two or three touches from 
Clarke, was given to the world — and with such 
applause that Burns re-modelled his " Banks 
and Braes o' bonnie Doon," and adapted it to 
the air — at the expense somewhat of its sim- 
plicity. 

An Ayr-shire legend says that the heroine of 
this affecting song was Miss Kennedy of Dal- 
garrock, a young creature, beautiful and ac- 
complished, who fell a victim to her love for 
M'Douall of Logan. All the earlier songs of 
Burns were founded in truth. (See an interest- 
ing letter to Gavin Hamilton, Esq., dated Edin- 
burgh, March 9th, 1787, given exclusively in 
this Edition.) ] 



&ic a h)iU a3 TOltie Ijatf. 

Tune — The eight Men of Moidart, 



Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 

The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie, 

Willie was a wabster guid, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie : 

He had a wife was dour and din, 

Tinkler Maidgie was her mither ; 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

1 wad nae gie a button for her. 

II. 
She has an e'e — she has but ane, 

The cat has twa the very colour ; 
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller j 
A whiskin' beard about her mou', 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither— 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad nae gie a button for her 

hi. 
She's bow hough' d, she's hem shinn'd, 

Ae limpin' leg, a hand-breed shorter ; 
She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 

To balance fair in ilka quarter : 
She has a hump upon her breast, 

The twin o' that upon her shouther — 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

T wad nae gie a button for her. 

IV. 

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits, 

An' wi' her loof her face a-washin' ; 
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ; 
Her walie nieves like midden-creels, 

Her face wad fyle the Logan- Water — 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 



["The her$ of this song owes his name per- 
haps to that doughty personag'3 who replied to 
the summons of Oliver Cromwell • — 



' I'm Willie o' the Wastle, 
I'll keep in my castle ; 
An' a' the dogs in your town 
Shanna ding me down.' 

" The heroine is said to have been a much 
humbler individual ; namely, the wife of a 
farmer who lived near Burns at Ellisland. She 
was a very singular woman : tea, she said, 
would be the ruin of the nation ; sugar was a 
sore evil ; wh eaten bread was only fit for babes ; 
earthenware was a pickpocket ; wooden floors 
were but fit for threshing upon ; slated roofs, 
cold ; feathers, good enough for fowls ; in 
short, she abhorred change, and, whenever any 
thing new appeared, such as harrows with iron 
teeth — ' Aye, aye,' she would exclaim, ' ye'll 
see the upshot !' 

" Of all modern things she disliked china most ; 
she called it ' burnt clay,' and said it was only 
fit for ' hauding the broo o' stinking weeds,' 
as she called tea. On one occasion, a southern 
dealer in cups and saucers asked so much for 
his ware that he exasperated a peasant, who 
said ' I canna purchase, but I ken ane that 
will :' ' Gang there,' said he, pointing to the 
house of Willie's wife : — l dinna be blate or 
burd-mouthed ; ask a gude penny — she has the 
siller.' Away went the poor dealer, spread 
out his wares before her, and summed up all by 
asking a double price. A blow from her cum- 
mock was his instant reward, which not only 
fell on his person, but damaged his china — i I'll 
learn ye,' quoth she, as she heard the saucers 
jingle, * to come with yere brazent English 
face, and yere bits 0' burnt clay to me !' She 
was an unlovely dame — -her daughters, how- 
ever, were beautiful." — Cunningham.] 



Hatfj) ;Plarg &nn. 



Tune — Craigston's growing. 



O, Lady Mary Ann 

Looks o'er the castle wa', 
She saw three bonnie boys 

Playing at the ba' ; 
The youngest he was 

The flower amang them a'- 
My bonnie laddie's young, 

But he's growin' yet. 



O father ! O father ! 

An ye think it fit, 
We'll send him a year 

To the college yet : 
We'll sew a green ribbon 

Bound about his hat, 
And that will let them ken 

He's to marry yet. 



LADY MARY ANN.— ETC. 



411 



Lady Mary Ann 

Was a flower i' the dew, 
Sweet was its smell, 

And bonnie was its hue ; 
And the langer it blossom'd 

The sweeter it grew ; 
For the lily in the bud 

Will be bonnier yet. 

IV. 

Young Charlie Cochrane 

Was the sprout of an aik ; 
Bonnie and bloomin' 

And straught was its make : 
The sun took delight 

To shine for its sake, 
And it will he the brag 

O' the forest yet. 



The simmer is gane 

When the leaves they were green, 
And the days are awa 

That we hae seen ; 
But far better days 

I trust will come again, 
For my bonnie laddie's young, 

But he's growin' yet. * 



[" The third and fourth verses of this song 
are in the happiest manner of Burns. An old 
ballad, called " Craigton's growing," was 
chanted to him in one of his Highland excur- 
sions : he caused the tune to be noted down, 
and, musing over the old rhyme, produced 
" Lady Mary Ann," and sent both music and 
words to the Museum. During the short 
career of Burns, he did much for the lyrical 
glory of Scotland ; wherever he went, his ear 
was open to the music of the district, and to the 
local songs of the land. He communicated 
many airs to Johnson, and on all occasions dis- 

* We subjoin a traditional copy of the old ballad : — 
MY BONNIE LADDIE'S LANG O' GROWING 
The trees they are ivied, the leaves they are green, 
The days are a' awa that I hae seen, 
On the cauld winter nights I ha'e to lie my lane, 

For my bonnie laddie's lang o' growing. 
O father dear, yoa have done me great wrong, 
You have wedded me to a boy that's too young, 
He is scarce twelve, and I'm but thirteen, 
And my bonnie laddie's lang o' growing. 

daughter dear, I have done you no wrong, 

1 have wedded you to a noble lord's son, 
He'll be the lord, and ye'll wait on, 

And your bonnie laddie's daily growing. 

father dear, if you think it fit ; 

We'll send him to the college a year or twa yet ; 
We'll tie a green ribbon round about his hat, 
And that will be a token that he's married. 

And O father dear, if this pleaseth you, 

1 will cut my hair aboon my brow : 
Coat, vest, and breeches I will put on, 

And I to the college will go wi' him. 



played a sympathy for music which showed 
how much he was under its influence. Music 
is cultivated, during the winter time, among 
the peasantry of Scotland, and psalmody is 
taught along with the native lyrics. All the 
youth, too, are instructed in dancing ; few na- 
tives of the north can be found who are igno- 
rant of music and dancing." — Cunningham.] 



tfavtiottl to a' our llcoitts'!) Jfsnu. 

Tune — Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation. 



Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, 

Fareweel our ancient glory ! 
Fareweel even to the Scottish name, 

Sae fam'd in martial story ! 
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, 

And Tweed rins to the ocean, 
To mark where England's province stands 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ' 

11. 

What force or guile could not subdue, 

Thro' many warlike ages, 
Is wrought now by a coward few, 

For hireling traitors' wages. 
The English steel we could disdain, 

Secure in valour's station ; 
But English gold has been our bane — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 
in. 

O would, or I had seen the day 

That treason thus could sell us, 
My auld grey head had lien in clay, 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, till my last horn, 

I'll mak this declaration ; 
We're bought and sold for English gold — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. f 



She's made him shirts o' the Holland sae fine, 
And wi' her ain hands she sewed the same ; 
And aye the tears came trickling down, 

Saying, my bonnie laddie's lang o' growing. 

In his twelfth year he was a married man, 
And in his thirteenth he had his auld son, 
And in his fourteenth his grave it was green, 
Sae that put an end to his growing. 

t ["Burns," says Cunningham, "lias expressed senti- 
ments in this song which were once popular in the north 
The advantages of an union which deprived Scotland of ?W 
the visible symbols of power and independence, were not for 
forty years at least perceived by the people : they only saw 
the mansions of their nobles empty, grass growing in the 
Parliament close, and felt that the little wealth which 
belonged to the land was flowing off to the south. Those 
whom the Union allured to London were made to feel their 
dependent condition more keenly : they were received with 
suspicion and distrust by a proud and haughty people ; they 
were treated as foreigners, rather than as*men who visited 
their own capital. England, like the termagant dame in the 
Poet's verse, allowed her spouse to have " no will but by her 
high permission." A rebellion, conducted by a weak and 



412 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



he Carle of Hellflbuni 23rae£. 



Tune— Kellyburn Braes. 



There lived a carle in Kellyburn braes, 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme;) 
And he had a wife was the plague o' his days ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime. 

ii. 
Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen, 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
He met wi' the devil ; says, " How do yow fen ?" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime. 

III. 

"I've got a bad wife, sir ; that's a' my complaint ; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 

For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 

prime." 

IV. 

" I t's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave, 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 

But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have, 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 

prime." 

v. 

"O ! welcome, most kindly," the blythe carle said, 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 

" But if ye can match her, ye're waur than ye're 

ca'd, [prime." 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 

VI. 

The devil has got the auld wife on his back ; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried his pack ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime. 

VII. 

He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door ; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
Syne bade her gae in, for a b — and a w — , 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime. 



wavering chief, which caused the scaffolds to reek with blood, 
and provoked England, made matters worse ; nor was it till 
a handful of desperate men shook the throne of Britain in 
■wo triumphant battles, and advancing to Derby, 

" With fear of change perplexed monarchs," 

rhat Scotchmen were allowed to have the benefit of an union 
which had been forced upon them. The Poet, who loved 
Scotland as his own heart's blood, in musing upon the 
profligate sellers "and buyers of his country, indignantly 
sung — 

" We're bought and sold for English gold — 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation !" 

" Alas !" he exclaimed, " have I often said to myself, what 
are all the advantages which my country reaps from the 
Union that can counterbalance the annihilation of her inde- 
pendence, and even her very name ? Nothing can reconcile 
me to the terms, 'English Ambassador,' 'English Court,' &c." 



Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 

Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime. 

IX. 

The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wud bear, 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 

Whae'er she gat hands on cam near her nae mair ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 

prime. 

x. 
A reekit wee devil looks over the wa' ; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
" O, help, master, help ! or she'll ruin us a', 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime." 

XI. 

The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 

He pitied the man that was ty'd to a wife ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime. 

XII. 

The devil he swore by the kirk and the beh, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 

He was not in wedlock, thank heav'n, but in 

hell ; [prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 

XIII. 

Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his pack *, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 

And to her auld husband he's carried her back ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime. 

XIV. 

" I hae been a devil the feck o' my life ; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in 
prime." 



[When Cromek desired Mrs. Burns to inform 
him respecting the songs which her husband 
had eked out or amended in the Museum, she 
ran her finger, he said, along the pages, saying 



" Nor has Scott written less strongly, when speaking of 
northern statesmen. — ' When they united with the degrada- 
tion of their country the prospect of obtaining personal 
wealth and private emoluments, we cannot acquit them of 
the charge of having sold their own honour and that of Scot- - 
land.' — ' I have already mentioned,' he elsewhere says, 
' the sum of twenty thousand pounds, which was apportioned 
to the commissioners who originally laid the basis of the 
treaty. I may add there was another sum of twenty thousand 
pounds employed to secure to the measures of the Court the 
party called the Squadrone Volante. The account of the 
mode in which this last sum was distributed has been pub- 
lished : and it may be doubted whether the descendants of 
the noble lords and honourable gentlemen who accepted this 
gratification would be more shocked at the general fact of 
their ancestors being corrupted, or scandalized at the paltry 
amount of the bribe. One noble lord accepted so low a sum 
as eleven guineas .- and the bargain was the more hard, as he 
threw his religion into the bargain, and from Catholic turned 
Protestant, to make his vote a good one.' "] 



- 



JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS.— ETC. 



4*3 i 



" Robert gae this ane a brushing ; and this ane 
gat a brushing also." But when she came to 
the " Carle of Kelly bum Braes/' she exclaimed, 
" He gae this ane a terrible brushing." The 
skeleton, so to speak, of the song is old : but, 
like a crab-stock, it has been compelled to bear a 
richer fruit than pertains to its original nature. 
The emendations and additions by Burns are 
numerous ; the eleventh and twelfth verses are 
wholly his ; entire lines, half- lines, and some- 
times a line and a half from his pen. 

Other versifiers have tried their hands on the 
subject, and the result is sundiy additional verses 
wearing the hue and impressed with the character 
of the old strain. Satan carries the carlin to 
his " lowing heugh :" — 

'* He clinkit her down in his mickle arm chair, 
(Hey ! and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
And thousands o' devils cam round her to stare ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

But aye as they at the auld carlin play'd pou't, 
(Hey! and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 

She gied them a bang and she lent them a clout ; 
And the time it is wither'd, and rue is in prime." 

The stir which she makes excites something 
like a civil war in hell ; and the devil, afraid of 
the stability of his empire, seizes the carlin, 
and, carrying her suddenly to upper air, finds 
her husband at the plough, cheering himself 
with a song : — 

" And aye as the auld carle ranted and sang, 

(Hey ! and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
In troth, my auld Spankie, ye'U no keep her lang; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime." 

On observing Satan advancing, the poor 
man looked sad, and hoped he was not bringing 
her back : Clootie makes answer : — 

" I tried her in spunks, and in cauldrons I tried her, 
(Hey ! and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
The wale of my brimstane wadna hae fried her ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

I stapped her into the neuk o' my den, 
(Hey ! and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme.) 

But the very damned ran when the carlins gaed ben ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime,"] 



gtocittn'tf ta'ni t^e parting Wiite. 



Tune — Bonnie Lassie, tak a Man. 



Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 

O'er the mountains he is gane ; 
And with him is a' my bliss, 

Nought but griefs with me remain. 
Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, 

Plashy sleets and beating rain ! 
Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 

Drifting o'er the frozen plain L 



♦ Vae- 
t Vak.- 



-I met a lass, a bonnie lass. 
■Bare her. leg, and bright her een, 



When the shades of evening creep 

O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 
Sound and safely may he sleep, 

Sweetly blithe his waukening be ! 
He will think on her he loves, 

Fondly he'll repeat her name ; 
For where'er he distant roves, 

Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



This charming song was written by Burns 
for the Museum. It is adapted to an ancient 
air, which is preserved in Oswald's Caledonian 
Pocket Companion. The old song is supposed 
to be now lost. 



Coming tljrougl) rt)e23vac$o' Cupav. 



Donald Brodie met a lass,* 
Coming o'er the braes o' Cupar ; 

Donald wi' his Highland hand,f 
Rifled ilka charm about her. J 

CHORUS. 

Coming o'er the braes o' Cupar, 

Coming o'er the braes o' Cupar, 
Highland Donald met a lass, 
And row'd his Highland plaid about her. 
ii. 
Weel I wat she was a quean, 

Wad made a bodie's mouth to water ; 
Our Mess John, wi' his auld grey pow, § 
His haly lips wad licket at her. 
in. 
Off she started in a fright, 

And through the braes as she could bicker ; 
But souple Donald quicker flew, 

And in his arms he lock'd her sicker. 
Coming through the braes o' Cupar, 

Coming through the braes o' Cupar, 
Highland Donald met a lass, 

And row'd his Highland plaid about her. 



3£a&p <©nlu. 

Tune— Ruffian's Rant. 
I. 

A' the lads o' Thornie-bank, 

When they gae to the shore o' Bucky, 
They'll step in an' tak' a pint 

Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 

Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o ? Bucky ; 

1 wish her sale for her guid ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 

% Var. — And handsome ilka bit about her. 
§ Var. — Wi' his lyart pow. 



414 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean, 

I wat she is a dainty chucky : 

And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed 

Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 

Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 



[ Some portion of " Lady Onlie " is old. 
Burns, in the language of his wife, gave it "a 
brushing" for the Museum. Other verses have 
made their appearance since : — 

" Her foaming ale, her mirthsome tale, 

A kiss at times, when things are lucky ; 
The mirk, mirk hours she lends them wings, 
Guid Lady Onlie, honest Lucky." 

Her drink is strong, her lips are sweet, 

I taste them as I go to Buckie ; 
' Sic things maun be, if we sell ale,' 

Quo' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky." 

The last line save one is proverbial with those 
who frequent alehouses. The rustic muse loved 
to lay the scenes of her songs where 

" Ale and wine are stars and moon ! ' ' 

The wife of Whittlecockpen seems to have 
been full cousin to "Lady Onlie, honest 
Lucky :" her merits are set forth in some very 
graphic verses : — 

"There dwalt a wife in Whittlecockpen, 
And she brewed gude ale for gentlemen ; 
Ae night the dame her barm had set, 
When a stranger man cam rap to the yett ; 
The night dang down baith win' an' weet, 
The ale was Strang, and the dame was sweet."] 



€i)e €fyUXitfg lament. 



Tune— Captain O'Kean. 



The small birds rejoice in the green leaves 

returning, [the vale ; 

The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' 

The hawthorn trees blow, in the dew of the 

morning, [dale : 

And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem 

fair, [by care ? 

While the lingering moments are number'd 

No flow'rs gaily springing, nor birds sweetly 

singing, 

Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 



The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice, 
A king, and a father, to place on his throne? 

* Var. — The primroses blush. 



His right are these hills, and his right are these 

valleys, [find none : 

Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can 

But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, — 

forlorn, [mourn ; 

My brave gallant friends ! 'tis your ruin I 

Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot-bloody 

trial — 

Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ? 



[" Yesterday," says Burns to Cleghorn, "as 
I was riding through a tract of melancholy, 
joyless moors, between Galloway and Ayr-shire, 
it being Sunday, I turned my thoughts to 
psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs ; and 
your favourite air, i Captain O'Kean,' coming 
at length into my head, I tried these words to 
it. I am tolerably pleased with the verses ; but 
as I have only a sketch of the tune, I leave it 
with you to try if they suit the measure of the 
music." Cleghorn answered that the words 
delighted him, and fitted the tune exactly. " I 
wish," added he, " that you would send me a 
verse or two more; and, if you have no ob- 
jection, I would have it in the Jacobite style. — 
Suppose it should be sung after the fatal field 
of Culloden, by the unfortunate Charles." The 
Poet took his friend's advice, and infused a Ja- 
cobite spirit into the first verse as well as the 
second.] 



OTar JzTjng 



Air — Oran an Doig ; or, The Song of Death. 

Scene — A field of battle. Time of the day, evening. The 
wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed 
to join in the following song: 



Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, 
and ye skies, 
Now gay with the broad setting sun ! [ties ! 
Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear tender 
Our race of existence is run ! 
ii. 
Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy 
foe ! 
Go, frighten the coward and slave ! [know, 
Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but 
No terrors hast thou to the brave ! 
in. 
Thou strik'st the dull peasant, — he sinks in the 
dark, 
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ; — 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark! 
He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 

IV. 

In the field of proud honour — our swords in 
our hands, 

Our king and our country to save — 
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands 

Oh ! who would not die with the brave ! 



AFTON WATER. — SMILING SPRING. 



415 



[When Burns composed this noble lyric, he 
wrote, on the 17th of December, 1791, to Mrs. 
Dunlop : — " I have just finished the following- 
song, which, to a lady, the descendant of Wal- 
lace — and many heroes of his truly illustrious 
line — and herself the mother of several soldiers, 
needs neither preface nor apology." The Poet, 
after transcribing the song, goes on to say that 
it was suggested to him on looking over Mac- 
donald's collection of Highland airs, where he 
found an Isle of Sky tune, entitled " Oran an 
Doig, or the Song of Death/' to the measure 
of which he adapted these heart-stirring verses. 

Of this song, Currie says it is worthy of the 
Grecian muse — when Greece was most dis- 
tinguished for genius and valour. Burns wished 
to print the lyric by itself, and give it to his 
country : unluckily some one advised him against 
it, and the Poet lived to be sorry that he yielded 
to his entreaty.] 



mton Mater. 



Tune — The Yellow-liaired Laddie. 



Flow gently, sweet Afton ! among thy green 

braes, 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream — 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her 
dream. 



Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' 
the glen, [den ; 

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny 

Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming 
forbear — 

I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 



How lofty, sweet Afton ! thy neighbouring hills, 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding 

rills ; 
There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 



How pleasant thy banks and green valleys 
below, [blow ! 

Where wild in the woodlands the primroses 
There oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

V. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides ! 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ! 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear 



Flow gently, sweet Afton ! among thy green 

braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays! 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream — 
Flow gently, sweet Afton ! disturb not her 

dream. 



["The copy of ' Afton Water,' was presented 
by the Poet to his kind and accomplished pa- 
troness, Mrs. Stewart. Burns calls it simply 
' Sweet Afton,' and adds no explanation. 
None was needed ; the song explains itself : 
the lady was aware of the ways of the muse, 
and smiled at the images of beauty with 
which she was associated as she slumbered on 
the banks of her native stream. Unlike some 
other ladies of whom the Poet sang, she looked 
upon his strains as a mark of respect, and felt 
them as a work of genius. Afton is a small 
stream in Ayr-shire, one of the tributaries of the 
Nith ; Afton -lodge stands upon its bank, and is 
the residence of Miss Stewart and her sister. 
The scenes on the Afton are beautiful, and merit 
the painter's pencil as much as the poet's song, 
Mrs. Stewart was heiress of the estate." — Cun- 
ningham.] 



Smiting Spring corned tn Rejoicing. 



Tune— B onnie Bell. 



The smiling spring comes in rejoicing. 

And surly winter grimly flies ; 
Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies ; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the 
morning, 

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning, 

And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 



The flowery spring leads sunny summer, 

And yellow autumn presses near, 
Then in his turn comes gloomy winter, 

Till smiling spring again appear. 
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 

Old Time and Nature their changes tell, 
But never ranging, still unchanging, 

I adore my bonnie Bell. 



[" Bonnie Bell" was long a favourite with 
the maidens on the banks of the Nith : the air 
is lively, and the words very pleasing and pic- 
turesque.] 



416 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



*y 



€§z Carles of 2£!g£(art. 



Tune — Hey ca' thro'. 



Up wi' the carles o' Dysart 
And the lads o' Buckhaven, 

And the kimmers o' Largo, 
And the lasses o' Leven. 

Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 
For we hae mickle ado ; 

Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 
For we hae mickle ado. 

ii. 

We hae tales to tell, 

And we hae sangs to sing ; 
We hae pennies to spend, 

And we hae pints to bring. 

in. 

We'll live a' our days, 
And them that come behin', 

Let them do the like, 

And spend the gear they win. 

Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 
For we hae mickle ado ; 

Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 
For we hae mickle ado. 



[Burns communicated this Fisherman's Chant 
fco the Musical Museum. The air is lively and 
old ; the verses, too, have an air of antiquity. 
The Poet excelled in the manufacture of such 
simulated commodities. Other verses on the 
same subject are to be found in later collec- 
tions : — 

" We'll hae mirth and laughter, 

We that live by water, 
Leave them that come after 

To spend the gear they gather. 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 

Damsels, dinna doubt it, 
There's better fish i' the sea 

Than ever yet came out o't." 



Cije gallant OTeafeer. 



Tune— The Weavers 1 March. 



Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea, 
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree, 
There lives a lad, the lad for me, 

He is a gallant weaver. 
Oh, I had wooers aught or nine, 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; 
And I was fear'd my heart would tine, 

And I gied it to the weaver. 



My daddie sign'd my tocher-band, 
To gie the lad that has the land ; 
But to my heart I'll add my hand, 

And gie it to the weaver. 
While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; 
While bees delight in op'ning flowers j 
While corn grows green in simmer showers, 

I'll love my gallant weaver. 



[" Ladies may toss their heads at the humble 
choice of our heroine ; but it was not quite so 
lowly as they may be pleased to suppose. In j 
more primitive times — nay, within the memory j 
of men — carpenters, masons, blacksmiths, or j 
weavers, were considered superior in station to ; 
hnsbandmen ; their scientific knowledge raised 
them in the estimation of the country above the 
humble tillers of the soil ; and it was not till 
the late tremendous war doubled the consump- 
tion, and enriched farmers, that country trades- 
men lost the ascendancy. The west country 
heroine, therefore, made no imprudent engage- 
ment : and when we reflect that the White 
Cart belongs to Renfrew-shire, and flows near 
the town of Paisley, celebrated for the labours 
of the loom, we shall feel that she turned her 
eyes to a district, populous in gallant weavers, 
and no doubt singled out one every way worthy 
of her love. 

" The air is called the " Weaver's March," 
and is reckoned very beautiful. It has already 
been stated that every trade had formerly a 
marching air. Weavers' songs, however, are 
not numerous ; this is the more to be wondered 
at when we reflect that, perhaps, the lads ot 
the loom are the best informed of all operative 
bodies. Their sedentary employment, engaging 
the hand and eye more than the mind, enables 
them to reflect ; and reflection has made them, 
generally, republicans." — Cunningham.] 



j)e ©utk'tf tfang; o'tx mv IBattote, < 



Tune — The Deuk's dang o'er my Daddie. 



The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, 

The deuk's dang o'er my daddie, O ! 
The fient ma care, quo' the feirie auld wife, 

He was but a paidlin body, O ! 
He paidles out, an' he paidles in, 

An' he paidles late an' early, O ! 
Thae seven lang years I hae lien by his side, 

An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O ! 

ii. 
O, hand your tongue, my feirie auld wife, 

O, haud your tongue now, Nansie, O ! 
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye, 

Ye wadna been sae donsie, O ! 



THE LOVELY LASS OF IN VEKN E S S.— ETC. 



I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose, 
And cuddled me late and early, O ; 

But downa do's come o'er me now, 
And, oh ! I feel it sairly, O ! 



[An old song of the same name supplied 
Burns with the idea of this humorous ditty. 
He has introduced a line or two from the old 
words — the rest is all his own. It speaks with 
the free, homely tongue of the elder muse of 
Scotland. The tune is very old : Playford 
published it in 1657, in his Dancing Master, 
and called it " The Buff Coat."] 



§§?& fatv anfc fatt&. 



Tune — She's fair and fame. 



She's fair and fause that causes my smart, 

I lo'ed her meikle and lang ; 
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear, 
And I hae tint my dearest dear ; 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lassie gang. 



Whae'er ye be that woman love, 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, 

A woman has 't by kind. 
O woman, lovely woman fan* ! 
An angel form's fa'n to thy share, 
'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair- 

I mean an angel mind. 



[This has been pronounced one of the hap- 
piest of the songs of Burns — it is one of the 
most sarcastic ; the last verse is particularly 
bitter. No one has contended for the honour 
of being its heroine. The melody, which Burns 
picked up in the country, is almost as charming 
as the words which he adapted to it in the 
measure.] 

«, 

%i)t ©eil'S atoa fop ty' Q£yci#zmm. 



Tune — The Deil cam' fiddling through the Town, 



Ihe deil cam' fiddling thro' the town, 
And danced awa wi' th' Exciseman, 

And ilka wife cries — " Auld Mahoun, 
I wish you luck o' the prize, man !" 

The deil's awa, the deil's awa, 
The deil's awa wi' th' Exciseman ; 

He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa, 
He's danc'd awa wi' th' Exciseman ! 



We'll mak our maut, we'll brew our drink, 

We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man ; 
And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil, 

That danc'd awa wi' th' Exciseman, 
in. 
There's threesome reels, there's foursome ree*s, 

There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 
But the ae bf^t dance e'er cam to the land 

Was — the deil's awa wi' the Exciseman. 

The deil's awa, the deil's awa, 

The deil's awa wi' th' Exciseman : 

He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa, 
He's danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman. 



[" Gaugers were, for a long period, so cordially 
disliked in Scotland, that to cheat them was 
almost considered a duty. Tradition relates that, 
at Annan, once, a large quantity of smuggled tea 
and brandy had just been carried into an inn 
when, to the consternation of all concerned, 
the gauger was seen approaching. Con- 
cealment was out of the question, for the 
importation was large, and lying on the floor. 
All this was observed by a shrewd idiot, well 
known by the name of Daft Davie Graham ; 
he snatched up a long whip, and walking lei- 
surely to a ' midden-dub,' threw in the lash 
of the whip, watched it, and played it with all 
the anxiety of an angler. — ' What are ye fishing 
for there, Davie V said the officer of the reve- 
nue. — ' Fishing for deevils,' was the answer. 
— ' Deevils !' said the other, ' and what do you 
bait with ? ' — ' Gaugers,' replied David. The 
laugh of the bystanders at the sharp joke made 
the gauger turn his horse's head another road, 
and miss his expected prey." — Cunningham.] 



€l)e Eobelg Ha&S of toeriugg. 



Tune — The Lass of Inverness. 



The lovely lass o' Inverness 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e : 
Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — 

A waefu' day it was to me ! 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

IT. 

Their winding sheet the bluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to see : 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair 

That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 
2 E 



418 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



[As the Poet passed slowly over the fatal 
moor of Culloden, the lament of the Lass of 
Inverness rose, it is said, on his fancy. He 
composed it to an air by Oswald ; the words 
are deeply affecting, and the tune tender. Cro- 
mek remarks that " Burns' s most successful 
imitation of the old style seems to be in ' The 
lovely Lass of Inverness.' " He took up the 
idea from the first half- verse, which is all that 
remains of the old words, and this prompted 
the feelings and the tone of the time he wished 
to commemorate. Lie scattered these samples 
to be picked up by inquisitive criticism, that he 
might listen to its remarks, and, perhaps, se- 
cretly enjoy the admiration which they excited.] 

Another song, on the same subject, has found 
its way into our collections. The following is 
a verse : — 

" As I came in by Inverness, 

The simmer sun was sinking down ; 
And there I met a weel-faur'd lass, 

And she was greeting through the town. 
The grey-hair' d men were a' i' the streets, 

And old dames crying — sad to see ! 
The flower o' the lads of Inverness 

Lie bloodie on Culloden lea." 



& retf, vtli 3&a$t. 



Tune — Graham's Strathspey. 



O, my luve's like a red, red rose, 
That's newly sprung in June : 

O, my luve's like the melodie 
That's sweetly play'd in tune . 



As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

'Till a' the seas gang dry. 



* [The song which supplied Burns with such exquisite 
ideas was written by Lieutenant Hinches, as a farewell to 
his sweetheart, when on the eve of parting. We subjoin a 
portion of it : — 

" O fare thee well, my dearest dear, 
And fare thee well a while ; 
But I am coming back again, 
Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

Ten thousand miles and more, my dear, 

Thro' Flanders, France, and Spain ; 
My heart will never be at ease 

Till we twa meet again. 
O stay thee still, my dearest dear ! 

O stay still till we see, 
Gin that our friends will be content 

That we twa married be. 

Your friends and mine, my only love, 

Look with an angry eye ; 
But ye shall be my dearest dear 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 



'Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 

I will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall run. 



And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel a- while ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.* 



SJeamtu'tf 23oSom. 



Tune — Louis, what reck I by thee. 



Louis, what reck I by thee, 
Or Geordie on his ocean ? 

Dyvor, beggar loons to me — 
I reign in Jeannie's bosom. 



Let her crown my love her law, 
And in her breast enthrone me : 

King and nations — swith, awa ! 
Reif randies, I disown ye ! 



[ Burns, in his Reliques, says, i These words 
are mine.' " No bard of these, our later days, 
has surpassed in the art, that few can learn, of 
putting much sense into small space. — ' Louis, 
what reck I by thee' is one of his happiest 
efforts : it is, perhaps, too peculiar in language 
to be fully felt by any, save Scotchmen : but to 
them it comes with a compact vigour of expres- 
sion not usual in words fitted to music. The 
Jeannie of the song was afterwards Mrs. Burns : 
her name has no chance of passing from the 
earth, if impassioned verse can preserve it." — 1 
Cunningham.] 



Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 

And the rocks melt wi' the sun ; 
And ye shall be my dearest dear 

When a' these works are done. 
Behold the crow that is sae black 

Shall change his colour white, 
Before that I prove fause to thee — 

The day shall turn to night. 

The day shall turn to night, my love 
And the world upside down ; 

And ye shall be my dearest dear 
While shines the sun and moon. 

But what, my love, if I fall sick, 

When ye are frae me gone ; 
And nane to hear my sad, sad sighs ; 

Nor yet my heavy moan ? 
But I'll be like yon turtle dove, 

That sits on yonder tree, 
Lamenting for her lost marrow — 

And sae will I for thee."! 



THE WINTER IT IS PAST.— ETC. 



419 



feats $ ti)t Wlvtt £fi)t Wtit me. 



Tune — Had I the Wyte she bade me. 



Had I the wyte, had I the wyte, 

Had I the wyte she bade me ; 
She watch'd me by the hie-gate side, 

And up the loan she shaw'd me ; 
And when I wadna venture in, 

A coward loon she ca'd me ; 
Had kirk and state been m the gate 

I lighted when she bade me. 

II. 

Sae craftilie she took me ben, 

And bade me make nae clatter ; 
" For our ramgunshoch, glum guidman 

Is o'er ayont the water :" 
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace, 

When I did kiss and dawte her, 
Let him be planted in my place, 

Syne say I was a fautor. 

in. 

Could I for shame, could I for shame, 

Could I for shame refus'd her ? 
And wadna manhood been to blame 

Had I unkindly us'd her ? 
He claw'd her wi' the ripplin-kame, 

And blae and bluidy bruis'd her; 
When sic a husband was frae hame 

What wife but wad excus'd her ? 



I dighted aye her een sae blue, 

And bann'd the cruel randy ; 
And weel I wat her willing mou' 

Was e'en like sugar-candy . 
At gloamin-shot it was I trow, 

I lighted on the Monday ; 
But I cam thro' the Tysday's dew, 

To wanton Willie's brandy. 



["The air to which Burns composed this 
song was called, ' Come kiss wi' me and clap 
wi' me :' and much of the story and some of 
the words he found in an old lyric which bore 
the name of ' Had I the wyte she bade me,' 
and out of which some readers may think he 
has not succeeded in excluding all that is ob- 
jectionable. Those acquainted with the old 
unceremonious strain will wonder at the Poet's 
success." — Cunningham.] 



* [This song was originally published in the Musical Mu- 
seum. The first half of it also occurs, as it stands in the 
text, in Thomson's Collection, vol. vi. p. 50, where it is ex- 
pressly stated to have been written by Burns. The text also 
agrees with a copy in the Poet's own hand, with which 
it has been collated. Gilbert Burns, in a letter to Cromek, 
dated February 1809, after the publication of the Reliques, 



Coming tjroufjj ti)t Sftne. 



Tune — Coming through the Rye. 



Coming through the rye, poor body, 

Coming through the rye, 

She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 

Oh Jenny's a' wat, poor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 
Corning through the rye. 

II. 

Gin a body meet a body — 

Coming through the rye, 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need a body cry ? 



Gin a body meet a body 
Coming through the glen, 

Gin a body kiss a body — 
Need the warld ken ? 

Oh Jenny's a' wat, poor body ; 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 



[Burns took up the old strain, thrashed some 
of the loose chaff from about it, and sent it 
to the Musical Museum. The old " Coming 
through the rye" was once very popular in the 
northern glens ; there were many verses, and, 
as usual, many variations : — 

" Gin a body meet a body 

Coming through the broom, 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need a body gloom ? 
Ilka body has a body, 

Fient a ane hae I, 
But twa 'r three lads they lo'e me weel, 

And what the waur am I ?"] 



CJe Winter it te past.* 
i. 

The winter it is past, and the summer's come 
at last, 

And the little birds sing on ev'ry tree ; 
Now every thing is glad, while I am very sad,f j 

Since my true love is parted from me 4 



speaking of this Fragment, says it was not written by his 
brother, but well he recollected his mother singing it, when 
he was a little boy. Perhaps the additions and corrections 
were by the hand of Burns. At all events we think it better 
to insert it among the works of the Poet. — C] 

t Vab. — The hearts of these are glad, but mine is very sad, 

X Vae. — For my lover has parted from me. 

2 E 3 



480 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



The rose upon the brier, by the waters running 
clear, 

May have charms for the linnet or the bee ; 
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts 

But my true love is parted from me. [at rest, 

in. 

My love is like the sun, in the firmament does 
For ever is constant and true ; * [run, 

But his is like the moon, that wanders up and 
down, 
And is every month changing a new. 

IV. 

All you that are in love, and cannot it remove, 

I pity the pains you endure : 
For experience makes me know that your 
hearts are full o' woe, 

A woe that no mortal can cure. 



[ " We are not sure upon what authority this 
song is ascribed to Burns. We are almost con- 
fident that we have seen copies of it anterior to 
his time ; indeed the first verse is the starting 
one of a common ballad, called " The Curragh 
of Kildare." Cromek found the first two 
verses of this song among Burns' MSS., con- 
sequently he published them as the production 
of his muse, obviously unaware that they, as 
well as the two others which follow them, had 
been previously published in Johnson's Musical 
Museum. In that work they are given without 
any initial or other mark which can lead us to 
ascribe them to Burns." — Motherwell.] 



©flung Bzmiz, -gritte of a' tlje illatn. 



Tune— The Carlin o' the Glen. 



Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain • 
Thro' a' our lasses he did rove, 
And reign'd resistless king of love : 
But now wi' sighs and starting tears, 
He strays among the woods and briers ; 
Or in the glens and rocky caves, 
His sad complaining dowae raves. 

ii. 
I wha sae late did range and rove, 
And chang'd with every moon my love, 
I little thought the time was near 
Repentance I should buy sae dear : 
The slighted maids my torments see, 
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree ; 
While she, my cruel, scorn fu' Fair, 
Forbids me e'er to see her mair ! 



Var.. — My love is like the Sun, that unwearied doth run 
Thro' the firmament, aye constant and true. 



[" Who the Jamie of this song was no one 
has told us, nor whether the strain is partly old 
or wholly new. No doubt it must be num- 
bered among those hasty and quickly considered 
things which it was the pleasure of Burns to 
write and leave unclaimed, with the intention, 
perhaps, of giving the subject and air his more 
serious thoughts on some day of leisure, which, 
never arrived. The air is plaintive, but the 
name has no affinity with the song. 

'•The story is, however, an old one: a gay 
lover, who ranged at will among the beauties of 
the land, and seemed, like quicksilver, coy as 
well as bright, is at last ensnared by the charms 
of one who not only scorns him, but forbids 
him ever to think of her more. Jamie belike, 
when reflection arrives, may enact the knowing 
part of Duncan Gray, and gain her hand by 
seeming to disregard it. At all events, he 
seems one who will try no tragic conclusions, 
nor even speak of ' lowpin owre a linn.' He] 
resembles more the honest lad of Annandale, j 
who declared he was sae vexed when Jenny 
Johnston of Howbottom refused his hand that; 
he supped mair parriclge than wad hae served! 
three mowers, and kicked the muckle pot till itj 
gaed owre ringing." — Cunningham.] 

<©ut ohtx tjfje dfflttf). 



Tune — Charlie Gordon's Welcome Hame. 



Out over the Forth I look to the north, [me ? 1 

But what is the north and its Highlands to j 
The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, 

The far foreign land, or the wild-rolling sea. 
ii. 
But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers! 
may be ; 
For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 

The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 

["The finest examples," says Jeffrey, "ofl 
this simple and unpretending tenderness, are tol 
be found in those songs -which are likely ten 
transmit the name of Burns to all future gene-1 
rations. He found this delightful trait in the J 
old Scottish ballads which he took for his| 
model, and upon which he improved with &fl 
felicity and delicacy of imitation altogether $ 
unrivalled in the history of literature. Some- j 
times it is the brief and simple pathos of th« 
genuine old ballad." In one of his letters to j 
Cunningham, dated 11th March, 1791, Burns j 
quotes the last four lines, and inquires how his I 
friend likes it. The air was altered by Clarke ;|y 
and the words suffered a change — a change that 
did not at all affect the sense. Of this exquisite J 
ballad, the last verse only is given by Currie. — j 
He knew not that the opening stanza existed.] 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFEC H AN.— ETC. 



421 



€f)e %a$$ of 3SaMcdjan. 



Tune — Jacky Lath*.* 



Gat ye me, O gat ye me, 

O gat ye me wi' naething ? 
Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel, 

A mickle quarter basin. 
Bye attour, my gutcher has 

A hich house and a laigh ane, 
A' for bye, my bonnie sel', 

The toss of Ecclefechan. 
ii. 

haud your tongue now, Luckie Laing, 

haud your tongue and jauner ; 

1 held the gate till you I met, 
Syne I began to wander : 

I tint my whistle and my sang, 

1 tint my peace and pleasure ; 

But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing, 
Wad airt me to my treasure. 



[ During the Poet's first visit to Annandale, 
an old song, called " the Lass of Ecclefechan," 
was sung to him, with which he was so amused 
that he noted it down, and, at a leisure moment, 
rendered the language more delicate, and the 
sentiments less warm, and sent it to the Musical 
Museum. The name of this pleasant little town 
was said to be unsuitable for rhyme. One day, 
as Burns and his brother ganger, Lewars, were 
riding along Bonshaw-braes, the latter said, 
" Come, give us a song in which one of the 
lines will rhyme to Ecclefechan." The Poet 
mused a little, and, with a humorous story run- 
ning in his head, composed, and chanted as he 
composed, a song hitherto confined to manu- 
script, called " The Trogger." The heroine of 
the ditty speaks : — 

" As I came down by Annan side, 
Intending for the border, 
Amang the scroggie banks and braes, 
Wha met me but a trogger." 

The description which she gives of her experi- 
ences is very graphic, but too much in the free 
manner of the old rustic minstrels. In the last 
verse the Poet remembered the object of the 
song : — 

" Then up we gat, and took the road, 
And in by Ecclefechan, 
Whar the brandy-stoup we gart it clink, 
And strong ale ream the queen in."] 



* To those curious in snatches of our ancient Caledonian 
Muse, it may not be unacceptable to present them with the 
original words of the air to which Burns has attached the 
above words : 



Bonnie Jockie, braw Jockie, 

Bonnie Jockie Latin,. 
His skin was like the silk sae fine, 

And mine was like the satin. 



Clje Cooper o' Cuotlte. 



Tune — Bob at the Bowster. 



The cooper o' Cuddie cam' here awa ; 

He ca'd the girrs out owre us a' — 
And our gude-wife has gotten a ca' 

That anger'd the silly guid-man, 0. 

We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
Behind the door, behind the door, 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
And cover him under a mawn, O. 



He sought them out, he sought them in, 
Wi', deil hae her ! and, deil hae him ! 
But the body he was sae doited and blin', 
He wist na where he was gaun, O. 



They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper d at morn, 
'Till our guid-man has gotten the scorn ; 
On ilka brow she's planted a horn, 

And swears that there they shall stan', O. 

We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
Behind the door, behind the door ; 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
And cover him under a mawn, O. 



[ " The delicacy of this song cannot be com- 
pared to its wit. ' Burns was in all respects the 
poet of the people ; he relished the rough jokes, 
and natural humour, and lively stories of his 
fellow peasants ; no man in wide Scotland had 
so many merry tales to tell, and so many joyous 
songs to sing. Nor can the merits of ail his 
lyrics be appreciated by men born in the ' high 
places :' though his manly vigour, high-souled 
independence, and glorious verse have given 
him a hold on every true English heart, he 
wrote exclusively for the people of Scotland — 
he thought Scottish fame sufficient — nay, in 
devoting his talents so much to lyric composi- 
tion, he seemed to court the applause of the 
humble rather than the high, and wrote for the 
' common people,' — nature's best judges, as he 
truly calls them." — Cunnikgham.] 



Bonnie Jockie. braw Joc'.ie, 

Bonnie Jockie Latin, 
Because she wudna gie'm a kiss, 

His heart was at the breakin'. 

Bonnie Jockie, &c. 
Jockie Latin's gotten a wife, 

He kentna how to guide her ; 
He put a saddle on her back, 

And bade the devil ride her. 

Bcnnie Jockie, &c. 



422 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



\) f €i)loxi£. 



Tune — Major Graham. 



Ah, Chloris ! since it may na be 
That thou of love wilt hear ; 

If from the lover thou maun flee, 
Yet let the friend be dear. 

Altho' I love my Chloris mair 
Than ever tongue could tell ; 

My passion I will ne'er declare, 
I'll say, I wish thee well. 

Tho' a' my daily care thou art, 
And a' my nightly dream, 

I'll hide the struggle in my heart, 
And say it is esteem. 



[This song appeared for the first time in Pick- 
ering's Aldine edition of the Poetical Works of 
Robert Burns, Vol. iii. p. 179. It is printed 
from the original MS. in the Poet's own hand- 
writing. Chloris was Miss Jean Lorimer.] 



dfor tlje i^afee cf J^omcfcotJp. 



How different the tone when Ramsay takes 
it up ! 

" Betty, lassie, say't thysel', 

Though thy dame be ill to shoo, 
First we'll buckle, then we'll tell, 

Let her flyte, and syne come to : 
What signifies a mither's gloom, 

When love and kisses come in play ? 
Shou'd we wither in our bloom, 

And in simmer mak' nae hay ?" 



Tune — For the Sake of Somebody. 



M y heart is sair — I dare na tell — 
My heart is sair for Somebody ; 
I could wake a winter night 
For the sake o' Somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for Somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for Somebody ! 
I could range the world around, 
For the sake o' Somebody ! 

ii. 

Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love, 

O, sweetly smile on Somebody ! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my Somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for Somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for Somebody ! 
I wad do— what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' Somebody ! 

["For the sake of Somebody," by Allan 
Ramsay, suggested " Somebody" to Burns, who 
borrowed two or three lines of the first stanza. 
From whom Ramsay took the idea of his song is 
not known ; some of it is older than his day : — 

" For the sake of Somebody, 

For the sake of Somebody ; 
I could wake a winter night 

For the sake of Somebody. 
I am gaun to seek a wife, 

I am gaun to buy a plaidy ; 
I have coft three stane o' woo' — 

Carlin, is thy daughter ready?" 



Cfje Cavten> o't. 

Tune — Malt Fish and Dumplings. 
I. 

I coft a stane o' haslock woo', 

To make a coat to Johnny o't; 
For Johnny is my only jo, 
I lo'e him best of ony yet. 

The cardin o't, the spinnin' o't, 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 
ii. 
For though his locks be lyart grey, 
And tho' his brow be beld aboon ; 
Yet I hae seen him on a day 
The pride of a' the parishen. 

The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 



["The little of this song to which antiquity 
lays claim is so trifling that the whole may be 
said to be the work of Burns. The tenderness 
of Johnnie's wife can only be fully felt by those 
who know that hause-lock wool is the softest 
and finest of the fleece, and is shorn from the 
throats of sheep in the summer heat, to give 
them air and keep them cool. 

"In former times, before well-made roads, and 
coaches, and caravans were common, a sheep- 
farmer rarely descended from his hills to the 
towns, while the commodities of the latter sel- 
dom found their way to his fire-side. It was 
the custom for two or three sagacious dames 
belonging to the ' corn-land/ to make an in- 
road upon the ' wool-land,' and barter tea, 
and lace, and similar light luxuries, with the 
shepherds' wives, for ' hause-lock woo'/ and 
such like trimmings." — Cunningham.] 



%%t EaS3 tljat mate t^e 2Sett to mc. 

Tune — The Lass that made the Bed to me. 



I. 

When Januar' wind was blawing cauld, 
As to the north I took my way, 

The mirksome night did me enfauld, 
I knew na where to lodge till day. 



THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME. 



423 



By my good luck a maid I met, 
Just in the middle o' my care ', 

And kindly she did me invite 
To walk into a chamber fair. 

hi. 

I bow'd fu' low, unto this maid, 
And thank'd her for her courtesie ; 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 
And bade her mak a bed for me. 



She made the bed baith large and wide, 
Wi' twa white hands she spread it down ; 

She put the cup to her rosy lips, [soun'." 

And drank, " Young man, now sleep ye 



She snatch'd the candle in her hand, 
And frae my chamber went wi' speed ; 

But 1 call'd her quickly back again 
To lay some mair below my head. 

VI. 

A cod she laid below my head, 
And served me wi' due respect; 

And, to salute her wi' a kiss, 
I put my arms about her neck. 



" Haud off your hands, young man," she says, 

" And dinna sae uncivil be : 
Gif ye hae onie love for me, 

O wrang na my virginitie !" 

VIII. 

Her hair was like the links o' gowd, 

Her teeth were like the ivorie ; 
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine, 

The lass that made the bed to me. 



Her bosom was the driven snaw, 
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see ; 

Her limbs the polish' d marble stane, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

x. 

I kiss'd her owre and owre again, 
And aye she wist na what to say , 

I laid her between me and the wa' — 
The lassie thought na lang till day. 



Upon the morrow when we rase, 
I thank'd her for her courtesie ; 

But aye she blush' d, and aye she sigh'd, 
And said, " Alas ! ye've ruin'd me." 



I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne, 
While the tear stood twinkling in her e'e ; 

I said, " My lassie, dinna cry, 

For ye aye shall mak the bed to me." 



XIII. 

She took her mither's Holland sheets, 
And made them a' in sarks to me : 

Blythe and merry may she be, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

XIV. 

The bonnie lass made the bed to me, 
The braw lass made the bed to me j 

I'll ne'er forget, till the day T die, 
The lass that made the bed to me ! 



[In his notes to the Musical Museum Burns 
says : — ' The bonnie lass that made the bed to 
me ' was composed on an amour of Charles II., 
when skulking in the North, about Aberdeen, 
in the time of the usurpation. He formed une 
petite affaire with a daughter of the house of 
Port Letham, who was the lass that made the 
bed to him ! His success was recorded by a 
cavalier minstrel in words which were once 
popular both in Scotland and England : — 

" There was a lass dwelt in the north, 
A bonnie lass of high degree ; 
A bonnie lass, and her name was Nell, 
A blyther lass you ne'er did see. 

CHORUS. 

"0 the bed to me, the bed to me, 
The lass that made the bed to me ; 
Blythe, and bonnie, and sweet was she, 
The lass that made the bed to me." 

" Burns took up the old song — which was 
sadly corrupted — and, exercising a poet's skill 
upon it, manufactured the present version : in 
the amended copy he makes the heroine a 
humble maiden, and changes the character of 
the composition." — Cunningham.] 



^ae far afoa. 



Tune — Dalkeith Maiden Bridge. 



O, sad and heavy should I part, 

But for her sake sae far awa ; 
Unknowing what my way may thwart, 

My native land sae far awa. 
Thou that of a' things Maker art, 

That form'd this Fair sae far awa, 
Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 

At this my way sae far awa. 
II. 
How true is love to pure desert, 

So love to her, sae far awa : 
And nocht can heal my bosom's smart, 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa. 
Nane other love, nane other dart, 

I feel but her's, sae far awa ; 
But fairer never touch'd a heart 

Than her's, the Fair sae far awa. 

| " This is another of the many songs which 
Burns wrote for the Musical Museum. 



=1 



-124 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



" It must be acknowledged that the Scotch 
give great occasion for songs of this nature — 
they wander the world over. Their native land 
is poor and sterile, and unable to maintain the 
half of the hardy and enterprising race to whom 
it gives birth. They are trained up to endur- 
ance and privation ; they are well educated, 
for they can all read, write, and cypher ; they 
are all intelligent, for a Scottish peasant knows 
more than the alehouse can tell him, and would 
think himself ignorant were he not to look far 
beyond the business by which he gains his 
bread. He has no poor-laws to hold out a 
miserable boon to his declining years ; he, 
therefore, marches east, west, north, or south, 
as fortune or inclination determines, and relieves 
his own land while he benefits others." — 
Cunningham.] 



FXl ai)e fa' in ftp won Cofon. 



Tune — I'll gae nae mair to yon Town. 



I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green, again ; 
I'll aye ca 7 in by yon town, 

And see my bonnie Jean again. 
There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail guess, 

What brings me back the gate again j 
But she my fairest faithfu' lass, 

And stownlins we sail meet again. 
ii. 
She'll wander by the aiken tree, 

When trystin-time draws near again j 
And when her lovely form I see, 

O haith, she's doubly dear again ! 
I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green again ; 
I'll aye ca' in by yon town. 

And see my bonnie Jean again. 

[An old song supplied Burns with the start- 
ing sentiment of this little delicious lyric : — 

" I'll gang nae mair to yon town, 
O never a' my life again ; 
I'll ne'er gae back to yon town, 
To seek anither wife again." 

"Jean Armour was the heroine; the allu- 
sions to the trysting-tree, and the stolen inter- 
view, will be understood by all the daughters 
of Caledonia, There are few burn-banks, or 
romantic glens, or spreading woods in any low- 
land district, that are not hallowed in the me- 
mories of many by visions of past endearment — 
of golden hours — nay, minutes of rapture wor- 
thy of having been born for : no writer has 
entered so fully into these mysteries as Burns. 
Love has no charm unless it comes in a poetic 
shape ; the lover who desires coal and candle 

* Vak. — Maid's. f Jeannie. 

J Amang the bmomy braes see green. 



may as well ask for his supper at once ; he is 
regarded as a fellow of no soul, if he cannot 
dare flooded streams and haunted roads ; and, 
should a thunder-storm meet him on his way, 
he will be wise not to turn or seek shelter, 
unless he wishes to be made the laughing-stock 
of half the lasses in the vale. It is recorded ot 
a young girl on Nith-side, that, in alluding to i 
her first interview with a lover, she tossed her 
tresses in scorn, saying, ' Him ! I tried him wi' 
a lanely room and a lighted candle ; and he 
hadna the sense to steek the door, and blaw it 
out!' " — Cunningham.] 



<3 iwat m bjfja^ w j)on Coton. 



Tune — /'// aye ca' in by yon Town. 



Now haply down yon gay green shaw 
She wanders by yon spreading tree : 

How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw, 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e ! 

CHORUS. 

O, wat ye wha's in yon town, 
Ye see the e'enin' sun upon ? 
The fairest dame's* in yon town, 
That e'enin' sun is shining on. 
ii. 
How blest ye birds that round her sing, 
And welcome in the blooming year ! 
And doubly welcome be the spring, 
The season to my Lucy -f- dear, 
in. 
The sun blinks blithe on yon town, 

And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr ; X 
But my delight's in yon town, 
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. § 

IV. 

Without my love, || not a' the charms 

O' Paradise could yield me joy ; 
But gie me Lucy ** in my arms, 

And welcome Lapland's dreary sky ! 
v. 
My cave wad be a lover's bower, 

Tho' raging winter rent the air ; 
And she a lovely little flower, 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

VI. 

O, sweet is she in yon town, 

The sinkin' sun's gane down upon ; 

A fairer than 's in yon town 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

VII. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe, 

And suffering I am doom'd to bear; 

I careless quit aught else below, 

But spare me — spare me, Lucy ff dear ! 

§ And dearest pleasure is my Jean. 
II Fair. ** Jeannie. ft Jeannie. 



LOVELY POLLY STEWART, ETC. 



426 



VIII. 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 

Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, 
And she — as fairest is her form ! 
She has the truest, kindest heart ! 
O, wat ye wha's in yon town, 
Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? 
The fairest dame's* in yon town 
That e'enin sun is shining on. 



[The heroine of this fine song was originally 
his " bonnie Jean" but Burns altered it after- 
wards in compliment to Miss Lucy Johnstone, 
the daughter of Wynne Johnstone of Hilton, 
Esq. Lucy was married to Mr. Richard Alex- 
ander Oswald, of Auchencruive ; she was an 
accomplished and lovely woman, and died at 
Lisbon, early in life. The song is written in 
the character of her husband. "Did you ever, 
my dear Syme," said the Poet, " meet with a 
man who owed more to the divine Giver of all 
good things than Mr. Oswald ? A fine fortune ; 
a pleasing exterior ; self-evident amiable dis- 
positions, and an ingenuous, upright mind — 
and that, too, informed much beyond the usual 
run of young fellows of his rank ; and to all 
this, such a woman ! But of her I shall say 
nothing at all, in despair of saying anything 
adequate. In my song I have endeavoured to 
do justice to what would be his feelings on see- 
ing, in the scene I have drawn, the habitation 
of his Lucy. As J am a good deal pleased with 
my performance, 1, In my first fervour, thought 
of sending it to Mrs. Oswald." The original 
version, composed in honour of his " bonnie 
Jean," is inserted in the fifth volume of" The 
Musical Museum," but from certain and uncer- 
tain circumstances it was not published in the 
early editions of the Poet's works.] 



€i)e mtrfe flight a' Wttmnbtx. 

Tune — May, thy Morn. 



O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet 

As the mirk night o' December • 
For sparkling was the rosy wine, 

And private was the chamber : 
And dear was she, I dare na name, 

But I will aye remember. 
And dear was she I dare na name, 

But I will aye remember. 
ii. 
And here's to them, that, like oursel, 

Can push about the jorum ; 
And here's to them that wish us weel, 

May a' that's guid watch o'er them ! 
And here's to them, we dare na tell, 

The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to them, we dare na tell, 

The dearest o ' the quorum ! 

* Var.— The dearest maid's.— MS. 



[" The lady, whom the Poet desired rather 
to remember than name, is said, in our lyrical 
legends, to have been the fair Clarinda, of whose 
merits Burns has said and sung so much. It has 
also been ascribed to the charms of a Nithsdale 
dame, ' who brewed guid ale for gentlemen/ 
and loved to be admired by her customers. — 
The song was first published in Johnson's Mu - 
seum : the air seems a variation of ' Andrew and 
his cutty gun.' 

" The ladies and wine have furnished themes 
for innumerable songs ; and so long as the for- 
mer are lovely, and the latter sparkles, they 
will continue to be sung. Both are united in 
' O May, thy morn :' the Bard, as the wine- 
cup circulates, remembers a mirk night in De- 
cember, and a fair one who had rendered it 
cheerful. He dates joy from that night, as a 
free heroine in Mackenzie's tale dates all things 
which befel her from the time she met with her 
misfortune !" — Cunningham.] 



£obeIi) Jftollj) ^tcfoavt. 



Tune — Ye're welcome, Charlie Stuart. 



O lovely Polly Stewart ! 

O charming Polly Stewart ! 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May 

That's half sae fair as thou art. 
The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's, 

And art can ne'er renew it ; 
But worth and truth eternal youth 

Will gi'e to Polly Stewart. 



May he whose arms shall fauld thy charms, 

Possess a leal and true heart ; 
To him be given to ken the heaven 

He grasps in Polly Stewart. 
O lovely Polly Stewart ! 

O charming Polly Stewart ! 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May 

That's half so sweet as thou art. 



[The lady who inspired this song was un- 
conscious at the time, while she caused her table 
to be spread, and her wine poured out, that her 
name was to be preserved in undying verse. — 
The Poet had, in his thoughts, a Jacobite lyric, 
called "Ye're welcome, Charlie Stuart:" — 

" Had I the power as I've the will, 
I'd make thee famous by my quill, 
Thy foes I'd scatter, quell, and kill, 

From Billingsgate to Duart. 
Thour't welcome, Charlie Stuart ; * 
Thour't welcome, Charlie Stuart : 
A shepherd's wand will grow a brand 

When thou comes — Charlie Stuart 1" 



426 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



%%z fctg$Ianfc Haifofe. 



Tune— If thou' It play me fair Play. 



The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
Wore a plaid, and was fu' braw, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie 4 
His royal heart was firm and true, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 

II. 

Trumpets sound, and cannons roar, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie ; 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 
Glory, honour, now invite, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie, 
For freedom and my king to fight, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 

in. 
The sun a backward course shall take, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ; 
Ere aught thy manly courage shake, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
Go ! for yoursel procure renown, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ; 
And for your lawful king, his crown, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 



[The Poet took a long ditty called " The 
Highland Lad and Lawland Lassie," and com- 
pressed it into three stanzas. Another song, 
now almost forgotten, gives the name of the 
air :— 

" If thou't play me fair play, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
Another year for thee I'll stay, 

Bonnie Highland laddie ; 
For a' the lasses hereabouts, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
Marry nane but Geordie's louts, 

Bonnie Highland laddie."] 



&mta, tl)» CJarnuJ. 



Tune — Bonnie Mary. 



Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, 

And 'press my soul with care ; 
But, ah ! how bootless to admire, 

When fated to despair ! 
Yet in thy presence, lovely fair, 

To hope may be forgiv'n ; 
For sure 'twere impious to despair, 

So much in sight of Heav'n. 



[ u Burns inserted this elegant little lyric in 
the third edition of his poems. It also appears 
in the last volume of the Musical Museum. The 
concluding sentiment is akin to that fine compli- 
ment in the ' Shepherd's Mournful Fate,' by 
Hamilton of Bangour : — 

' For oh ! that form, so heavenly fair, 

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling, 
That artless blush, and modest air, 

So fatally beguiling : 
Thy every look, and every grace, 

So charm whene'er I view thee, 
Till death o'ertake me in the chace, 

Still will my hopes pursue thee : 
But when my tedious hours are pass'd. 

Be this last blessing given — 
Low at thy feet to breathe my last, 

And die in sight of heaven.' 

Burns had more nature and strength than Ha- 
milton ; but some of the lyrics of the latter are 
unequalled for elegance." — Cunningham.] 



Ca^iHiS' 33aitfe3. 



Tune — Unknown. 



Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green, 

An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring; 
By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream 

The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's, 

There wi' my Mary let me flee, 
There catch her ilka glance of love, 

The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 
ii. 
The chield wha boasts o' warld's walth 

Is aften laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary she is a' mine ain — 

Ah !• fortune canna gie me mair ! 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks, 

Wi' her, the lassie dear to me, 
And catch her ilka glance o' love, 

The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 



["The stream of Girvan, and the banks of 
Cassillis, flowed and flourished to the last in the 
heart and fancy of Burns : when he desired to 
compose a song for any tune which affected 
him, he recalled a favourite haunt of his youth, 
and a form dear to his heart; and, like the 
lyrist Cowley, gave dancing words to speaking 
strings. The charms of nature shared his heart 
with those of living beauty ; one line is both a 
history and a landscape: — 

' Girvan's fairy-haunted stream.' 

'•' The beauties of Cassillis' banks he had sung 
elsewhere. 

" Other national songs give no more than the 
image of female loveliness : those of Scotland 
add the flowers on which the foot of beauty 



BANNOCKS O' BARLEY. ETC. 



427 



treads, the stream which murmurs at her side, 
the woods which wave around her, and the 
birds which welcome her with their songs." — 
Cunningham.] 



Co tijee, to&'fc fltti). 



Tune — Unknown. 



To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, 
Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd, 

Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe, 
To thee I bring a heart unchang'd. 

ii. 

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 
Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear ; 

For there he rov'd that brake my heart, 
Yet to that heart, ah ! still how dear ! 



23amtocfeg o' 33art^/ 



Tune— The Killogie. 



Bannocks o' bear meal, 

Bannocks o' barley ; 
Here's to the Highlandman's 

Bannocks o' barley. 
Wha in a brulzie, 

Will first cry a parley ? 
Never the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley ! 



* Burns, when he composed this song, probably had in his 
view the old Scottish song called " Bannocks o' Barley Meal," 
said to have been written by the great John, duke of Argyle, 
which is as follows : — 



My name is Argyll : you may think it strange 
To live at the court, and never to change ; 
All falsehood and flatt'ry I do disdain ; 
In my secret thoughts no deceit shall remain ; 
In siege or in battle I ne'er was disgrac'd; 
I always my king and my country have fac'd ; 
I'll do any thing for my country's weal, 
I'd live upon bannocks o' barley meal. 

Adieu to the courtiers of London town, 
For to my ain country I will gang down ; 
At the sight of Kirkaldy ance again, 
I'll cock up my bonnet, and march amain. 
O the muckle de'il tak' a' your noise and strife, 
I'm fully resolv'd for a country life, 
Where a' the braw lasses, wha ken me weel, 
Will feed me wi' bannocks o' barley meal. 

I'll quickly lay down my sword and my gun, 
And I'll put my plaid and my bonnet on, 
Wi' my plaidin' stockings and leather-heel'd shoon ; 
They'll mak me appear a fine sprightly loon. 
And when I am drest thus frae tap to tae, 
Hame to my Maggie I think for to gae, 
Wi' my claymore hinging down to my heel, 
To wbang at the bannocks o' barley meal. 



Bannocks o' bear meal, 

Bannocks o' barley ; 
Here's to the Highlandman's 

Bannocks o' barley ! 
Wha in his wae-days 

Were loyal to Charlie ? 
Wha but the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley ? 



The air to which these words were written 
gave the name to an old song, on which were 
at once impressed the free language and tree 
manners of our ancestors. 

"A lad and a lassie, 
Lay in the Killogie. "j 



mtt 53alou. 



Tune — The Highland Balou 



Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald, 
Picture o' the great Clanronald ; 
Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highland thief. 

ii. 
Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie 
An' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie : 
Travel the country thro' and thro', 
And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 

in. 
Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border, 
Weel, my babie, may thou furder : 
Herry the louns o' the laigh countrie, 
Syne to the Highlands hame to me. 



I'll buy a fine present to bring to my dear, 
A pair of fine garters for Maggie to wear, 
And some pretty things else, I do declare, 
When she gangs wi' me to Paisley fair. 
And whan we are married we'll keep a cow, 
My Maggie sail milk her, and I will plow ; 
We'll live a' the winter on beef and lang-kail, 
And whang at the bannocks o' barley meal. 

If my Maggie should chance to bring me a son, 
He'll fight for his king as his daddy has done ; 
I'll send him to Flanders some breeding to learn, 
Syne hame into Scotland and keep a farm. 
And thus we'll live and industrious be, 
And wha'll be sae great as my Maggie and me ? 
We'll soon grow as fat as a Norway seal. 
Wi' feeding on bannocks o' barley meal. 

Adieu to you citizens every ane, 
Wha jolt in your coaches to Drury-lane ; 
You bites of Bear-garden who fight for gains. 
And ye fops who have got more wigs than brains ; 
You cullies and bullies, I'll bid you adieu, 
For whoring and swearing I'll leave all to you; 
Your woodcock and pheasant, your duck and your teal) 
I'll leave them for bannocks o' barley meal. 

I'll leave aff kissing a citizen's wife, 
I'm fully resolv'd for a country life ; 
Kissing and toying I'll spend the lang day, 
Wi' bonny young lasses on cocks of hay ; 
Where each clever lad gives his bonny lass 
A kiss and a tumble upo' the green grass. 
I'll awa to the Highlands as fast 's I can reel, 
And whang at the bannocks o' barley meal. 



428 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



~'f 



[A Highland lady, it is said, sung a song in 
Gaelic, the air of which pleased Burns so much 
that he desired to know the meaning of the 
words : he smiled at the oral translation, and 
crooning the air over for a minute's space or 
so, chanted " Hee Balou," wrote it down, and 
sent it to the Museum. 

Concerning this song, Cromek says — " The 
time when the moss-troopers and cattle- drivers 
on the borders began their nightly depredations 
was the first Michaelmas moon. Cattle-stealing 
formerly was a mere foraging expedition ; and 
it has been remarked that many of the best fa- 
milies in the north can trace their descent from 
the daring sons of the mountains. The produce 
(by way of dowry to a laird's daughter) of a 
Michaelmas moon is proverbial ; and by the aid 
of Lochiel's lanthorn (the moon) these exploits 
were the most desirable things imaginable. In 
the ' Hee Balou' we see one of those heroes 
in the cradle."] 



te mi) Heart. 



Tune — Wae is my Heart. 



Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e ; 
Lang, lang, joy's been a stranger to me : 
Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear, 
And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in 
my ear. 

ii. 
Love, thou hast pleasures, and deep hae I lov'd : 
Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae I prov'd ; 
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my 

breast, 
I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest. 

in. 
O, if I were, where happy I hae been, 
Down by yon stream, and yon bonnie castle- 
green ; 
For there he is wand'ring, and musing on me, 
Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's e'e. 



[These verses were composed at the request 
of Clarke the musician, who felt — or imagined 
he felt — much pain of heart for a young lady 
of Nithsdale. The air is a simple one, and the 
song is in keeping.] 



Her^ \\* Healt!) in Mater. 

Tune— The Job of Journeywork. 

Altho' my back be at the wa', 
And tho' he be the fautor ; 

Altho' my back be at the wa', 
Yet, here's his health in water ! 



O ! wae gae by his wanton sides, 
Sae brawlie 's he could flatter ; 

Till for his sake I'm slighted sair, 
And dree the kintra clatter. 

But tho' my back be at the wa', 
^And tho' he be the fautor ; 

But tho' my back be at the wa,' 
Yet, here's his health in water! 



[The song was first published in the Musical 
Museum, and was written when the Poet was 
in Dumfries : the idea was taken from an old 
lyric, of which the o'erword was, 

" Here's his health in water."] 



%v ^ggg's dfacc. 



Tune— My Peggy's Face. 



My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, 
Might charm the first of human kind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly, heav'nly fair, 
Her native grace so void of art, 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 

II. 
The lily's hue, the rose's dye, 
The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway ! 
Who but knows they all decay ! 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
The gen'rous purpose, nobly dear, 
The gentle look, that rage disarms — 
These are all immortal charms 



[The heroine of these sweet verses was Mar- 
garet Chalmers : the gentleness, the candour, 
and the accomplishments of that lady seem 
often to have occurred to the mind of Burns.] 



bloomy ©eamfor. 



Tune — Wandering Willie. 



Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December! 

Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care ; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure, 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; 
But the dire feeling, oh farewell for ever ! 

Is anguish unmingl'd, and agony pure. 



@=^ 



AMANG THE TREES, ETC. 



Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 

; Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, 
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone ! 
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 

Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 



[" Ciarinda inspired these verses, and they 
are worthy of her merits, personal and mental. 
To his parting with that lady the Bard often 
recurred ; in truth, he left Edinburgh with 
great reluctance ; there he had pleased society, 
and there only could he hope for ' pension, 
post, or place.' When he quitted it he knew 
I he was going to the stilts of the plough, and 
experience told him how little he could hope 
from niggardly economy and sharp bargaining. 
He was one of nature's gentlemen, and unfit 
for the details of the market, the couping of 
horses, and the keen and eager contest carried 
on between seller and buyer. An old peasant 
once said of him ' that he was owre kind- 
hearted to be prosperous/ and added, ' he was 
ane of them that carry their corn to a falling 
market, and sell their hens on a rainy day !' 
To this impediment in the way to wealth, he 
repeatedly alludes in his letters — no man ever 
knew himself better — all fell out in his owa 
history as he feared it would." — Cunningham.] 



fHv HaT?^ #alyn, tljtre'3 @ait£ upon't. 



Tune— Gregg's Pipes. 



My lady's gown, there's gairs upon't, 
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't ; 
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet, 
My lord thinks meikle mair upon't. 
i. 

My lord a-hunting he is gane, 

But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane ; 

By Colin's cottage lies his game, 

If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 

11. 

My lady's white, my lady's red, 
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude ; 
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 

in. 
Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass, 
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass, 
A lily in a wilderness. 



Sae sweetly move her genty limbs, 
Like music-notes o' lovers' hymns : 
The diamond dew in her een sae blue, 
Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 

v. 
My lady 's dink, nry lady 's drest, 
The flower and fancy o' the west ; 
But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
O that 's the lass to mak' him blest. 
My lady's gown, there 's gairs upon't, 
And gOAvden flowers sae rare upon't ; 
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet, 
My lord thinks meikle mair upon't. 



[The idea of this song is believed to be old, 
and some of the words also ; most of it, how- 
ever, is the workmanship of Burns. The air 
to which it was written was the composition of 
James Gregg, a musician belonging to Ayr-shire, 
whose memory still lives in the west as an im- 
prover of the telescope, a mechanist, and a 
painter. He is still more pleasantly remem- 
bered by this tune, which is often called for 
when the dancers are on the floor — 

"And all goes merry as a marriage bell."] 



Tune — The King of France, he rode a Race. * 



Amang the trees, where humming bees 

At buds and flowers were hinging, O, 
Auld Caledon drew out her drone, 

And to her pipe was singing, O ; 
'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels, . 

She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O, 
When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels. 

That dang her tapsalteerie, O. 
ii. 
Their capon craws and queer ha ha's, 

They made our lugs grow eerie, O ; 
The hungry bike did scrape and pike, 

'Till we were wae and weary, O ; 
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd 

A prisoner aughteen year awa, 
He fir'd a fiddler in the north 

That dang them tapsalteerie, O. 



[" Ritson says, when he was in Italy he was 
much interested by the chants sung by friars or 
priests ; they bore some resemblance to the elder 

* The following is the commencement of this old song :- - 

The King o' France he rade a race, 

Out o'er the hills o' Seiry, O ; 
His eldest son has followed him 

Upon a good grey meary, O 1 



430 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



Scottish melodies. This resemblance has been 
noticed by some of our northern authorities, 
who surmise that Caledonia supplied Italy with 
many of her most exquisite melodies. This 
seems as well-founded as the legend that David 
Rizzio brought the best Scottish airs from Italy 
— a story that offends our Welch musicians, who 
declare that David's surname was Rice, not 
Rizzio, and that the airs with which he charmed 
the Queen of Scotland were genuine Welch ! 

" It has been thought that Burns had all that 
in his mind when he wrote this song : it seems 
quite as likely that he alludes to the influx of 
Italian music by operas and oratorios ; and that 
the fiddler of the north, who was animated by 
the spirit of the royal poet and musician, was 
honest Neil Gow, whose vigorous genius main- 
tained the glory of our national music in spite 
of— 

* Their capon craws, and queer ha ha's !' " 

Cunningham.] 



%\)t gofotfen Hocks of &tma. 



Tune — Banks of Banna. 



Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 

A place where body saw na' ; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gowden locks of Anna. 
The hungry Jew in wilderness, 

Rejoicing o'er his manna, 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

II. 

Ye monarchs tak' the east and west, 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gi'e me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 
There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An empress or sultana, 
While dying raptures in her arms 

I give and take with Anna ! 
in. 
Awa', thou flaunting god o' day ! 

Awa', thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage, night ! 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a' ; 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna ! 



POSTSCRIPT. 



The Kirk and State may join, and tell 
To do such things I maunna : 



The Kirk and State may gae to h- 
And I'll gae to my Anna. 

She is the sunshine o' my e'e, — 
To live but * her I canna ; 

Had I on earth but wishes three, 
The first should be my Anna. 



-11, 



[A Dumfries maiden, with a light foot and a 
merry eye, was the heroine of this clever song. 
Burns thought so well of it himself that he re- 
commended it as one of his best to Thomson ; 
but the latter, aware, perhaps, of the free cha- 
racter of her of the gowden locks, was unwil- 
ling to give her a place among lyrics dedicated 
to the charms of ladies of high degree and un- 
blemished reputation, and therefore excluded it, 
though pressed to publish it by the Poet. Irri- 
tated, perhaps, at Thomson's refusal, he wrote 
the additional Stanza, by way of Postscript, in 
defiance of his colder blooded critic. To those 
who are curious in such matters, it may be told 
that Anna's locks were sunny rather than golden, 
and that she was a handmaid at an inn, and 
accounted beautiful by the customers when wine 
made them tolerant in matters of taste.] 



<B foat ge fofjat mj> pitnnu fcftf. 



O wat ye what my minnie did, 

My minnie did, my minnie did, 
O wat ye what my minnie did, 

On Tysday 'teen to me, jo ? 
She laid me in a saft bed, 

A saft bed, a saft bed, 
She laid me in a saft bed, 

And bade gude'en to me, jo. 



An' wat ye what the parson did, 

The parson did, the parson did, 
An' wat ye what the parson did, 

A' for a penny fee, jo ? 
He loos'd on me a lang man, 

A mickle man, a Strang man, 
He loos'd on me a lang man, 

That might hae worried me, jo. 



An' I was but a young thing, 

A young thing, a young thing, 
An' I was but a young thing, 

Wi' nane to pity me, jo. 
I wat the kirk was in the wyte, 

In the wyte, in the wyte, 
To pit a young thing in a fright, 

An' loose a man on me, jo. 






ft-— 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH.— THE FAREWELL. 



431 



Cije ppn\ 



. FRAGMENT. 



There came a piper out o' Fife, 
I watna what they ca'd him ; 

He play'd our cousin Kate a spring, 
When fient a body bade him. 

And ay the mair he hotch'd an' blew, 
The mair that she forbade him. 



Bmnp pt'Cralu. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Jenny M'Craw, she has ta'en to the heather, 
Say, was it the covenant carried her thither 5 
Jenny M'Craw to the mountains is gane, 
Their leagues and their covenants a' she has ta'en; 
My head and my heart, now quo' she, are at rest, 
And as for the iave, let the deil do his best. 



he last firafo Brfoal. 



A FRAGMENT. 



The last braw bridal that I was at, 

'Twas on a Hallowmass day, 
And there was routh o' drink and fun, 

And mickle mirth and play. 
The bells they rang, and the carlins sang, 

And the dames danced in the ha' ; 
The bride went to bed wi' the silly bridegroom, 

In the mid'st 0' her kimmers a'. 



tfetxz'S to tl)i) Health), mj> bomxit lias's*. 



Tune — Laggan Burn. 



Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
Guid night, and joy be wi' thee ; 

I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door, 
To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 

dinna think, my pretty pink, 
But I can live without thee : 

1 vow and swear, I dinna care, 

How lang ye look about ye. 



Thou'rt aye sae free informing me 
Thou hast nae mind to marry ; 

I'll be as free informing thee 
Nae time hae I to tarry. 

I ken thy friends try ilka means 
Frae wedlock to delay thee ; 

Depending on some higher chance- 
But fortune may betray thee. 

in. 

I ken they scorn my low estate, 
But that does never grieve me ; 

But I'm as free as any he, 
Sma' siller will relieve me. 



I'll count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae long as I'll enjoy it : 
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want, 

As lang's I get employment. 

IV. 

But far off fowls hae feathers fair, 

And aye until ye try them : 
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care, 

They may prove waur than I am. 
But at twal at night, when the moon shines 
bright, 

My dear, I'll come and see thee ; 
For the man that lo'es his mistress weel 

Nae travel makes him weary. 

[This was a song of the Poet's youthful 
days ; he trimmed it up a little for the Mu- 
seum, and adapted it to the beautiful Strathspey 
tune called " Laggan Burn." There is more of 
the man in his early verses, and more sentiment 
in his later ones. — In the manuscript of the 
music, there is the following note to Johnson 
in the hand-writing of Clarke : 

" This song must have averse more or a verse 
less. The music intended for it was so miserably 
bad that I rejected it; but luckily there was 
a tune called ' Laggan Burn ' on the opposite 
side, which will answer very well by adding a 
verse, or curtailing one. I know that Burns 
will rather do the former than the latter. — 

[P.S. When I wrote the above, I did not 
observe that there was another verse on the 
opposite page."] 

* 

Tune — It was a' for our rightfu 11 King. 



It was a' for our rightfu' king, 

We left fair Scotland's strand ; 
It was a' for our rightfu' king 

We e'er saw Irish land, my dear, 

We e'er saw Irish land. 
11. 
Now a' is done that men can do, 

And a' is done in vain ; 
My love and native land farewell, 

For I maun cross the main, my dear, 

For I maun cross the main, 
in. 
He turned him right, and round about, 

Upon the Irish shore ; 
And gae his bridle-reins a shake, 

With adieu for evermore, my dear, 

With adieu for evermore. 

IV. 

The sodger frae the wars returns, 

The sailor frae the main ; 
But I hae parted frae my love, 

Never to meet again, my dear, 

Never to meet again. 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



When day is gane, and night is come, 
And a' folk bound to sleep ; 

I think on him that's far awa', 
The lee-lang night, and weep, my dear, 
The lee-lang night, and weep.* 



[Hogg, in his notes to the Jacobite Reliques, 
saj*s this song was written by Captain Ogilvie, 
who was killed on the banks of the Rhine, in 
the year 1695. Sir Walter Scott, in the last 
edition of his works, refers to his beautiful song, 
" A weary lot is thine," in the third canto of 
Rokeby, and says — " The last verse is taken 
from the fragment of an old Scottish ballad, of 
which I only recollected two verses when the 
first edition of Rokeby was published. Mr. 
Thomas Sheridan kindly pointed out to me an 
entire copy of this beautiful song, which seems 
to express the fortunes of some follower of the 
Stuart family." The song, as copied by Scott, 
is nearly word for word with that of Burns in 
the fifth volume of the Musical Museum : it is, 
nevertheless, probable that the Poet rather 
beautified or amended some ancient strain which 
he had discovered than wrote it wholly from 
his own heart and fancy. — Cunningham,] 



<& $Utv tyx up. 



Tune— O steer her up, and haud her gaun. 



O steer her up and haud her gaun- 
Her mither's at the mill, jo ; 

An' gin she winna tak' a man, 
E'en let her tak' her will, jo : 



* We here subjoin part of the old song which was the 
prototype of the above. 

The cold winter it is past and gone, 

And now comes on the spring, 
And I am one the king's life-guards, 

And I must go fight for my king, my dear ; 

And I must go fight for my king. 

Now since to the wars you must go, 

One thing I pray grant me, 
It's I will dress myself in man's attire, 

And I'll travel along with thee, my dear, 

And 111 travel along with thee. 
I would not for ten thousand worlds 

That my love endanger' d were so ; 
The rattling of drums and shining of swords, 

Will cause great sorrow and wo, my dear, 

Will cause great sorrow and wo. 

I will do more for my true love 

Than he will do for me ; 
I'll cut my hair and roll me bare, 

And mourn till the day I die, my dear, 

And mourn till the day I die. 
So farewell mother and father dear, 

My kith and kin also, 
My sweet and bonny Mally Stewart, 

You're the cause of all my wo, my dear, 

You're the cause of all my wo. 



First shore her wi' a kindly kiss, 

And ca' anither gill, jo, 
And gin she tak' the thing amiss, 

E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. 
ii. 
O steer her up, and be na blate, 

An' gin she tak' it ill, jo, 
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate, 

And time nae langer spill, jo : 
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, 

But think upon it still, jo ; 
That gin the lassie winna do't, 

Ye'll fin' anither will, jo. 



[Allan Ramsay found a wild old song of this 
name and measure, and, adopting the first four 
lines, penned a drinking ditty, which may be 
found in the Tea Table Miscellany. The second 
verse will be sample sufficient : — 

" See that shining glass of claret, 

How invitingly it looks ; 
Take it aff, and let's hae mair o't — 

Pox on fighting, trade, and books : 
Let's have pleasure while we're able, 

Bring us in the mickle bowl ; 
Place' t on the middle o' the table, 

And let wind and weather yowl." 

Burns took the first four lines of the old strain, 
and eked them out in his own way.] 



<& age mj) Wife £fye tfang me. 

Tune — My wife she dang me.-f 



O aye my wife she dang me, 
An' aft my wife did bang me, 



She took the slippers off her feet, 

And the cockups off her hair ; 
And she has ta'en a long journey, 

For seven lang years and mair, my dear, 

For seven lang years and mair. 
Sometimes she rade, sometimes she gaed, 

Sometimes sat down to mourn, 
And it was aye the o'ercome o' her tale, 

Shall I e'er see mybonnie laddie return, my dear, 

Shall I e'er see my bonny laddie return. 

The trooper turn'd himself round about, 

All on the Irish shore ; 
He has gi'en the bridle reins a shake, 
Saying adieu for evermore, my dear, 
Saying adieu for evermore, 
f When Burns wrote the above humorous lyric, he had 
probably in his recollection the old words to which the air 
was originally united. 

I was twenty years a bachelor, 

And lived a single life ; 
But I never could contented be, 

Until I got a wife. 
But I hadna lang married been 

Till she began to bang me, 
And ne'er dang out my very een, 
And sware she would gae hang me. 

Ae day I at a wedding was, 
And dancing on the green ; 



O WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME, ETC. 



433 



If ye gie a woman a' her will, 

Gude faith, she'll soon o'er-gang ye. 

On peace and rest my mind was bent, 
And fool I was I married ; 

But never honest man's intent 
As cursedly miscarried. 



Some sairie comfort still at last, 

When a' their days are done, man ; 
My pains o' hell on earth are past, 

I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 
O aye my wife she dang me, 

And aft my wife did bang me, 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 

Gude faith, she'll soon o'er-gang ye. 



<3l), foert tljou in tty cmlti 23la$t. 



Tune— The Lass o' Liu 



Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee : 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom, 

To share it a' to share it a'. 



Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and bare,f 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there : 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
The brightest jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 



[The Poet composed this fine song in honour 
of Mrs. Riddel. Neither the song of Allan 
Ramsay to the same air, beginning with — 

" Pain'd with her slighting Jamie's love, 
Bell dropt a tear, Bell dropt a tear," 

nor the more anoient strain of the Lass o' 
Livingstone, afforded aid to the Poet. The 
following is a specimen of the latter : — 



I laid my hands on a kent lass, 
Said, hail ye dainty quean. 

Up comes my wine in a crack, 
And on the flure she dang me, 

And for a lick o' the grey mare pock, 
She sware that she would hang me. 

But when I did get up again, 

Then fast away ran I ; 
My wife she chas'd me owre the plain 

Wi' mony a hue and cry. 



' The bonnie lass o' Livingstone, 

Is fair to see, is fair to see : 
With what a light look and a loup, 

She came to me, she came to me. 
She has a black and a rolling e'e, 

An' a dimplit chin, an' a dimplit chin ; 
An' no to taste her rosy lips 

Wad be a sin, wad be a sin."] 



1 foija t3 6l)z iijat lo'es mc. 



Tune — Morag. 



O wha is she that lo'es me,| 
And has my heart a-keeping ? 

O sweet is she that lo'es me, 
As dews o' simmer weeping, 
In tears the rose-buds steeping ! 

CHORUS. 

O that's the lassie o' my heart, 
My lassie ever dearer ; 

O that's the queen of womankind 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 



If thou shaft meet a lassie, 

In grace and beauty charming, 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Erewhile thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming ; 

O that's, &c. 
in. 
If thou hadst heard her talking, 

And thy attentions plighted, 
That ilka body talking, 
Rut her by thee is slighted, 
And thou art all delighted ; 
O that's, &c. 

IV. 

If thou hast met this fair one ; 
When frae her thou hast parted, 

If every other fair one, 

But her, thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken-hearted j 

O that's the lassie 0' my heart, 
My lassie ever dearer ; 

O that's the queen o' womankind, 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 



But I soon tipped her the wink, 
And said, nae mair ye'se bang me, 

I'll drink nae mair o' your sour drink 
For fear at last ye hang me. 

* [Vae. The Robin came to the Wren's nest.— Poet's MS. 

f Of earth and air, of earth and air. ib. 

X [Var.— In a copy of this song in Burns's handwriting, 
the first line reads thus : — 

O wat ye wha that lo'es me. 
which agrees with the version in Thomson's collection.] 
fl F 



434 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



[Of the air of Morag, the Poet was passion- 
ately fond. This song was found among his 
papers j the exact period of its composition is 
not known, nor has the heroine been named.] 



Catatonia, 



Tune — Caledonian Hunt's Delight 



There was once a day — but all Time then was 
young— 
That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, 
From some of your northern deities sprung, 
(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's 
divine ?) 
From Tweed to the Orcades w r as her domain, 

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 
Her heav'nly relations there fixed her reign, 
And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it 
good. 

ii. 

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, 

The pride of her kindred the heroine grew : 
Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, 
" Whoe'er shall provoke thee th' encounter 
shall rue !" 
With tillage or pasture at times she would sport 
To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling 
corn ; 
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort, 
Her darling amusement the hounds and the 
horn. 



TiOng quiet she reign'd ; till thitherward steers 

A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand : * 
Repeated, successive, for many long years, 

They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd 
the land : 
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 

They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside j 
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly — ■ 

The daring invaders they fled or they died. 



The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, 

The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the 
shore ! f 
The wild Scandinavian boar J issu'd forth 

To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore ; 
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, 

No arts could appease them, no arms could 
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, [repel ; 

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.§ 



* The Romans, 
t The Saxons, 
j The Danes. 



The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose, 

With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife ; 
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose, 

And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his 
The Anglian lion, the terror of France, [life : || 

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver 
flood: 
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, 

He learned to fear in his own native wood. 



Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free- 

Her bright course of glory for ever shall run: 
For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun 
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose, 

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base , 
But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse ; 

Then, ergo, she'll match them and match them 
always. 



[" There is both knowledge of history and 
elegance of allegory in this singular song ; but 
the most remarkable part is the conclusion, 
where the Poet proves, by mathematical de- 
monstration, the immortality of Caledonia. It 
has been remarked of this, as well as others ot 
his productions, that it bears the stamp of 
national love and of a manly understanding. 
Indeed, in the hastiest snatch he ever penned, 
some happy touch will be found denoting the 
hand of the master — some singular thought or 
felicitous line — easy to him and unattainable to 
others." — Cunningham.] 



lap tl)£ $Loal in mint, %&&$, 



Tune — Cordwainei' , s March. 



O lay thy loof in mine, lass, 

In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 

And swear on thy white hand, lass, 

That thou wilt be my ain. 
A slave to love's unbounded sway, 
He aft has wrought me meikle wae j 
But now he is my deadly fae, 

Unless thou be my ain. 

ii. 

There's monie a lass has broke my rest, 
That for a blink I hae lo'ed best ; 
But thou art queen within my breast, 
For ever to remain. 



§ [Two famous battles, in which the Danes or Norwegians 
vere defeated. — Currie.] 
|| The Picts. 



THE FETE CHAM PETRE. 



435 



O lay thy loof in mine, lass, 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 
And swear on thy white hand, lass, 
That thou wilt be my ain. 

[This song was written by Burns for the 
" Museum ;" the air is commonly played on 
King Crispin's day, when the shoemakers hold 
a sort of saturnalia, and, with pennons displayed, 
and trumpet and drum, march through our 
northern borough towns, attired like kings, 
princes of the blood, senators, ambassadors, and 
warriors. The spectacle is very imposing ; the 
" princes of a day" behave with wonderful 
decorum ; and, save that it is more orderly, it 
resembles closely a real coronation pageant.] 



€I)e dfrte Cfjampetvc. 



Tune — Killiecrankie. 



Owha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

To do our errands there, man ? 
wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man ? 
Or will we send a man -o'-law ? 

Or will we send a sodger ? 
Or him wha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle Ursa-Major ? 

ii. 
Come, will ye court a noble lord, 

Or buy a score o' lairds, man ? 
For worth and honour pawn their word, 

Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man ? 
Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, 

Anither gies them clatter ; 
Anbank, wha guess' d the ladies' taste, 

He gies a Fete Champetre. 
in. 
When Love and Beauty heard the news, 

The gay green-woods amang, man ; 
Where gathering flowers and busking bowers, 

They heard the blackbird's sang, man : 
A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss, 

Sir Politicks to fetter, 
As their's alone, the patent-bliss, 

To hold a Fete Champetre. 



Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing, 

O'er hill and dale she flew, man ; 
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring, 

Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man : 
She summon'd every social sprite, 

That sports by wood or water, 
On th' bonny banks of Ayr to meet, 

And keep this Fete Champetre. 

[* Alluding to a superstition, which represents adders as 
forming annually from their slough certain little annular 
stones of streaked colouring, which are occasionally found 



Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew, 

Were bound to stakes like kye, man : 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 

Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
Reflected beams dwell in the streams, 

Or down the current shatter ; 
The western breeze steals thro' the trees, 

To view this Fete Champetre. 

VI. 

How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 

What sparkling jewels glance, man ! 
To Harmony's enchanting notes, 

As moves the mazy dance, man. 
The echoing wood, the winding flood, 

Like paradise did glitter, 
When angels met, at Adam's yett, 

To hold their Fete Champetre. 

VII. 

When Politics came there, to mix 

And make his ether-stane, man ! 
He circled round the magic ground, 

But entrance found he nane, man :* 
He blush'd for shame, he quat his name, 

Forswore it, every letter, 
Wi' humble prayer to join and share 

This festive Fete Champetre. 



[" The occasion of this ballad was as follows : 
— when Mr. Cunninghame, of Enterkin, came 
to his estate, two mansion - houses on it, 
Enterkin and Annbank, were both in a ruinous 
state. Wishing to introduce himself with some 
eclat to the country, he got temporary erections 
made on the banks of Ayr, tastefully decorated 
with shrubs and flowers, for a supper and ball, 
to which most of the respectable families in the 
county were invited. It was a novelty in the 
county, and attracted much notice. A disso- 
lution of Parliament was soon expected, and 
this festivity was thought to be an introduction 
to a canvass for representing the county.— 
Several other candidates were spoken of, par- 
ticularly Sir John Whitefoord, then residing at 
Cloncaird, commonly pronounced Glencaird, 
and Mr. Boswell, the well-known biographer 
of Dr. Johnson. The political views of this 
festive assemblage, which are alluded to in the 
ballad, if they ever existed, were however laid 
aside, as Mr. C. did not canvass the county," 
— Gilbert Burns.] 



iHre'g a Slealtl) to tf)cnt tjat'g alna. 

Tune — Here's a Health to them that's awa. 



Here's a health to them that's awa, 
Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

and the *eal origin of which is supposed by antiquaries to b~ 
Druidical. — Chambers.] 

2 F 2 



\ 486 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 

May never guid luck be their fa' ! 

It's guid to be merry and wise, 

It's guid to be honest and true, 

It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, 

And bide by the buff and the blue. 

ii. 
Here's a health to them that's awa, 
Here's a health to them that's awa, 
Here's a health to Charlie * the chief of the clan, 
Altho' that his band be but sma'. 
May liberty meet wi' success ! 
May prudence protect her frae evil ! 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 
And wander their way to the devil ! 

in. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

Here's a health to Tammie f the Norland laddie, 

That lives at the lug o' the law ! 

Here's freedom to him that wad read, 

Here's freedom to him that wad write ! [heard 

There's nane everfear'cl that the truth should be 

But they wham the truth wad indite. 

IV. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa, [gowd, 

Here's Chieftain M'Leod,J a chieftain worth 

Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 

May never guid luck.be their fa' ! § 



[The buff and blue of Whiggery had tri- 
umphed over the white rose of Jacobitism in 
the heart of Burns when he composed this song. 
It is a sort of parody on a song in the Museum, 
and was found among his papers after his 
decease. 

" Here's a health to them that's away, 
Here's a health to them that's away, 
Here's a health to them that were here short syne, 
But canna be here the day. 



* The Right Hon. Charles James Fox." 
f Thomas, afterwards Lord, Erskine. 
i M c Leod, chief of that clan. 

| [In the original MS. the termination of this song is as 
follows : — 

" Here's friends on both sides of she "-^orth, 

And friends on both sides of the Tweed ; 
And wha wad betray old Albion's rights, 
May they never eat of her bread !"] 

H [This is founded on an old ditty which the Poet altered 
and trimmed up for Johnson's " Musical Museum." Ano- 
ther version of it he subsequently furnished to Mr. Thomson, 
to the air of bonnie Lass, will ye lie in a Barrack, which 
wilL be seen in his correspondence with that gentleman.] 

^ [" Previous to one of the public meetings of this body — a 
regular field-day, which was to terminate in a grand dinner 
— it was hinted to the Bard that something would be ex- 
pected from him in the shape of a song or speech — some 
glowing tribute in honour of the patriotic cause that had 
linked them together, and eke in honour of t.ie martial glory 



It's guid to be merry and wise, 
It 's good to be honest and true ; 
It 's guid to be aff wi' the auld luve 
Before ye be on wi' the new." 



These two verses form part of a Jacobite song 
with verbal alterations by Burns himself.] 



Tune — Jockie Hume's Lament. 

O ken ye what Meg o' the mill Las gotten, 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten ? 
A braw new naig wi' the tail o' a rottan, 
And that's what Meg o' the mill has gotten. 
O ken ye what Meg o' the mill lo'es dearly, 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the mill lo'es dearly ? 
A dram o' guid strunt in a morning early, 
And that's what Meg o' the mill lo'es dearly. 
O ken ye how Meg o' the mill was married, 
And ken je how Meg o' the mill was married ? 
The priest he was oxter'd, the clerk he was 

carried, 
And that's how Meg o' the mill was married. 
O ken ye how Meg o' the mill was bedded, 
An' ken ye how Meg o' the mill was bedded ? 
The groom gat sae fou, he fell twa~fauld 

beside it, 
And that's how Meg o' the mill was bedded. 



Clje 23nmfrtfS 2FoIuntm-s".H 



Tune— Push about the Jorum. 



Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? 

Then let the louns beware, Sir ; 
There's wooden walls upon our seas, 

And volunteers on shore, Sir. 
The Nith shall rin to Corsincon, 

The Criffel sink in Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

We'll ne'er permit a foreign foe 
On British ground to rally. 



of old Scotland. The Poet said nothing, but, as silence gives 
consent, it was generally expected that he would shore them 
on the occasion of the approaching festival with another l\ric 
or energetic oration. The day at length arrived: dinner came 
and passed, and the usual loyal toasts were drunk with all 
the honours. Now came the Poet's turn; every eye was 
fixed upon him, and, slowly lifting his glass, he stood up and 
looked around him with an arch indescribable expression of 
countenance. ' Gentlemen,' said he, ' may we never see the 
French, nor the French see us !' The toast fell like a 'wet 
blanket,' as Moore says, on the hopes of the volunteers. 'Is 
that a' ?' they muttered one to another, dropping down to 
their seats (to use the words of my informant, who was pre- 
sent) ' like so many old wives at afield-preaching!' ' Is that 
the grand speech or fine poem that we were to have from him ? 
— but we could hae expected nae better !' Not a few, how- 
ever, ' raxed their jaws,' as the Ettrick Shepherd says, at the 
homely truth and humour of the Poet's sentiment, height- 
ened by the first rueful aspect of the company ; and, long 
after, in his jovial moments, Burns used to delight in telling 
how he had cheated the volunteers of Dumfries." — Cakeu- 

THEES.] 



THE WINTER OF LIFE.— TO MARY. 



O let us not, like snarling curs, 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till, slap ! come in an unco loun, 

And wi' a rung decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted ! ' 
For ne'er, &c. 
in. 
The kettle o' the kirk and state, 

Perhaps a clout may fail in't ; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loun 

Shall ever ca' a nail in't. 
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought ; 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ? 
By heavens ! the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it ! 

By Heavens, &c. 

IV. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch, his true-sworn brother, 
Wha would set the mob aboon the throne, 

May they be damn'd together ! 
Wha will not sing, " God save the King," 

Shall hang as high's the steeple ; 
But while we sing, " God save the King," 
We'll ne'er forget the People.* 

But while we sing, &c. 
[The above song was written in April, 1795. 
The Poet sent it to Mr. Jackson, editor of the 
Dumfries Journal, by whom it was first pub- 
lished. It also appears in the sixth volume of 
the " Museum," published nearly seven years 
after the Poet's death.] 



€f>* OTtnttr of Htfr. 



Tune — Gil Morice. 



But lately seen in gladsome green, 

The woods rejoic'd the day ; 
Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled 

On winter blasts awa ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a'. 
II. 
But my white pow, nae kindly thowe, 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 



* [" When the French threatened to invade this country in 
1795, Burns enrolled himself among the gentlemen volun- 
teers of Dumfries, and stood shoulder to shoulder with his 
friends Maxwell, Staig, and Syme. On going home he wrote 
' The Dumfries Volunteers.' The song became popular at 
once, and was soon to be heard on hill and dale ; for the pea- 
santry of Scotland sing at the sheepfold and at the plough, 
and cheer themselves with verse in all ordinary pursuits of 
life. To extend its influence still farther, he had it printed 
with the music upon a separate sheet by Johnson, and thus 



My trunk of eild, but buss or bield, 
Sinks in Time's wintry rage. 

Oh ! age has weary days, 
And nights o' sleepless pain ! 

Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 
Why com'st thou not again ? 



[Though Burns gave much of his musing - 
time to the work of Thomson, in 1794 & 5 he 
did not neglect his earlier friend, Johnson, but 
contributed new as well as amended lyrics from 
time to time, and took a lively interest in the 
success of the work. "The Winter of Life," 
is one of those communications. 

" Perhaps," says the Poet to the publisher of 
the ' Museum/ in ] 788, " you may not find your 
account lucratively in this business ; but you 
are a patriot for the music of your country ; 
and I am certain posterity will look on them- 
selves as highly indebted to your public spirit. 
Have you never a fair goddess that leads you 
a wild-goose-chase of amorous devotion ? Let 
me know a few of her qualities, such as whether 
she be rather black, or fair ; plump or thin ; 
short or tall, &c. : and choose your air, and I 
shall task my muse to celebrate her." It is not 
known what reply Johnson made to the latter 
part of this epistle : he was a plain, blunt man, 
and cared little about the graces of song, or the 
melody of music, save in the way of his trade.] 



€0 jfHavg. 



Tune — Could aught of 5 



Could aught of song declare my pains, 

Could artful numbers move thee, 
The muse should tell, in labour'd strains, 

O Mary, how I love thee ! 
They who but feign a wounded heart 

May teach the lyre to languish ; 
But what avails the pride of art, 

When wastes the soul with anguish ? 
11, 
Then let the sudden bursting sigh 

The heart-felt pang discover ; 
And in the keen, yet tender, eye, 

O read th' imploring lover. 
For well I know thy gentle mind 

Disdains art's gay disguising ; 
Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd, 

The voice of nature prizing. 



it penetrated into the nobleman's drawing-room as well as 
into the farmer's apence. 

" Some of the allusions are local, and require explanation. 
If Nith ran to Corsincon, it would run backward, and uphill 
too. The Criffel is a high green mountain on the Scottish 
side of the Solway, and is said, in the legends of the district, 
to be the materials which a witch had collected to choke up 
the sea, that the English army might walk over dry-shod."—- 
Cunningham,] 



438 



THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF BURNS. 



[These tender verses seem to have been in- 
spired as much by Hamilton's song of "Ah! 
the Shepherd's mournful Fate," as by the 
charms of Mary. The song is in the fifth volume 
of Johnson's Musical Museum, and was written 
for that Avork by Burns.] 



t 



Clje f^tauS W&fofo'a lament. 



Oh ! I am come to the low countrie 
Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 

Without a penny in my purse, 
To buv a meal to me. 



It was na sae in the Highland hills, 
Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 

Nae woman in the country wide 
Sae happy was as me. 

in. 

For then I had a score o' kye, 
Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 

Feeding on yon hills so high, 
And giving milk to me. 



And there I had three score o' yowes, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes, 

And casting woo' to me. 

v. 

I was the happiest of a' the clan, 

Sair, sair may I repine ; 
For Donald was the bra west man, 

And Donald he was mine. 



Till Charlie Steuart cam' at last, 

Sae far to set us free ; 
My Donald's arm was wanted then 

For Scotland and for me. 



Their waefu' fate what need I tell, 
Eight 'O the wrang did yield : 

My Donald and his Country fell 
Unon Culloden-field. 



* [" This song: is said to be a homely version of a Highland 
Pament for the ruin which followed the rebellion of the ' forty- 
five.' Burns heard it sung in one of his northern excur- 
sions, and begged a translation. It gives no exaggerated pic- 
ture of the desolation wrought in the north by the Duke of 
Cumberland, whose atrocities made the prophecy of Peden 
be credited — ' The day is at hand when a man may ride fifty 
miles in Scotland, and not see a reeking house, nor hear a 
crowing cock.' To subdue and root out rebellion was a duty ; 
but ' Butcher Willie,' as the peasantry with great propriety 
called the duke in accomplishing this, was savage and re- 
morseless. Smollett, who lived in those melancholy times, 
has given us a lasting picture of the sufferings of his country 
in his inimitable ' Tears of Scotland ;' nor has Sir Walter 
Scott spared either sympathy for the sufferers, or reproaches 



Ochon, O, Donald, Oh ! 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman in the warld wide 

Sae wretched now as me.* 



OTelcmne to #metal Dumrjurur. 



A Parady on Robin Adair. 



You're welcome to despots, Dumourier ; 
You're welcome to despots, Dumourier ; 

How does Dampiere, do ? 

Aye, and Bournonville, too? 
Why did they not come along with you, Du- 
mourier ? 



I will fight France with you, Dumourier ; 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier ; 
I will fight France with you, 
I will take my chance with you ; 

By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, Du- 



Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 
Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 

Then let us fight about, 

Till freedom's spark is out, 
Then we'll be damn'd, no doubt, Dumourier. 



[One day Burns happened to be in the King's j 
Arms Inn, Dumfries, when he overheard a 
stranger vindicating the defection of General 
Dumourier from the ranks of the French army. 
The Poet presently began to croon words to 
the tune of Robin Adair, in a low tone of 
voice : on being asked what he was about, he« 
said he was giving a welcome to General Du- 
mourier, and repeated the above verses. They 
were inserted in Cromek's Reliques of Burns. J 



on him who was so wantonly barbarous. The castles and 
homes of the rebels were given to the flames ; their cattle; 
driven away, and their wives and children were to be seen 
roaming, houseless and famishing, among the lonely glens 
and desolate moors of the north. The execution too of those 
taken in arms was, beyond all belief, barbarous ; they were 
hung by the neck for five minutes, cut down before they were 
dead — their bosoms opened and their hearts torn out : several 
were observed by the bystanders to struggle with the execu- 
tioner in performing the last part of this terrible tragedy. 
Human nature shudders at such proceedings ; yet the public 
heart and eye of London must have been hardened that en- 
dured the exhibition of the ghastly heads of Lovat Balme-- 
ino, and Kilmarnock, on Temple Bar, for forty years and 
more !" — Cunningham.] 



THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. — O MALLY'S MEEK. 



439 



33onnte iSeg^a^ftamSai). 



Tune— Cauld is the E'enM Blast. 



Cauld is the e'enin' blast 
O' Boreas o'er the pool, 

And dawin' it is dreary 

When birks are bare at Yule. 



O cauld blaws the e'enin' blast 
When bitter bites the frost, 

And in the mirk and dreary drift 
The hills and glens are lost. 



Ne'er sae murky blew the night 
That drifted o'er the hill, 

But bonnie Peg-a-Ramsay 
Gat grist to her mill. 



[ This short song was written by Burns for 
the " Museum," it is adapted to an old Scottish 
air, called " Bonnie Peg-a-Ramsay," and is as 
renowned in the amatory songs of the north as 

" French Joan or English Mall " 

are in the martial ballads of France and Eng- 
land. That she was beautiful, and condescend- 
ing, the fragments of old song still bear evi- 
dence :— 

" O bonnie Peg-a-Ramsay, 

As a half-blin' man may see, 
Has a sweet and sonsie look, 
And a gleg and glenting e'e."] 



CI)m iua£ a fcomw 3La3S. 

AN UNFINISHED SKETCH. 
I. 

There was a bonnie lass, 
And a bonnie, bonnie lass, 

And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear ; 
Till war's loud alarms 
Tore her laddie frae her arms, 

Wi mony a sigh and a tear. 



Over sea, over shore, 

Where the cannons loudly roar, 
He still was a stranger to fear ; 

And nocht could him quail, 

Or his bosom assail, 
But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



[Burns sometimes commenced a song, and, 
like Milton, "nothing pleased with what he 
had done," threw it aside, and addressed him- 
self to some other subject or air, to which 

" Words came skelpin' rank and file." 

This is one of those unfinished snatches — yet 
not unworthy of preservation : Johnson, there- 
fore, inserted it in the last volume of his 
" Museum." The words are adapted to the 
tune of a favourite slow march.] 



<& ^Tatti)^ nuefe, ;PaHj)'£ sfo«t. 



As I was walking up the street, 
A barefit maid I chanc'd to meet ; 

Bat O the road was very hard 
For that fair maiden's tender feet. 

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 
Mally's modest and discreet, 

Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
Mally's every way complete. 



It were mair meet, that those fine feet 
Were weel lac'd up in silken shoon, 

And 'twere more fit that she should sit 
Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 



Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 

Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck ; 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies, 

Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 

Mally's every way complete. 



[The above was the last of all the communi- 
cations of Burns to Johnson's Musical Mu- 
seum. The Poet was one day walking along 
the High-street of Dumfries, when he met a 
young woman from the country, who, with her 
shoes and stockings packed carefully up, and 
her petticoats kilted, 

" which did gently shaw 

Her straight bare legs that whiter were than snaw," 

was proceeding towards the Galloway side of 
the Nith. 

This sight, by no means so unusual then, as 
now, influenced the muse of Burns, and the 
result was this exquisite lyric] 



THE 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE OF BURNS 



GEORGE THOMSON. 



In the autumn of 1792, Thomson planned his 
truly elegant and adventurous work, entitled : 
" A select Collection of original Scottish Airs, 
for the Voice : to which are added Introductory 
and Concluding Symphonies and Accompani- 
ments for the Piano-forte and Violin, by Pleyel 
and Koseluck, with select and characteristic 
Verses by the most admired Scottish Poets ;" 
end, as Burns was the only poet of that period 
worthy of the name, he was instantly applied 
to. He had contributed largely to the " Mu- 
sical Museum" of Johnson, and was still com- 
posing for it : the work of Thomson presented 
something more worthy of his ambition, and he 
promised his aid with an enthusiasm and alacrity 
peculiar to himself. The songs were all to be 
published with the names of the authors ; and, 
as the new lyrics were sure to be compared with 
those which they superseded, there was a two- 
fold claim upon the Poet for his purest and 
happiest musings. 

" The undertaking of Thomson," says Cur- 
rie, " is one on which the public may be con- 
gratulated in various points of view ; not merely 
as having collected the finest of the Scottish 
songs and airs of past times, but as having given 
occasion to a number of original songs of our 
Bard, which equal or surpass the former efforts 
of the pastoral muses of Scotland ; and which, 
if we mistake not, may be safely compared with 
the lyric poetry of any age or country. The 
letters of Burns to Thomson include the songs 
he presented to him, some of which appeared 
in different stages of their progress ; and these 
letters will be found to exhibit occasionally his 
notions of song-writing, and his opinions on 
various subjects of taste and criticism. These 
opinions, it will be observed, were called forth 
by the observations of his correspondent ; and 
without the letters of the latter, those of Burns 
would have been often unintelligible." 

"'The reasons which influenced Currie in 
minting the letters of Thomson along Avith 
those of the Poet are equally strong now. The 
opinions of Burns, though generally given spon- 
taneously, were now and then forced from him 
by the criticisms of his friend : the former 
always thought and felt as a poet— the latter as 
a musician ; one was chiefly solicitous about the 
vvftight of the sense — the other about the beauty j 



of the sound. The poetry which is wntten fof 
music must, it is true, be measured in another 
way than that which is for perusal only. The 
emphatic notes of the music must find an echo 
in the emphatic words of the verse ; and words 
soft and liquid are far fitter for ladies' lips than 
words rough and hissing. It is nevertheless 
certain that language at once emphatic and har- 
monious is not easily summoned into lyric verse ; 
and it is quite as true that, in substituting a 
melodious for a harsher word, the sentiment is 
often crushed out by the experiment. A certain 
happiness of language as well as of thought is 
demanded by the lyric muse, and no one had 
this in greater perfection than Burns." — Cun- 
ningham. 

George Cljmti^mt, ISSij. 

Respecting this distinguished friend and cor- 
respondent of Burns, the following interesting 
Auto-biographical notice appears in the " Land 
of Burns," and is addressed to Robert Cham- 
bers, Esq., one of the Editors of that splendid 
work. 

Trustees' Office, Edinburgh, 

March 2Qth, 1838. 

" Dear Sir, 

" To your request that I should furnish you 
with a few particulars respecting my personal 
history, I really know not well what to say, 
because my life has been too unimportant to 
merit much notice. It is in connection with 
National Music and Song, and my correspon- 
dence on that subject with Burns, chiefly, that 
I can have any reasonable hope of being occa- 
sionally spoken of. I shall therefore content 
myself with a brief sketch of what belongs to 
my personal history, and then proceed to the 
subject of Scottish Music and Burns. 

" I was born at Limekilns, in Fife, about the 
year 1759, as I was informed, for I can scarce 
believe I am so old. My father taught a school 
there, and having been invited, in that capacity, 
to the town of Banff, he carried me thither in 
my very early years, instructed me in the 
elementary branches of knowledge, and sent 
me to learn the dead languages at what was 
called the grammar school. He had a hard 
struggle to maintain an increasing family, and, 
after trying some mercantile means of enlarging 



GEORGE THOMSON. 



441 



his income, without success, he moved with 
his family to Edinburgh, when I was about 
seventeen. In a short time I got into a Writer 
to the Signet's office as a Clerk, and remained 
in that capacity with him, and another W.S., 
till the year 1780, when, through the influence 
of Mr. John Home, Author of ' Douglas/ 
with one of the Members of the Honourable 
Board of Trustees, I was recommended to 
that Board, and became their Junior Clerk. 
Not long after, upon the death of their Principal 
Clerk, I succeeded to his situation, Mr. Robert 
Arbuthnot being then their Secretary ; under 
whom, and afterwards under Sir William, his 
son and successor, I have served the Board for 
upwards of half a century ; enjoying their 
fullest confidence, and the entire approbation of 
both Secretaries, whose gentlemanly manners 
and kind dispositions were such, (for I never 
saw a frown on their brows, nor heard an angry 
word escape from their lips) that I can say, 
with heart-felt gratitude to their memory, and 
to all my superiors, in this the 58th year of my 
Clerkship, that I never have felt the word 
servitude to mean any thing in the least morti- 
fying or unpleasant, but quite the reverse. 

" In my 25th year, I married Miss Miller, 
whose father was a Lieutenant in the 50th 
Regiment, and her mother the daughter of a 
most respectable gentleman in Berwick-shire, 
George Peter, Esq., of Chapel, and this w r as 
the wisest act of my life. She is happily still 
living, and has presented me with six daughters, 
and two sons, the elder of the two being now 
a Lieutenant-Colonel of Engineers, and the 
other an Assistant-Commissary-General. 

" From my boyhood I had a passion for the 
sister arts of music and painting, which I have 
ever since continued to cherish, in the society 
of the ablest professors of both arts. Having 
studied the violin, it was my custom, after the 
hours of business, to con over our Scottish 
i melodies, and to devour the choruses of Handel's 
oratorios ; in which, when performed at St. 
Cecilia's hall, I generally took a part, along 
with a few other gentlemen, Mr. Alexander 
Wight, one of the most eminent counsel at the 
bar, Mr. Gilbert Innes, of Stow, Mr. John 
Russel, W.S., Mr. John Hutton, &c. : it being 
then not uncommon for grave amateurs to assist 
at the St. Cecilia concerts, one of the most 
interesting and liberal musical institutions that 
ever existed in Scotland, or indeed in any 
country. I had so much delight in singing 
those matchless chorusses, and in practising the 
violin quartettos of Pleyel and Haydn that it 
was with joy I hailed the hour when, like the 
young amateur in the good old Scotch song, I 
could hie me hame to my Cremona, and enjoy 
Haydn's admirable fancies. 

• I still was pleas'd where'er I went, and when I was alone, 
I screw'd my pegs and nieas'd myself with John o' Bad- 
en j- on.' 



" At the St. Cecilia concerts I heard Scottish 
songs sung in a style of excellence far surpassing 
any idea which I previously had of their beauty, 
and that, too, from Italians, Signor Tenducci 
the one, and Signora Domenica Corri the other. 
Tenducci's ' I'll never leave thee,' and ' Braes 
of Ballenden,' and the Signora's * Ewebughts, 
Marion,' and ' Waly, waly,' so delighted 
every hearer that in the most crowded room 
not a whisper was to be heard, so entirely did 
they rivet the attention and admiration of the 
audience. Tenducci's singing was full of pas- 
sion, feeling, and taste : and, what we hear 
very rarely from singers, his articulation of the 
words was no less perfect than his expression of 
the music. It was in consequence of my hear- 
ing him and Signora Corri sing a number of 
our songs, so charmingly, that I conceived the 
idea of collecting all our best melodies and 
songs, and of obtaining accompaniments to them 
worthy of their merit. 

" On examining with great attention the 
various collections on which I could by any 
means lay my hands, I found them all more or 
less exceptionable, a sad mixture of good and 
evil, the pure and the impure. The melodies 
in general were without any symphonies to 
introduce and conclude them ; and the accom- 
paniments (for the piano only) meagre and 
common-place : — while the verses united with 
the melodies were in a great many instances 
coarse and vulgar, the productions of a rude 
age, and such as could not be tolerated or sung 
in good society. 

" Many copies of the same melody both in 
print and manuscript, differing more or less 
from each other, came under my view : and 
after a minute comparison of copies, and hear- 
ing them sung over and over by such of my 
fair friends as I knew to be most conversant 
with them, I chose that set or copy of each 
air which I found the most simple and beautiful. 

u For obtaining accompaniments to the Airs. 
and also Symphonies to introduce and conclude 
each air — a most interesting appendage to the 
airs that had not before graced any of the 
collections, I turned my eyes first on Pleyel, 
whose compositions were remarkably popular 
and pleasing : and afterwards, when I had re- 
solved to extend my work into a complete col- 
lection of ail the Airs that were worthy of 
preservation, I divided them in different por- 
tions, and sent them from time to time to Haydn, 
to Beethoven, to Weber, Hummell, &c, the 
greatest musicians then flourishing in Europe. 
These Artists, to my inexpressible satisfaction, 
proceeded con amore with their respective por- 
tions of the work, and in the Symphonies, 
which are original and characteristic creations 
of their own, as well as in their judicious and 
delicate accompaniments for the Piano-forte, 
and for the Violin, Flute, and Violoncello, they 
exceeded my most sanguine expectations, and 



442 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



obtained the decided approval of the best judges. 
Their compositions have been pronounced by 
the Edinburgh Review to be wholly unrivalled 
for originality and beauty. 

" The poetry became next the subject of my 
anxious consideration, and engaged me in a far 
more extensive Correspondence than I had ever 
anticipated, which occupied nearly the whole of 
my leisure for many years. For, although a 
small portion of the melodies had long been 
united with excellent songs, yet a much greater 
number stood matched with such unworthy 
associates as to render a divorce, and a new 
union, absolutely necessary. 

" Fortunately for the melodies, I turned my 
eyes towards Robert Burns, who no sooner was 
informed of my plan and wishes, than, with 
all the frankness, generosity, and enthusiasm, 
which marked his character, he undertook to 
write whatever Songs I wanted for my work ; 
but in answer to my promise of remuneration, 
he declared, in the most emphatic terms, that 
he would receive nothing of the kind ! He 
proceeded with the utmost alacrity to execute 
what he had undertaken, and from the year 
1792 till the time of his death, in 1796, I con- 
tinued to receive his exquisitely beautiful com- 
positions for the melodies I had sent him from 
time to time : and, in order that nothing should 
be wanting which might suit my work, he em- 
powered me to make use of all the other songs 
that he had written for Johnson's Scots Musical 
Museum, &c. My work thus contains above One 
hundred and twenty of his inimitable songs ; 
besides many of uncommon beauty that I ob- 
tained from Thomas Campbell, Professor Smyth, 
Sir Walter Scott, Joanna Baillie, and other 
admired Poets : together with the best songs of 
the olden time." 

[The remainder of this communication, con- 
taining his defence against semi-anonymous 
slanderers, will be found at the close of the 
Correspondence . ] 



No. I. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 



Sir: 



Edinburgh, September, 1792. 



For some years past I have, with a friend or 
two, employed many leisure hours in selecting 
and collating the most favourite of our national 
melodies for publication. We have engaged 
Pleyel, the most agreeable composer living, to 
put accompaniments to these, and also to com- 
pose an instrumental prelude and conclusion to 
each air, the better to fit them for concerts, 
both public and private. To render this work 
perfect, we are desirous to have the poetry im- 
proved, wherever it seems unworthy of the 

; music ; and that it is so, in many instances, is 
allowed by every one conversant with our mu- 

i sical collections. The editors of these seem in 



general to have depended on the music proving 
an excuse for the verses ; and hence, some 
charming melodies are united to mere nonsense 
and doggerel, while others are accommodated 
with rhymes so loose and indelicate as cannot 
be sung in decent company. To remove this 
reproach would be an easy task to the author of 
the "Cotter's Saturday Night;" and, for the 
honour of Caledonia, I would fain hope he may 
be induced to take up the pen. If so, we shall 
be enabled to present the public with a collec- 
tion, infinitely more interesting than any that 
has* yet appeared, and acceptable to all persons 
of taste, whether they wish for correct melodies, 
delicate accompaniments, — or characteristic 
verses. — We will esteem your poetical assistance 
a particular favour, besides paying any reason- 
able price you shall please to demand for it. — 
Profit is quite a secondary consideration with 
us, and we are resolved to spare neither pains 
nor expense on the publication. Tell me frankly, 
then, whether you will devote your leisure to 
writing twenty or twenty-five songs, suited to 
the particular melodies which I am prepared to 
send you. A few songs, exceptionable only in 
some of their verses, I will likewise submit to 
your consideration ; leaving it to you either to 
mend these, or make new songs in their stead. 
It is superfluous to assure you that I have no 
intention to displace any of the sterling old 
songs ; those only will be removed which ap- 
pear quite silly, or absolutely indecent. Even 
these shall be all examined by Mr. Burns, and, 
if he is of opinion that any of them are deser- 
ving of the music, in such cases no divorce shall 
take place. 

Relying on the letter accompanying this, to 
be forgiven for the liberty I have taken in 
addressing you, I am, with great esteem, Sir, 
your most obedient humble servant, - 

G. Thomson. 



No. II. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 



Sir: 



Dumfries, \6th Sept. 179 



I have just this moment got your letter. As 
the request you make to me will positively add 
to my enjoyments in complying with it, I shall 
enter into your undertaking with all the small 
portion of abilities I have, strained to their ut- 
most exertion by the impulse of enthusiasm. — 
Only, don't hurry me : " Deil tak the hind- 
most" is by no means the cri de guerre of my 
muse. Will you, as I am inferior to none of 
you in enthusiastic attachment to the poetry 
and music of old Caledonia, and, since you re- 
quest it, have cheerfully promised my mite of 
assistance — will you let me have a list of your 
airs with the first line of the printed verses you 
intend for them, that I may have an opportu- 
nity of suggesting any alteration that may 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



443 



occur to me ? You know 'tis in the way of my 
trade; still leaving you, gentlemen, the un- 
doubted right of publishers to approve or reject, 
at your pleasure, for your own publication. — 
Apropos ! if you are for English verses, there is, 
on my part, an end of the matter. Whether in 
the simplicity of the ballad, or the pathos of the 
song, I can only hope to please myself in being 
allowed at least a sprinkling of our r.ative 
tongue. English verses, particularly the works 
of Scotsmen, that have merit, are certainly very 
eligible. " Tweedside !" — "Ah! the poor 
shepherd's mournful fate !" — " Ah ! Chloris, 
could I now but sit," &c. you cannot mend : — 
but such insipid stuff as " To Fanny fair could 
I impart," &c, usually set to "The Mill, 
Mill, O!" is a disgrace to the collections in 
which it has already appeared, and would 
doubly disgrace a collection that will have the 
very superior merit of yours. But more of this 
in the farther prosecution of the business, if I 
am called on for my strictures and amendments 
■ — I say amendments ; for I will not alter except 
where I myself, at least, think that I amend. 

As to any remuneration, you may think my 
songs either above or below price ; for they 
shall absolutely be the one or the other. In 
the honest enthusiasm with which I embark in 
your undertaking, to talk of money, wages, 
fee, hire, &e., would be downright prostitution* 
of soul ! A proof of each of the songs that I 
compose or amend, I shall receive as a favour. 
In the rustic phrase of the season, " Gude 
speed the wark !" I am, Sir, your very hum- 
ble servant, R. Burns. 

P. S. — I have some particular reasons for 
wishing my interference to be known as little 
as possible. 

[" At the time of the commencement of this 
correspondence, Scottish songs were but little 
regarded. Ramsay's Miscellany was deformed 
by innumerable vulgarities : Herd's collection, 
though curious, was chiefly interesting to the 
antiquary ; and Johnson's Museum, great as its 
merits were, both in verse and music, had not 
become popular. Thomson perceived this, and 
set about supplying the deficiency with consi- 
derable taste and skill. His chief ally was 
Burns. In music Pleyel ranks high, but no 
one can help feeling that his symphonies and 
accompaniments now and then encumber the 
music they were intended to adorn. The ex- 
treme simplicity of our northern airs is hurt by 
these embellishments, as a Doric temple would 
be injured by a Corinthian portico, or the Ve- 
nus de Medici with bracelets of gold and dia- 
monds on her arms, and drops at her ears." — 
Cunningham.] 



[* We have been informed that Burns marked his loathing 
of remuneration by the use of even a stronger term than this, 
whicn was substituted by the original Editor, — Chambers.] 



No. III. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 13th Oct. 1792. 

Dear Sir : 

I received, with much satisfaction, your 
pleasant and obliging letter, and I return my 
warmest acknowledgments for the enthusiasm 
with which you have entered into our under- 
taking. We have now no doubt of being able 
to produce a collection highly deserving of 
public attention in all respects. 

I agree with you in thinking English verses, 
that have merit, very eligible, wherever new 
verses are necessary ; because the English be- 
comes, every year, more and more the language 
of Scotland ; but if you mean that no English 
verses, except those by Scottish authors, ought 
to be admitted, I am half inclined to differ 
from you. I should consider it unpardonable 
to sacrifice one good song in the Scottish dialect, 
to make room for English verses ; but, if we 
can select a few excellent ones suited to the un- 
provided or ill-provided airs, would it not be 
the very bigotry of literary patriotism to reject 
such, merely because the authors were born 
south of the Tweed? Our sweet air, "My 
Nannie, O," which in the collections is joined 
to the poorest stuff that Allan Ramsay ever 
wrote, beginning, "While some for pleasure 
pawn their health," answers so finely to Dr, 
Percy's beautiful song, " O Nancy, wilt thou 
go with me," that one would think he wrote it 
on purpose for the air. However, it is not at 
all our wish to confine you to English verses : 
you shall freely be allowed a sprinkling of your 
native tongue, as you elegantly express it ; and 
moreover, we will patiently await your own 
time. One thing only I beg, which is, that 
however gay and sportive the muse may be, 
she may always be decent. Let her not write 
what beauty would blush to speak, nor wound 
that charming delicacy which forms the most 
precious dowry of our daughters. I do not 
conceive the song to be the most proper vehicle 
for witty and brilliant conceits: simplicity, I 
believe, should be its prominent feature; but, 
in some of our songs, the writers have con- 
founded simplicity with coarseness and vul- 
garity ; although between the one and the 
other, as Dr. Beattie well observes, there is as 
great a difference as between a plain suit of 
clothes and a bundle of rags. The humorous 
ballad, or pathetic complaint, is best suited to 
our artless melodies ; and more interesting, 
indeed, in all songs, than the most pointed wit, 
dazzling descriptions, and flowery fancies. 

With these trite observations, I send you 
eleven of the songs, for which it is my wish to 
substitute others of your writing. I shall soon 
transmit the rest, and, at the same time, a 
prospectus of the whole collection ; and you 



444 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



may believe we will receive any hints that you 
are so kind as to give, for improving the work, 
with the greatest pleasure and thankfulness.— 
I remain, dear Sir, &c. 

G. Thomson. 



No. IV. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

My dear Sir : 
Let me tell you that you are too fastidious 
in your ideas of songs and ballads. I own that 
your criticisms are just ; the songs you specify 
in your list have, all but one, the faults you 
remark in them ; but who shall mend the 
matter? Who shall rise up and say — Go 
to, I will make a better? For instance, on 
reading over the "The Lea-rig/ 7 I immediately 
set about trying my hand on it, and, after all, 
I could make nothing more of it than the 
following, which, Heaven knows, is poor 
enough : — 

Ww am MriU 20eaw, <&. 

Tune—" The Lea-Rig. 



When o'er the hill the eastern star 

Tells bugh tin-time is near, my jo ; 
And owsen frae the furrow'd field 

Return sae dowf and weary, O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented birks * 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo ; 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O ! 

II. 

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, 
I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O ; 



* [Var. — For " scented birks," in some copies, " birken 
buds."] 

tC'Inthe copy transmitted to Mr. Thomson, instead of 
wild, was inserted wet. But in one of the manuscripts, pro- 
bably written afterwards, wet was changed into wild — evi- 
dently a great improvement. The lovers might meet on the 
lea-rig, ' although the night were ne'er so wild,' that is, al- 
though the summer-wind blew, the sky lowered, and the 
thunder murmured ; such circumstances might render their 
meeting still more interesting. But if the night were actually 
wet, why should they meet on the lea-rig ? On a wet night, 
the imagination cannot contemplate their situation there 
with any complacency. Tibullus, and after him Hammond, 
has conceived a happier situation for lovers on a wet night. 
Probably Burns had in his mind the verse of an old Scottish 
song, in which wet and weary are naturally enough con- 
joined : 

' When my ploughman comes hame at e'en, 
He's often wet and weary: 
Cast off the wet, put on the dry, 
And gae to bed, my deary.' " — Currie.] 

+ [The original or old name of this song was the Ware- 
horse. " Burns and Fergusson," says Mr. Buchan, "have 
exerted their skill to make words worthy of so fine an air ; 
but my great grandmother's way ran thus : 

' I hae been at the ware-horse, 
Till I am wet and weary, O ; 
Cast off the wet, put on the dry, 
Come to your bed, my deary, O. 



If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie, O ! 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,f 

And I were ne'er sae wearie, O y 
I'd meet thee on thee lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O ! 

in. 
The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey, 

It maks my heart sae cheery O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O ! J 
Your observation as to the aptitude of Dr 
Percy's ballad to the air, " Nannie, O," is just 
It is besides, perhaps, the most beautiful ballad 
in the English language. But let me remark 
to you, that in the sentiment and style of our 
Scottish airs there is a pastoral simplicity, a 
something that one may call the Doric style 
and dialect of vocal music, to which a dash of 
our native tongue and manners is particularly, 
nay peculiarly, apposite. For this reason, and, 
upon my honour, for this reason alone, I am of 
opinion (but, as I told you before, my opinion 
is yours, freely yours, to approve or reject, as 
you please) that my ballad of " Nannie, O !" 
might perhaps do for one set of verses to the 
tune. Now don't let it enter into your head 
that you are under any necessity of taking my 
verses. I have long ago made up my mind 
as to my own reputation in the business of 
authorship ; and have nothing to be pleased or 
offended at, in your adoption or rejection of my 
verses. Though you should reject one half of 
what I give you, I shall be pleased with your 



I'll row you up, I'll row you down, 

And row till I be weary, O : 
I'll row you on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind deary, O. 

But how are ye sae bauld, sir, 

And you my father's cotter, O ; 
As row me on the lea-rig, 

And me his eldest dochter, O ? 
As row me up, and row me down, 

And row till I be weary, O ; 
And row me on the lea-rig, 
My ain kind deary, O. 

Then tho' the night be ne'er sae dark 

And I be wet and weary, O ! 
I'll hap you in my petticoat, 
My ain kind deary, O. 
Then row me up, and row me down, 

And row till ye be weary, O ; 
And row me on the lea-rig, 
My ain kind deary, O.' 
" To those unacquainted with the term or name of ware- 
horse, it may be necessary to add, by way of explanation, 
that along the rocky and steep coast of the east of Scotland 
the adjoining lands were manured with a kind of sea-weed, I 
called ware, which was carried on the backs of dwarf horses 
in wooden creels or curroches, and led by the young women | 
belonging to the farm. — The men's duty was to gather it j 
from the sea, load the horses, and afterwards spread it on the | 
land."] 



- 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



adopting the other half, and shall continue to 
serve you with the same assiduity.. 

In the printed copy of my " Nannie, O," 
the name of the river is horridly prosaic. I 
will alter it : 

" Behind yon hills where Lugar flows." 

Girvan is the name of the river that suits 
the idea of the stanza best, but Lugar is the 
most agreeable modulation of syllables. 

I will soon give you a great many more 
remarks on this business ; but I have just now 
an opportunity of conveying you this scrawl, 
free of postage, an expense that it is ill able to 
pay : so, with my best compliments to honest 
Allan, Gude be wi' ye, &c. R. R. 

Friday Night. 

Saturday Morning. 

As I find I have still an hour to spare this 
morning before my conveyance goes away, I will 
give you " Nannie, O !" at length, (vide p. 347) 

Your remarks on " Ewe-bughts, Marion," 
are just ; still it has obtained a place among 
our more classical Scottish songs ; and, what 
with many beauties in its composition, and 
more prejudices in its favour, you will not find 
it easy to supplant it. 

In my very early years, when I was thinking 
of going to the West Indies, I took the following 
farewell of a dear girl. It is quite trifling, and 
has nothing of the merits of "Ewe-bughts;" 
but it will fill up this page. You must know 
that all my earlier love-songs were the breath- 
ings of ardent passion, and though it might 
have been easy in after-times to have given 
them a polish, yet that polish, to me, whose 
they were, and who perhaps alone cared for 
them, would have defaced the legend of my 
heart, which was so faithfully inscribed on them. 
Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of 
wines, their race. 

WiiU you go to tlje hxttit*, my Plarp } 



Tune — " Ewe-bughts." 

TO MARY CAMPBELL. 

i. 
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,* 

And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 

Across th' Atlantic's roar ? 

* [The first line of this song seems to have been taken from 
an old Irish one, beginning, — 

" Will ye go to Dublin, my Molly?"] 

t [This song Mr. Thomson has not adopted in his collec- 
tion. It deserves, however, to be preserved. — Currie.] 

% [There are many sets of this old song on which this one is 
r'ramed, to be found both in print and on the breath of tradi- 
r.ion. In Herd's Collection, vol. ii. p. 230, we have the fol- 
lowing version : — 



sweet grows the lime and the orange, 
And the apple on the pine ; 

But a' the charms o' the Indies 
Can never equal thine. 
in. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 

I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true 
And sae may the Heavens forget me, 
When I forget my vow ! 

IV. 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 

And plight me your lily-white hand ; 
O plight me your faith, my Mary, 

Before I leave Scotia's strand. 
v. 
We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 

In mutual affection to join ; 
And curst be the cause that shall part us \ 

The hour and the moment o' time ! t 



"Galla Water," and " Auld Rob Morris," I 
think, will most probably be the next subject of 
my musings. However, even on my verses, 
speak out your criticisms with equal frankness. 
My wish is, not to stand aloof, the uncomplying 
bigot of opini&trete, but cordially to join issue 
with you in the furtherance of the work. 

+ 

No. V. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

November 8th, 1792. 

If you mean, my dear Sir, that all the songs 
in your collection shall be poetry of the first 
merit, I am afraid you will find more difficulty 
in the undertaking than you are aware of. 
There is a peculiar rhythmus in many of our 
airs, and a necessity for adapting syllables to 
the emphasis, or what I would call the feature- 
notes of the tune, that cramp the poet, and lay 
him under almost insuperable difficulties. For 
instance, in the air, " My wife's a wanton wee 
thing," if a few lines smooth and pretty can be 
adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The 
following were made extempore to it ; and 
though, on farther study, I might give you 
something more profound, yet it might not suit 
the light-horse gallop of the air so w T ell as this 
random clink : — 

M$ WiiU'S a foutgom* tow Cljt'ng. t 
i. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 

" My wife's a wanton wee thing, 
My wife's a wanton wee thing, 
My wife's a wanton wee thing ; 

She'll never be guided by me. 
She play'd the loon e'er she was married, 
She play'd the loon e'er she was married, 
She play'd the loon e'er she was married; 

She'll do't again e'er she die." 

The traditional copies celebrate the virtues and vice3 of * 
pigmy drunken wife. — M.] 



446 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 



I never saw a fairer, 
I never lo'ed a dearer ; 
And neist my heart I'll wear .ier, 
For fear my jewel tine. 

hi. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 



The warld's wrack we share o't, 
The warstle and the care o't ; 
Wi' her I'll blythly bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 



I have just been looking over the " Collier's 
bonny Dochter ;" and if the following rhap- 
sody, which I composed the other day, on a 
charming Ayr-shire girl, Miss Lesley Baillie 
(afterwards Mrs. Cuming, of Logie), as she 
passed through this place to England, will suit 
your taste better than the " Collier Lassie," — - 
fall on and welcome : — 

35omro 3U£lep.* 



O saw ye bonnie Lesley, 
As she gaed o'er the border ? 

She's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 



To see her is to love her, 
And love but her for ever ; 

For Nature made her what she is, 
And never made anither ! 



Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, before thee : 

Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 



* [The last word in the third line of this song gave Mr. 
Thomson some uneasiness. He wished some other word to 
take the rank and precedence of Alexander ; but Burns, true 
to his post, would not yield to the dictation of the critic. He 
perhaps was right ; and, at any rate, can claim for precedent 
the great Marquis of Montrose, who, in one of his songs, 
says : — 

" As Alexander I will reign, 
And I will reign alone ; 
My thoughts did evermore disdain 
A rival on my throne." 

The Poet, in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, dated August, 1792, 
describes the influence which the beauty of Miss Lesley 
Baillie exercised over his imagination. " Know then," said 
he. "that the heart-struck awe, the distant humble approach, 
the delight we should have in gazing upon and listening to a 
messenger of Heaven, appearing in all the unspotted purity 



The Deil he could na scaith thee, 

Nor aught that wad belang thee ; 
He'd look into thy bonnie face, 

And say, " I canna wrang thee." 
v. 
The powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha' na steer thee : 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

VI. 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 



I have hitherto deferred the sublimer, mort 
pathetic airs, until more leisure, as they wii 
take, and deserve, a greater effort. However, 
they are all put into your hands, as clay ink 
the hands of the potter, to make one vessel i 
honour, and another to dishonour. — Fare- 
well, &c. R. B. 



No. VI. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 



ftttsJIantt Plan?. 



Tune — Katherine Ogie. 



Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unfaulds her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

II. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk ! 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ! 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp' d her to my bosom ! 



of his celestial home, among the coarse, polluted, far inferio; 
sons of men, to deliver to them tidings that make thei ■ 
hearts swim in joy, and their imaginations soar in transport 
— such, so delighting and so pure, were the emotions of na 
soul on meeting the other day with Miss Lesley Baillie, yoi;-- 
neighbour. Mr. Baillie, with his two daughters, accom- 
panied by Mr. H. of G., passing through Dumfries a fev 
days ago, on their way to England, did me the honour of 
calling on me; on which I took my horse (though God knows 
I could ill spare the time,) and accompanied them fourteen 
or fifteen miles, and dined and spent the day with them. 
'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them; and riding 
home, I composed the following ballad." You must know 
that there is an old one beginning with : — 

My bonnie Lizzie Baillie, 
I'll rowe thee in my plaidie, &c. 
Sol parodied it as above. R. B. 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



447 



The golden hours, on angel wings, 
Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 

For dear to me, as light and life, 
Was my sweet Highland Mary ! 



WT mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, 
Our parting was fu' tender ; 

And, pledging aft to meet again, 
We tore oursels asunder ; 

But, oh ! fell Death's untimely frost, 
That nipt my flower sae early ! — 



* [In the notes to "My Highland Lassie, O," and "To 
Mary in Heaven," as well as in the Life of Burns, not a 
little has been said of Highland Mary, of whose loveliness 
and too early death the Poet sung with so much beauty and 
pathos. The following interesting particulars have been 
communicated by John Kerr, Esq., writer in Glasgow : — 

"The parents of Highland Blary lived in Greenock, and 
she crossed the firth of Clyde to visit some relations in Cowal, 
previous to her marriage. Her father was a mariner ; had 
two sons, Archibald and Robert ; and, besides Mary, a 
daughter, named Anne, who married James Anderson, a 
stone-mason. All these individuals are now dead: Mary was 
not long outlived by her father and brothers : her mother 
died in great poverty in the year 1828. The representatives 
of Highland Mary, therefore, now consist of Anderson's 
children — two sons and two daughters. Mary, it appears, 
was not hurried to the grave immediately after her return 
from Cowal : she lived several weeks with her father, and 
every week received a letter from her lover. The circum- 
stance of a girl in her humble condition receiving a letter 
weekly excited the curiosity of the neighbours : the secret 
was carefully hunted out, and one of the gossips informed 
her father and mother that Mary was in the habit of receiving 
letters from a person named Burns, who was known to be a 
strange character, and 'a great scoffer at women.' Mary was 
questioned on the subject, and admitted the correspondence, 
laughing heartily at the description of her lover, whose 
scoffing, she said, she was ready to trust to. After this, 
Mary was allowed to receive her letters openly : one of them, 
it appears, contained the song of 'The Highland Lassie, O ;' 
for her mother got it by heart from the Poet's correspondence, 
and, in her declining years, soothed her grand-children with 
strains which recorded the charms of her favourite daughter. 

" It is to be regretted that none of these letters are now in 
existence. After Mary's death, her father disliked all allu- 
sions to her or her lover ; and when Burns wrote a moving 
letter, requesting some memorial of her he loved so dearly, 
the stern old man neither answered it, nor allowed any one 
to speak about it in his presence. His grand-children can 
sing some scraps of the songs which he wrote in the praise of 
their aunt ; and these, save the Bible presented to her by the 
Poet, are all that the relatives of Highland Mary have to bear 
testimony of the love that was between her and Burns. 

" Before the 'last farewell,' commemorated in the song of 
' Highland Mary,' was taken, the lovers plighted mutual 
faith, and, exchanging Bibles, stood, with a running stream 
between, and, lifting up its waters in their hands, vowed love 
while the woods of Montgomery grew and its waters ran. 
The spot where this took place is still pointed out. Mary's 
Bible was of the commonest kind, and consisted of one 
volume only — that of Burns was elegantly bound, and con- 
sisted of two volumes. In the first volume he had written, 
— 'And ye shall not swear by my name falsely — I am the 
Lord. Levit. chap, xix., v. 12.'— In the second — ' Thou shalt 
not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine 
oath. St, Matth. chap, v., v. 33 ;' and on a blank leaf of 
both volumes, ' Robert Burns, Mossgiel.' By the death of 
Mary, this Bible came into the possession of her mother, who, 
about twelve years ago, gave it to her only surviving daughter, 
Mrs. Anderson. The circumstance of its being in two 
volumes seemed, at one period, to threaten its dismember- 
ment ; for, upwards of five years since, Mrs. Anderson pre- 
sented a volume to each of her two daughters ; but on the 
approaching marriage of these two females sometime after- 
wards, her eldest son, William Anderson, a mason in 
Renton, prevailed upon each of his sisters to dispose of the 
volumes they had received to him ; and thus both volumes, 
once more united, now remain in the custody of the senior 



Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 
That wraps my Highland Mary ! 



Oh pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And clos'd for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly — 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary ! * 



nephew of Highland Mary. The sacred verses we have 
quoted above remain in the bold, distinct hand- writing of the 
Poet ; but his signature, on the opposite leaves, is almost 
wholly obliterated. In the first volume, a masonic emblem, 
drawn by Burns, below his signature, is in complete preserv- 
ation. Mr. William Anderson is also possessed of a pretty 
large lock of his aunt, Highland Mary's, hair, a portion of 
which he presented to us, as a relic of the Bard's first love. 

" We now come to another era in the history of this Bible. 
Mr. Archibald, schoolmaster, in Largs, an admirer of Burns, 
and a votary of the Scottish muse, waited, it is said, on old 
widow Campbell, some time before her death, for the purpose 
of purchasing the volumes. He learnt, however, that she was 
a pauper on the roll of the Kirk Session of Greenock, who, in 
consequence, were entitled to take possession of her little 
property as soon as death removed her from this world ; but 
in the mean time, to secure a right to them, he is said to 
have bargained with her that he should become the possessor 
of the volumes when that event took place, at such a price as 
might be agreed upon between him and the Session. In 
February last, Mr. Archibald, having heard that the Bible 
had found its way into the custody of one of the elders, 
presented the following memorial to the Session : — 

" ' Your Memorialist will not presume to dictate to your 
Reverend Body what you may or ought to do with the Bible. 
He takes leave, however, to say, that if you do not see fit to 
retain them as public property, estimable to the people of 
Greenock, in consequence of the historical circumstances 
connected with these volumes, having been within their 
locality, he, the Memorialist, will be proud to be one of those 
who will gladly come forward to offer you a handsome sum of 
money for behoof of the poor, for the possession of the Sacred 
Pledges of Burns' purest affection. He has no doubt that 
many will compete with him in the generous strife of obtain- 
ing the books, and that, if you see fit in this way to raise it, 
a considerable sum may be realized for the necessities of the 
poor.' 

" On this memorial the Session pronounced the following 
judgment upon it : — 

" ' The Kirk Session of the Old Parish of Greenock, with 
their Heritors, being met — inter alia, the Kirk Treasurer 
laid before the meeting a letter from Mr. Joseph J. Archibald, 
teacher at Largs, containing an offer of ^10 for the effects 
(including furniture, books, &c. &c.) left by widow Campbell, 
mother to Burns' Highland Mary, which effects became the 
property of the Kirk Session, in consequence of the said 
Widow Campbell being, for several years, a pauper on their 
roll. The Session agreed to resign their hypothec in said 
effects to and in favour of the said Mr. Joseph J. Archibald, 
for the aforesaid sum of ^10, and authorize their clerk to 
intimate this to him.' 

" Notwithstanding the grave and formal tenor of this reso- 
lution, we suspect that the Bible is the unquestionable 
property of its present possessor, and, if the account we have 
received of his character and conduct approach the truth, he 
is well worthy of remaining their custodier in perpetuity."] 

[Mr. Joseph J. Archibald, alluded to in the preceding nar- 
rative, had the Bibles for a considerable time in his possession, 
and deposited them, along with a lock of Mary's hair, for 
some time in the hands of Mr. Crawford, Dairy, Ayr-shire, 
who still retains a small portion of the hair. Archibald was 
afterwards in the employment of Dr. Kirk, late of Greenock, 
now of Glasgow, where he fell ill, and his mother went from 
Dairy to nurse him. On his death, inquiry was made after 
the Bibles, but they were no where to be found. It is there- 
fore impossible to say into whose possession these preeioux 
relics have found their way.] 



448 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



My dear Sir : 



llt7i November, 1792. 



I agree with you that the song, " Katherine 
Ogie," is very poor stuff, and unworthy, alto- 
gether unworthy, of so beautiful an air. I 
tried to mend it ; but the awkward sound, Ogie, 
recurring so often in the rhyme, spoils every at- 
tempt at introducing sentiment into the piece. 
The foregoing song pleases myself; I think it 
is in my happiest manner : you will see at 
first glance that it suits the air. The subject of 
the song is one of the most interesting passages 
of my youthful days ; and I own that I should 
be much flattered to see the verses set to an air 
which would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after 
all, 'tis the still glowing prejudice of my heart 
that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits 
! of the composition. 

I have partly taken your idea of " Auld 
Rob Morris." I have adopted the first two 
verses, and am going on with the song on a 
new plan, which promises pretty well. I take 
up one or another, just as the bee of the mo- 
ment buzzes in my bonnet-lug ; and do you, 
sa?is ceremonie, make what use you choose of 
the productions.— Adieu, &c. R. B. 



No. VII. 



G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 



Dear Sir : 



Edinburgh, Nov. 1/92. 



I was just going to write to you, that on 
meeting with your Nannie, I had fallen vio- 
lently in love with her. I thank you, therefore, 
for sending the charming rustic to me, in the 
dress you wish her to appear before the public. 
She does you great credit, and will soon be ad- 
mitted into the best company. 

I regret that your song for the " Lea-rig" is 
so short ; the ah* is easy, soon sung, and very 
pleasing : so that, if the singer stops at the end 
of two stanzas, it is a pleasure lost ere it is well 
possessed.* 

Although a dash of our native tongue and 
manners is doubtless peculiarly congenial and 
appropriate to our melodies, yet I shall be able 
to present a considerable number of the very 
Flowers of English Song, well adapted to these 
melodies, which, in England at least, will be 
the means of recommending them to still greater 
attention than they have procured there. But, 
you will observe, my plan is, that every air 
shall in the first place have verses wholly by 
Scottish poets ; and that those of English wri- 
tere shall follow as additional songs, for the 
choice of the singer. 



* [" The fashion of the day, however, is short songs. At 
present nothing can be tolerated in the way of a song above 
a couple of stanzas."— Motherwell.] 



What you say of the " Ewe~bughts" is just : 
I admire it, and never meant to supplant it. — 
All I requested was, that you would try your 
hand on some of the inferior stanzas, which are 
apparently no part of the original song ; but 
this I do not urge, because the song is of suf- 
ficient length, though those inferior stanzas be 
omitted, as they will be by the singer of taste. 
You must not think I expect all the songs to be 
of superlative merit: that were an unreasonable 
expectation. I am sensible that no poet can sit 
down doggedly to pen verses, and succeed well, 
at all times. 

I am highly pleased with your humorous and 
amorous rhapsody on u Bonnie Lesley ;" it is a 
thousand times better than the " Collier's Las- 
sie." " The deil he cou'd na scaith thee," &c. 
is an eccentric and happy thought. Do you 
not think, however, that the names of such old 
heroes as Alexander sound rather queer, unless 
in pompous or mere burlesque verse ? Instead 
of the line, " And never made anither," I 
would humbly suggest, " And ne'er made sic 
anither," and I would fain have you substitute 
some other line for " Return to Caledonie," in 
the last verse, because I think this alteration oi 
the orthography, and of the sound of Cale- 
donia, disfigures the word, and renders it 
Hudibrastic. 

Of the other song — " My Wife's a Winsome 
wee Thing," I think the first eight lines very 
good : but I do not admire the other eight, be- 
cause four of them are a bare repetition of the 
first verse. I have been trying to spin a 
stanza, but could make nothing better than the 
following : do you mend it, or, as Yorick did 
with the love-letter, whip it up in your own 
way :— 

O leeze me on my wee thing, 
My bonnie blithsome wee thing ; 
Sae lang 's I hae my wee thing, 
I'll think my lot divine. 

Tho' warld's care we share o't, 
And may see meikle mair o't, 
Wi' her I'll blithely bear it, 
And ne'er a word repine. 

You perceive, my dear Sir, I avail myself of 
the liberty, which you condescend to allow me, 
by speaking freely what I think. Be assured, 
it is not my disposition to pick out the faults of 
any poem or picture I see : my first and chief 
object is to discover and be delighted with the 
beauties of the piece. If I sit down to exa- 
mine critically, and at leisure, what, perhaps, 
you have written in haste, I may happen to 
observe careless lines, the re-perusal of which 
might lead you to improve them. The wren 
will often see what has been overlooked by the 
eagle. — I remain yours faithfully, &c. G. T. 

P.S. Your verses upon " Highland Mary" 
are just come to hand ; they breathe the genuine 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



449 



spirit of poetry, and, like the music, will last 
for ever. Such verses, united to such an air, 
with the delicate harmony of Pleyel super- 
added, might form a treat worthy of being pre- 
sented to Apollo himself. I have heard the sad 
story of your Mary : you always seem in- 
spired when you write of her. 



No. VIII. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

Dumfries, 1st Dec. 1792. 

Your alterations of my " Nannie, O," are 
perfectly right. So are those of " My Wife's a 
winsome wee thing." Your alteration of the 
second stanza is a positive improvement. Now, 
my dear sir, with the freedom which characterizes 
our correspondence, I must not, cannot, alter 
" Bonnie Lesley." You are right, the word 
" Alexander" makes the line a little uncouth, 
but I think the thought is pretty. Of Alex- 
ander, beyond all other heroes, it may be said, 
in the sublime language of Scripture, that " he 
went forth conquering and to conquer." 

" For nature made her what she is, 
And never made anither." (Such a person as she is.) 

This is, in my opinion, more poetical than 
" Ne'er made sic anither." However, it is im- 
material: make it either way.* " Caledonie," I 
agree with you, is not so good a word as could 
be wished, though it is sanctioned in three or 
four instances by Allan Ramsay ; but I cannot 
help it. In short, that species of stanza is the 
most difficult that I have ever tried. 

The " Lea-rig" is as follows.— (Here the 
Poet repeats the first two stanzas, and adds an 
additional one. The whole of the song has 
been given in No. IV.) 

I am interrupted. Yours, &c. 



No. IX. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

&ultf 3&cb fiSLavvte. 



There's auld Rob Morris tnat wons in yon 

glen, [men ; 

He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld 



* [The original reading of the second verse in " Bonnie 
Lesley," the reader will observe, is restored in the text. 
Thomson decided in favour of the prosaic line, 
" And ne'er made sic anither ;" 
rejecting the more poetic one, 



He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and 

kine, 
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. 

H. 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay ; 
As blythe and as artless as lambs on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 

ill. 

But oh ! she's an heiress, — auld Robin's a laird, 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and 

yard ; 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed ; 
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my 

dead. 

IV. 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : 
I wander my lane like a night- troubl'd ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 

v. 

had she but been of a lower degree, [me ! 

1 then might hae hop'd she'd hae smil'd upon 
O, how past descriving had then been my bliss, 
As now my distraction no words can express ! 



[The first two lines are taken from an old 
Ballad — the rest is wholly original. — Currie. 
The old song is as follows : — 

" There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, 

He's the king o' guid fellows, and the wale o' auld men ; 
He has kye in his byres, and yowes on the brae ; 
And auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun hae. 

Dear father, he's doited, a shame to be seen ; 
And what can he do wi' a lass o' nineteen ! 
He's outshinn'd and inshinn'd, and single-e'ed too, 
And auld Rob Morris I never can lo'e. 

But auld Rob Morris he is a guid laird, 
And your daddy has nought but a cot-house and yard, 
He's a heel, and a hale, and a proper auld man, 
And his auld brass will buy you new pan. 

But auld Rob Morris I never will hae, 
His back is sae stiff, and his beard is grown grey ; 
I rather wad die than live with him a year, 
Sae mair of Rob Morris I never will hear." 



Duncan tflrag. 



Duncan Gray cam' here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 
On blythe yule night when we were foil, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



" And never made anither." 

Burns often adopted emendations in which his better judg- 
ment ilid not concur, because they were pressed by his cor- 
respondent, to whose skill in the art of adapting words fc«t 
music he looked with great confidence.] 

2 G 



450 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



Maggie coost her head fu' high, 

Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 

Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd, 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; 

Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,* 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 

Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', 

Spak' o' lowpin o'er a linn ; 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



Time and chance are but a tide ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; 
Slighted love is sair to bide ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me ! 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



How it comes let doctors tell ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; 
Meg grew sick — as he grew heal ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they spak sic things ! 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



Duncan was a lad o' grace ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; 
Maggie's was a piteous case ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 
Now they're crouse and canty baith ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



4th December, 1792. 

The foregoing I submit, my dear sir, to your 
better judgment. Acquit them, or condemn 
them, as seemeth good in your sight. Duncan 
Gray is that kind of light-horse gallop of an 
air which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous 
is its ruling feature. 



[This song has nothing in common with the 
old wild song of " Duncan Gray," save the first 
line, and a part of the third. It is a great fa- 
vourite, from its lively air and clever words : 
Wilkie made one of his best pictures out of 
these lines : — 



* A well-known rock in the Firth of Clyde, 



" Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; 
Ha! ha! the wooing o't."] 



No. X. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 



^onrr. 



Tune — I had a Horse. 



O poortith cauld, and restless love, 
Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 

Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 
An 'twere na' for my Jeannie. 

O why should fate sic pleasure have, 
Life's dearest bands untwining ? 

Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on fortune's shining ? 



This warld's wealth when I think on, 
Its pride, and a' the lave o't — 

Fie, fie on silly coward man, 
That he should be the slave o't ! 



Her een sae bonnie blue betray 
How she repays my passion ; 

But prudence is her o'erword aye, 
She talks of rank and fashion. 



O wha can prudence think upon, 
And sic a lassie by him ? 

O wha can prudence think upon, 
And sae in love as I am ? 



How blest the humble cotter's fate ! * 

He woos his simple dearie ; 
The silly bogles, wealth and state, 

Can never make them eerie. 

O why should fate sic pleasure have, 
Life's dearest bands untwining ! 

Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on fortune's shining ? 



[The heroine of this exquisite song was Jean 
Lorimer of Kemmis-hall, in Kirkmahoe. It is 
plain that the Poet looked upon her with the 
same eyes that a painter looks upon a model : 
her beauty of face and elegance of form — 

"Her dimpled chin and cherry mou'— " 
* " The wild- wood Indian's fate," in the original MS. 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



451 



her ready wit, and her natural gaiety — her taste 
in song, and her skill in the dance, all united 
in endearing her to one whose muse caught 
inspiration from the presence of youth and 
beauty.] 



©alia OTater. 



There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
That wander thro' the blooming heather ; 

But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws 
Can match the lads o' Galla Water. 

n. 
But there is ane, a secret ane, 

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, 

The bonnie lad o' Galla Water. 



Altho' his daddie was nae laird, 
And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher ; 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love, 

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. 



It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, 
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure ; 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 
that's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 



Jan. 1793. 

Many returns of the season to you, my dear 
Sir. How comes on your publication ? will 
these two foregoing be of any service to you ? 
I should like to know what songs you print to 
each tune, besides the verses to which it is set. 
In short, I would wish to give you my opinion 
on all the poetry you publish. You know it is 
my trade, and a man in the way of his trade 
may suggest useful hints, that escape men of 
much superior parts and endowments in other 
things. 

If you meet with my dear and much-valued 
Cunningham, greet him, in my name, with the 
compliments of the season. — Yours, &c. 



[The Poet had in his thoughts an old song 
which he brushed up for the Museum when he 
composed these verses. The feeling of the old 
so fairly mastered him that in the third verse 
he has been careless in the matter of rhyme, 
and contented himself with something like 
equality of sound. The Galla rises in Mid- 
Lothian, unites with Heriot Water, and passing 
Galashiels, is lost in the Tweed, near Abbots- 
ford. It has long flowed in the light of song 
and romance : 



" Lothian lads are black wi' reek, 
Teviot-dale is little better ; 
But let them a' say what they will, 
The gree gangs ay down Galla Water." 

We subjoin the old song of " Galla Water." 

" Braw, braw lads of Galla Water, 

braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats up to my knee, 

And follow my love thro' the water. 
Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 

Sae bonnie blue her een, my deary, 
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her raou', 

1 aften kiss her till I'm weary. 

O'er yon bank, and o'er yon brae, 

O'er yon moss amang the heather, 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love thro' the water. 
Down amang the broom, the broom, 

Down amang the broom, my deary ; 
The lassy lost her silken snood, 

That gar'd her greet till she was weary."] 



No. XI. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, Jan. 20, 1793. 

You make me happy, my dear Sir, and thou- 
sands will be happy to see the charming songs 
you have sent me. Many merry returns of the 
season to you, and may you long continue, 
among the sons and daughters of Caledonia, to 
delight them and to honour yourself. 

The last four songs with which you favoured 
me, viz. " Auld Rob Morris," " Duncan Gray," 
" Galla Water," and " Cauld Kail," are ad- 
mirable. Duncan is indeed a lad of grace, and 
his humour will endear him to every body. 

The distracted lover in "Auld Rob," and 
the happy shepherdess in " Galla Water,"* ex- 
hibit an excellent contrast: they speak from 
genuine feeling, and powerfully touch the heart. 

The number of songs which I had originally 
in view was limited ; but I now resolve to in- 
clude every Scotch air and song worth singing ; 
leaving none behind but mere gleanings, to 
which the publishers of omne-gatherum are 
welcome. I would rather be the editor of a 
collection from which nothing could be taken 
away, than of one to which nothing could be 
added. We intend presenting the subscribers 
with two beautiful stroke engravings ; the one 
characteristic of the plaintive, and the other of 
the lively, songs ; and I have Dr. Beattie's pro- 
mise of an essay upon the subject of our national 
music, if his health will permit him to write it. 
As a number of our songs have doubtless been 
called forth by particular events, or by the 
charms of peerless damsels, there must be many 
curious anecdotes relating to them. 

The late Mr. Tytler, of Woodhouselee, 1 
believe, knew more of this than any body ; for 
he joined to the pursuits of an antiquary a taste 

2 G 2 



452 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



for poetry, besides being a man of the world, 
and possessing an enthusiasm for music beyond 
most of his contemporaries. He was quite 
pleased with this plan of mine, for I may say it 
has been solely managed by me, and we had 
several long conversations about it when it was 
in embryo. If I could simply mention the 
name of the heroine of each song, and the inci- 
dent which occasioned the verses, it would be 
gratifying. Pray, will you send me any inform- 
ation of this sort, as well with regard to your 
own songs, as the old ones ? 

To all the favourite songs of the plaintive or 
pastoral kind, will be joined the delicate accom- 
paniments, &c, of Pleyel. To those of the 
comic and humourous class, I think accompani- 
ments scarcely necessary ; they are chiefly fitted 
for the conviviality of the festive board, and a 
tuneful voice, with a proper delivery of the 
words, renders them perfect. Nevertheless, to 
these I propose adding bass accompaniments, 
because then they are fitted either for singing, 
or for instrumental performance, when there 
happens to be no singer. I mean to employ 
our right trusty friend Mr. Clarke, to set the 
bass to these, which he assures me he will do 
con amore, and with much greater attention 
than he ever bestowed on anything of the kind. 
But for this last class of airs I will not attempt 
to find more than one set of verses. 

That eccentric bard, Peter Pindar, has started 
I know not how many difficulties about writing 
for the airs I sent to him, because of the pecu- 
liarity of their measure, and the trammels they 
impose on his flying Pegasus. I subjoin for 
your perusal the only one I have yet got from 
him, being for the fine air "Lord Gregory." 
The Scots verses, printed with that air, are 
taken from the middle of an old bailad, called 
" The Lass of Lochroyan," which I do not 
admire.* I have set down the air, therefore, as 
a creditor of yours. Many of the Jacobite 
songs are replete with wit and humour : might 
not the best of these be included in our volume 
of comic songs? 



POSTSCRIPT. 
FROM THE HON. A. ERSKINE. 

Mr. Thomson has been so obliging as to 
give me a perusal of your songs. " Highland 
Mary " is most enchantingly pathetic, and 
"Duncan Gray" possesses native genuine 
humour : " Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn," is a 
line of itself that should make you immortal. 
I sometimes hear of you from our mutual friend 
Cunningham, who is a most excellent fellow, 



[" Mr. Thomson is not remarkable for the correctness of his 
taste in regard to old Scottish ballads. The 'Lass of Lochroyan' 
is, we think, an instance in point." — Motsierwell,] 



and possesses, above all men I know, the charm 
of a most obliging disposition. You kindly 
promised me, about a year ago, a collection of 
your unpublished productions, religious and 
amorous ; I know from experience how irksome 
it is to copy. If you will get any trusty per- 
son in Dumfries to write them over fair, I will 
give Peter Hill whatever money he asks foi 
his trouble, and I certainly shall not betray 
your confidence. 

I am your hearty admirer, 

Andrew Erskine. 



No. XII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

16th January, 1793. 

I approve greatly, my dear Sir, of your 
plans. Dr. Beattie's essay will of itself be a 
treasure. On my part I mean to draw up an 
appendix to the Doctor's essay, containing my 
stock of anecdotes, &c, of our Scots songs. 
All the late Mr. Tytler's anecdotes I have by 
me, taken down in the course of my acquaint- 
ance with him, from his own mouth. I am 
such an enthusiast that, in the course of my 
several peregrinations through Scotland, I made 
a pilgrimage to the individual spot from which 
every song took its rise, " Lochaber" and the 
" Braes of Ballenden " excepted. So far as 
the locality either from the title of the air, or 
the tenor of the song, could be ascertained, I 
have paid my devotions at the particular shrine 
of every Scots muse. 

I do not doubt but you might make a very 
valuable collection of Jacobite songs ; but would 
it give no offence ? In the mean time, do not 
you think that some of them, particularly 
"The Sow's Tail to Geordie," as an air, witl 
other words, might be well worth a place h 
your collection of lively songs ? 

If it were possible to procure songs of merit, 
it would be proper to have one set of Scot 
words to every air, and that the set of words t< 
which the notes ought to be set. There is * 
naivete, a pastoral simplicity, in a slight inter- 
mixture of Scots words and phraseology, whicb 
is more in unison (at least to my taste, and, I 
will add, to every genuine Caledonian taste I 
with the simple pathos, or rustic sprightlinesr 
of our native music, than any English verses 
whatever. 

The very name of Peter Pindar is an acH 
quisition to your work. His "Gregory" I 
beautiful. I have tried to give you a seto* 
stanzas in Scots, on the same subject, whicL 



It is one of the most beautiful compositions in the Ian 
guage. — Cunningham. 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



453 



are at your service. Not that I intend to enter 
the lists with Peter ; that would be presumption 
indeed. My song, though much inferior in 
poetic merit, has, I think, more of the ballad 
simplicity in it. 



%oxti <&tz$ovv. 



O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, 

And loud the tempest's roar ; 
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r — 

Lord Gregory, ope thy door ! 

ii. 

An exile frae her father's ha', 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it may na be. 

in. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, 

By bonnie Irwin-side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love 

I lang, lang had denied ? 

IV. 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow 

Thou wad for aye be mine ; 
And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 



Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 
And flinty is thy breast — 

Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 
O wilt thou give me rest ! 

VI. 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love, 

His wrangs to heaven and me ! 



My most respectful compliments to the hon- 
ourable gentleman who favoured me with a 
Postscript in your last. He shall hear from 
me and receive his MSS. soon. R. B. 

[The following are two of the stanzas of 
"Fair Annie of Lochroyan :" — 

" Sweet Annie built a bonnie ship, 

And set her on the sea, 
The sails were of the damask'd silk, 

The masts of silver free : 
The gladsome waters sung below, 

The sweet winds sung above, 
Make way for Annie of Lochroyan, 

She comes to seek her love ! 



* [" Of all the productions of Burns, the pathetic and 
serious love-songs which he has left behind him, in the 
manner of the old ballads, are perhaps those which take the 



A gentle wind came with a sweep, 

And stretch' d her silken sail, 
When up there came a reaver rude, 

With many a shout and hail ; 
O ! touch her not, my mariners a', 

Such loveliness goes free ; 
Make way for Annie of Lochroyan, 

She seeks Lord Gregorie ! ' ' 

Wolcot complained, with many an oath, that 
Burns sought to rob him of the original merit of 
Lord Gregory. His song was, indeed, com- 
posed first, but the idea of both is borrowed 
from the old strain. The following is Wolcot's 
version : — 

LORD GREGORY. 

" Ah ope, Lord Gregory, thy door! 
A midnight wanderer sighs, 
Hard rush the rains, the tempests roar, 
And lightnings cleave the skies. 

Who comes with woe at this drear night — 

A pilgrim of the gloom ? 
If she whose love did once delight, 

My cot shall yield her room. 

Alas ! thou heard'st a pilgrim mourn 

That once was priz'd by thee ; 
Think of the ring by yonder burn 

Thou gav'st to love and me. 

But should'st thou not poor Marian know, 

I'll turn my feet and part ; 
And think the storms that round me blow 

Far kinder than thy heart."] 



No. XIII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

20th March, 1/03, 

jrfeort. 



Tune — Bide ye yet. 



O Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see 

That make the miser's treasure poor : 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure ; 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison 



Yestreen, when to the trembling string, 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 



deepest and most lasting hold of the mind. Such are the 
lines to Mary Morison, those entitled 'Jessy,' and the song 
beginning ' O, my love is like a red, red rose.' "— Hazlitt.] 



454 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

I sigh'd, and said, amang them a', 
" Ye are na Mary M orison." 



Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his 

Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary M orison. 

My dear Sib. : 

The song prefixed is one of my juvenile 
works. I leave it in your hands. I do not 
think it very remarkable, either for its merits 
or demerits. It is impossible (at least I feel it 
so in my stinted powers) to be always original, 
entertaining, and witty. 

What is become of the list, &c, of your 
songs ? I shall be out of all temper with you 
by-and-by. I have always looked on myself 
as the prince of indolent correspondents, and 
valued myself accordingly ; and I will not, 
cannot, bear rivalship from you, nor any body 
else. R. B. 



No. XIV. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

March, 1793. 

»antatng TOttlu. 



Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 

Now tired with wandering, haud awa name ; 
Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie, [same. 

And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the 
n. 
Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting ; 

It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e : 
Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my 
Willie, 

The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 
ill. 
Ye hurricaues, rest in the cave o' your slumbers ! 

O how jour wild horrors a lover alarms ! 
Awaken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 

IV. 

But if he 's forgotten his faithfullest Nannie, 
O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main ; 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 
But, dying, believe that mv Willie's my ain ! 



I leave it to you, my dear Sir, to determine 
whether the above, or the old "Thro' the lang 
muir," be the best. R. B. 



[The idea of " Wandering Willie" is taken 
from an old song published by Herd, which 
commences in these words : — 

' ' Here awa, there awa, here awa, Willie, 

Here awa, there awa', here awa hame ; 
Long have I sought thee, dear have I bought thee, 

Now I hae gotten my Willie again. 
Through the lang muir I have followed my Willie, 

Through the lang muir I have followed him hame, 
Whatever betide us, nought shall divide us, 

Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain." 

Older words than these may still be heard 
" lilted " by a shepherd lad or lass on a pasture 
hill, or in some sequestered glen : — 

" Gin that ye meet my love, kiss her and clap her, 
An' gin ye meet my love, dinna think shame : 
O gin ye meet my love, kiss her and daut her, 
And show her the way to haud away hame." 

The heroine of the "Wandering Willie" of 
Burns is said to have been the lovely and 
accomplished Mrs. Riddel.] 



No. XV. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 
<®$zn tfje Boot to me, <&l) ! 

WITH ALTERATIONS. 
I. 

Oh, open the door, some pity to show, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh !* 
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! 
ii. 
Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But caulder thy love for me, Oh ! 
The frost that freezes the life at my heart 

Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh ! 
in. 
The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, 

Aud time is setting with me, Oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh ! 

IV. 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ; 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh ! [side, 
My true love ! she cried, and sank down by his 

Never to rise again, Oh ! 

I do not know whether this song be really 
mended. R. B. 

* This second line was originally — " If love it mayna be, 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



455 



No. XVI. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

Tune — Bonnie Dundee. 



the 



the 



TitUE-hearted was he, the sad swain 
Yarrow, 

And fair are the maids on the banks 
Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river, 

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair : 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; 
Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover, 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 



O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, 

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ; 

Enthroned in her een he delivers his law : 
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger — 

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a' ! 



[Jesse Staig, the heroine of this song, was 
the daughter of Provost Staig of Dumfries, and 
married to Major Miller, the second son of the 
Laird of Dalswinton. She died in early life, and 
is still affectionately remembered in her native 
valley : — the memory of beauty and gentleness 
is long passing away.] 



* [Thomson and Erskine, it seems, sat in judgment upon 
"Wandering Willie," and, in harmonizing it to the air, 
squeezed much of the poetic spirit out ; — they re-produced it 
in these words : — 

" Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 

Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame ; 

Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, 

Tell me thou bring' st me my Willie the same. 

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, 
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e, 

Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
As simmer to nature, so Willie to me. 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o' your slumbers, 
How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 

Blow soft,* ye breezes I roll gently, ye billows ! 
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 



' Vau- Wauken. R. B. 



No. XVII. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 2nd April, 1793. 

I will not recognise the title you give your- ! 
self, " the prince of indolent correspondents ;" I 
but if the adjective were taken away, 1 think the 
title would then fit you exactly. It gives me 
pleasure to find you can furnish anecdotes with 
respect to most of the songs : these will be a 
literary curiosity. 

I now send you my list of the songs, which I 
believe will be found nearly complete. I have 
put down the first lines of all the English songs 
which I propose giving in addition to the Scotch 
verses. If any others occur to you, better 
adapted to the character of the airs, pray men- 
tion them, when you favour me with your stric- 
tures upon every thing else relating to the work. 

Pleyel has lately sent me a number of the 
songs, with his symphonies and accompani- 
ments added to them. I wish you were here, 
that I might serve up some of them to you with 
your own verses, by way of dessert after din- 
ner. There is so much delightful fancy in the 
symphonies, and such a delicate simplicity in 
the accompaniments — they are, indeed, beyond 
all praise. 

I am very much pleased with the several last 
productions of your muse: your "Lord Gre- 
gory/' in my estimation, is more interesting 
than Peter's, beautiful as his is. Your " Here 
awa, Willie," must undergo some alterations to 
suit the air. Mr. Erskine and I have been con- 
ning it over : he will suggest what is necessary 
to make them a fit match.* The gentleman I 
have mentioned, whose fine taste you are no 
stranger to, is so well pleased, both with the 
musical and poetical part of our work, that he 
has volunteered his assistance, and has already 
written four songs for it, which, by his own de- 
sire, I send for your perusal. G, T. 



But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 
Flow still between us, thou dark-heaving + main ! 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 

While dying I think J that my Willie's my ain." 

Burns, with his usual judgment, adopted some of these 
alterations, and rejected others. 

" Several of the alterations seem to be of little importance 
in themselves., and were adopted, it may be presumed, for 
the sake of suiting the words better to the music. The 
Homeric epithet for the sea, dark-heaving, suggested by Mr. 
Erskine, is in itself more beautiful, as well, perhaps, as more 
sublime, than wide-roaring, which he has retained ; but as it 
is only applicable to a placid state of the sea, or at most to 
the swell left on its* surface after the storm is over, it gives a 
picture of that element not so well adapted to the ideas of 
eternal separation which the fair mourner is supposed to im- 
precate. From the original song of ' Here awa, Willie,' 
Burns has borrowed nothing but the second line anrl part of 
the first. The superior excellence of this beautiful poem 
will, it is hoped, justify the different editions of it which we 
have given." — Currie.j 



i Vak.— Wide-roaring.— MS.— R. B. 
X Vae.— But dying believe.— MS.— R. B. 



m _____ 

456 SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE. 


No. XVIII. 


Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 
Ye freely shall partake it, 


BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 


That gallant badge — the dear cockade 
Ye 're welcome for the sake o't. 





VI. 

She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose — 


%ty poor atrtf Jjotutft §>otL&tv. 


Syne pale like ony lily ; % 




She** sank within my arms, and cried 


Air— The Mill, Mill, ! 


Art thou my ain dear Willie ? 
By Him who made yon sun and sky — 
By whom true love 's regarded, 




I. 


I am the man ; and thus may still 


When wild war's deadly blast was blawn, 


True lovers be rewarded ! 


And gentle peace returning, 


VII. 


Wi' inony a sweet babe fatherless, 


The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, 


And mony a widow mourning ;* 


And find thee still true-hearted ; 


I left the lines and tented field, 


Tho' poor in gear, ft we're rich in love, 


Where lang I'd been a lodger, 


And mair we'se ne'er be parted. 


My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 


Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,;J:J 


A poor and honest sodger. 


A mailen plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger ^§ lad, 




ii. 


Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! 


A leal, light heart was in my breast, 


VIII. 


My hand unstain'd wi' plunder, 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 


For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 
The farmer ploughs the manor ; 

But glory is the sodger's prize, 
The sodger's wealth is honour : 


I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought uponf the witching smile 


The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, 
Nor count him as a stranger ; 


That caught my youthful fancy. 


Remember he's his country's stay 


in. 


In day and hour of danger. 


At length I reach'd the bonny glen 




Where early life I sported ; 


[The air of this song and some of the words 


I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn, 
Where Nancy aft I courted : 


incline me to believe that Burns had "The mill, 


mill, !" of Allan Ramsay in his mind, when 


Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,]: 


he wrote it. But the verses of the elder bard 


Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me round to hide the flood 


are inferior to those of his great successor, and 


moreover the story they tell is far from delicate. 


That in my een was swelling. 


The first four lines may be quoted without a 
blush : — 


IV. 

Wi' alter'd § voice, quoth I, Sweet lass, 


" Beneath a green shade, I fand a fair maid 
Was sleeping sound and still, O ; 


Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 
! happy, happy may he be, 


A' lowing wi' love, my fancy did rove 


Around her wi' good will, 0." 


That 's dearest to thy bosom ! 
My purse is light, I've far to gang, 


The four concluding lines belong to an oldei 
lyric :— 


And fain wad be thy lodger ; 


I've serv'd my king and country lang — 


" the mill, mill, O, and the kiln, kiln, ! 


Take pity on a sodger. 


And the coggin o' the wheel, ; 




The sack and the sieve a' thae ye maun leave, 


v. 


And round wi' a sodger reel, 0." 


Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 


li It is alleged by some," says Geddes, in his 


And lovelier was || than ever ; 


Saint's Recreation, written in 1760 — and not 


Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed, 


without some colour of reason, — " that many of 


Forget him shall I never : 


our good airs or tunes are made by good angels, 


* " And eyes again with pleasure beam'd, 


II Var.— Look'd.— MS. 


That had been blear'd with mourning." 


t Var.— Syne swallow't like a lily.— MS. 




** Var.— And. 


t Var. — And &v I min't.— MS. 


ft Var.— Tho' wealth be sma'.— MS. 


t Var.— Lass.— MS. 


tt Var.— Gear. 


) Var.— Fremit. -MS. 
k — __ _ 


§§ Var.— Ain dear.— MS. 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



457 



but the lines of our songs by devils." The 
words of the " Godly Geddes," were true of 
many of the old popular songs of Caledonia, and 
" The mill, mill, O \" among the number. The 
third, and fourth lines of the first verse of the 
song of Burns, were altered thus by Thomson : — 

" And eyes again with pleasure beam'd, 

That had been bleared with mourning." 

This change robbed the song of a natural and 
mournful image. 

" The Poor and Honest Sodger" was sung in 
every vale, and on every hill ; in every cot- 
house, village, and town: yet the man who 
wrote it was supposed by the mean and the spite- 
ful to be no well-wisher to his country ! — 
Cunningham.] 



flfUg o' tf)e jJHill. 



Air — Hey ! bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack? 



O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller, 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 



The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy ; 
A heart like a lord and a hue like a lady : 
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl ; 
She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the churl. 



The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving ; 
The Laird did address her wi' matter mair 

moving, 
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 



O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing • 
And wae on the love that is fix'd on a mailen ! 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl' ! 



[Burns touched up the old song of " Meg o' 
the Mill" for Johnson's Museum. That version 
we have already given. 

The license of a Scottish bridal — if we may 
believe the northern painters and poets — was 
very great : the revelry lasted three days and 
nights, according to Ramsay ; and both David 
Allan and David Wilkie intimate that men and 
women's hearts over-flowed with joy : — 

" Some were fu' o' love divine, 
And othetsfu' o' brandy."] 



No. XIX. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

7th April, 1793. 

Thank you, my dear Sir, for your packet. 
You cannot imagine how much this business 
of composing for your publication has added to 
my enjoyments. What with my early attach- 
ment to ballads, your book, &c., ballad-making 
is now as completely my hobby-horse as ever 
fortification was Uncle Toby's ; so I'll e'en 
canter it away till I come to the limit of my 
race (God grant that I may take the right 
side of the winning-post !), and then, cheerfully 
looking back on the honest folks with whom I 
have been happy, I shall say, or sing, " Sae 
merry as we a' hae been," and, raising my last 
looks to the whole human race, the last words 
of the voice of Coila shall be " Good night, 
and joy be wi' you a' !" So much for my last 
words : now for a few present remarks, as 
they have occurred at random on looking over 
your list. 

The first lines of " The last time I came o'er 
the moor," and several other lines in it, are 
beautiful ; but in my opinion — pardon me, re- 
vered shade of Ramsay ! the song is unworthy 
of the divine air. I shall try to make or mend. 
" For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove," is a 
charming song; but " Logan Burn and Logan 
Braes" are sweetly susceptible of rural imagery : 
I'll try that likewise, and, if I succeed, the 
other song may class among the English ones. 
I remember the two last lines of a verse in 
some of the old songs of " Logan Water" (for 
I know a good many different ones), which I 
think pretty : — 

" Now my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes." 

" My Patie is a lover gay" is unequal. 
" His mind is never muddy," is a muddy ex- 
pression indeed. 

" Then I'll resign and marry Pate, 
And syne my coekernony !" 

This is surely far unworthy of Ramsay, or 
your book. My song, " Rigs of Barley," to 
the same tune, does not altogether please me ; 
but if I can mend it and thrash a few loose 
sentiments out of it, I will submit it to your 
consideration. " The Lass o' Patie's Mill " is 
one of Ramsay's best songs ; but there is one 
loose sentiment in it, which my much-valued 
friend, Mr. Erskine, will take into his critical 
consideration. In Sir- J. Sinclair's Statistical 
volumes are two claims ; one, I think, from 
Aberdeen-shire, and the other from Ayr-shire, 
for the honour of this song. The following 
anecdote, which I had from, the present Sir 
William Cunningham, of Robertland, who had 
it of the late John, Earl of LoudoD, I can, on 
such authorities, believe : — 



458 



PONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



Allan Ramsay was residing at Loudon castle 
with the then Earl, father to Earl John ; and 
one forenoon, riding, or walking out together, 
his Lordship and Allan passed a sweet, romantic 
spot on Irvine Water, still called " Patie's 
Mill," where a bonnie lass was " tedding hay, 
bare-headed, on the green." My Lord ob- 
served to Allan that it would be a fine theme 
for a song. Ramsay took the hint, and linger- 
ing behind, he composed the first sketch of it, 
which he produced at dinner. 

" One day I heard Mary say," is a fine 
song ; but, for consistency's sake, alter the name 
" Adonis." Were there ever such banns 
published as a purpose of marriage between 
Adonis and Mary? I agree with you that 
my song, " There's nought but care on every 
hand," is much superior to " Poortith cauld." 
The original song, " The Mill, Mill, O," though 
excellent, is, on account of delicacy, inad- 
missible 5 still I like the title, and think a 
Scottish song would suit the notes best ; and 
let your chosen song, which is very pretty, 
follow, as an English set. " The banks of the 
Dee" is, you know, literally, u Langolee," to 
slow time. The song is well enough, but has 
some false imagery in it ; for instance, 

" And sweetly the nightingale sung from the free." 

In the first place, the nightingale sings in a 
low bush, but never from a tree ; and in the 
second place, there never was a nightingale 
seen, or heard, on the banks of the Dee, or on 
the banks of any other river in Scotland. 
Exotic rural imagery is always comparatively 
flat. If I could hit on another stanza, equal to 
" The small birds rejoice," &c. I do myself 
honestly avow that I think it a superior song.* 
" John Anderson, my Jo," the song to this 
tune in Johnson's Museum is my composition, 
and I think it not my worst : if it suit you, 
take it and welcome. Your collection of senti- 
mental and pathetic songs is, in my opinion, 
very complete ; but not so your comic ones. 
"Where are " Tullochgorum," " Lumps o' pud- 
din'," " Tibbie Fowler," and several others, 
which, in my humble judgment, are well wor- 
thy of preservation ? There is also one senti- 
mental song of mine in the Museum, which 
never was known out of the immediate neigh- 
bourhood, until I got it taken down from a 
country girl's singing. It is called " Craigie- 
burn Wood ;" and, in the opinion of Mr. Clarke, 
is one' of the sweetest Scottish songs. He is 
quite an enthusiast about it ; and I would take 
his taste in Scottish music against the taste of 
most connoisseurs. 

You are quite right in inserting the last five 
in your list, though they are certainly Irish. 



* [" It will be found in the course of this correspondence 
that the Bard produced a second stanza of ' The Chevalier's 



" Shepherds, I have lost my love !" is to me a 
heavenly air — what would you think of a set 
of Scottish verses to it ? I have made one to 
it a good while ago, but in its original state it 
is not quite a lady's song. I inclose an altered, 
not amended, copy for you, if you choose to 
set the tune to it, and let the Irish verses 
follow. 

Mr, Erskine's songs are all pretty, but his 
" Lone Vale" is divine. 

Yours, &c, R. B. 

Let me know just how you like these random 
hints. 



[In this letter Burns calls himself the voice 
of Coila, in imitation of Ossian, who denomi- 
nates himself the voice of Cona. He was an 
ardent admirer of the Celtic bard, and carried 
his poems frequently about with him. " Sae 
merry as we twa hae been," and " Good night, 
and joy be wi' you a'," are the names of two 
northern tunes. The lyric written to the tune of 
" Shepherds, I have lost my love," is elsewhere 
given under the name of " The gowden locks 
of Anna." Thomson, it appears, did not approve 
of the song, even in its amended state : it has, 
however, obtained the approbation of a divine 
of the kirk of Scotland, and laymen need no 
longer hesitate in singing it. It is highly cha- 
racteristic of our Bard.] 



No. XX. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, April, 1793. 

I rejoice to find, my dear Sir, that ballad- 
making continues to be your hobby-horse. — 
Great pity 'twould be were it otherwise. I 
hope you will amble it away for many a year, 
and "witch the world with your horsemanship." 

I know there are a good many lively songs 
of merit that I have not put down in the list 
sent you ; but I have them all in my eye. — 
" My Patie is a lover gay," though a little un- 
equal, is a natural and very pleasing song, and 
I humbly think we ought not to displace or 
alter it, except the last stanza. 



[Currie says, " the original letter from Mr. 
Thomson contains many observations on Scot- 
tish songs, and on the manner of adapting the 
words to the music, which, at his desire, are 
suppressed." To these observations Bums al- | 
ludes in his answer, and intimates that he 



Lament' (to which he here alludes) worthy of the first."— 
Cuerie.] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



459 



thinks his friend is a little too ready to sacrifice 
simplicity for the sake of something striking. 
No one can hope to compose a song to a tune 
unless he can either hum it, or whistle it, or 
sing it : the music commands the proper words, 
and a true poet will obey it, as Burns always 
did, save in one or two instances, where he evi- 
dently had not mastered the air. He tells us 
that he was in the habit of crooning the tune 
while in the act of composing it : nor will a 
song that echoes the music be obtained on 
easier terms.] 



No. XXI. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

April, 1793. 

I have yours, my dear Sir, this moment. I 
shall answer it, and your former letter, in my 
desultory way of saying whatever comes upper- 
most. 

The business of many of our tunes, wanting 
at the beginning what fiddlers call a starting- 
note, is often a rub to us poor rhymers. 

" There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
That wander thro' the blooming heather," 

vou may alter to 

" Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
Ye wander," &c. 

My song, " Here awa, there awa," as 
amended by Mr. Erskine, I entirely approve 
of, and return you. 

Give me leave to criticise your taste in the 
only thing in which it is, in my opinion, repre- 
hensible. You know I ought to know some- 
thing of my own trade. Of pathos, sentiment, 
and point, you are a complete judge ; but there 
is a quality more necessary than either in a 
song, and which is the very essence of a ballad ; 
I mean simplicity : now, if I mistake not, this 
last feature you are a little apt to sacrifice to 
the foregoing. 

Ramsay, as every other poet, has not been 
always equally happy in his pieces : still I cannot 
approve of taking such liberties with an author 
as Mr. W. proposes doing with " The last time 
I came o'er the moor." Let a poet, if he 
chooses, take up the idea of another, and work 
it into a piece of his own ; but to mangle the 
works of the poor bard, whose tuneful tongue 
is now mute for ever, in the dark and narrow 
house, — by Heaven, 'twould be sacrilege ! I 



* [" The song to the tune of ' Bonnie Dundee' is that in 
No. XVI. The ballad to the ' Mill, Mill, O,' is that begin- 
ning, 

' When wild war's deadly blasts are blawn.' " 

Currie.] 



grant that Mr. W.'s version is an improvement ; 
but I know Mr. W. well, and esteem him 
much ; let him mend the song as the High- 
lander mended his gun : he gave it a new stock, 
a new lock, and a new barrel. 

I do not, by this, object to leaving out im- 
proper stanzas, where that can be done without 
spoiling the whole. One stanza in " The Lass 
o' Patie's Mill" must be left out : the song will 
be nothing worse for it. I am not sure if we 
can take the same liberty with " Corn Rigs are 
bonnie." Perhaps it might want the last stan- 
za, and be the better for it. " Cauld Kail in 
Aberdeen" you must leave with me yet a 
while. I have vowed to have a song to that 
air, on the lady whom I attempted to celebrate 
in the verses, " Poortith cauld and restless 
love." At any rate, my other song, " Green 
grow the Rashes," will never suit. That song 
is current in Scotland under the old title, and 
to the merry old tune of that name ; which, of 
course, would mar the progress of your song to 
celebrity. Your book will be the standard of 
Scots songs for the future : let this idea ever 
keep your judgment on the alarm. 

I send a song on a celebrated toast in this 
country, to suit " Bonnie Dundee." I send 
you also a ballad to the " Mill, Mill, O."* 

"The last time I came o'er the moor" I 
would fain attempt to make a Scots song for, 
and let Ramsay's be the English set. You shall 
hear from me soon. When you go to London 
on this business, can you come by Dumfries ? I 
have still several MS. Scots airs by me, which 
I have picked up, mostly from the singing of 
country lasses. They please me vastly ; but 
your learned lugs would perhaps be displeased 
with the very feature for which I like them. I 
call them simple ; you would pronounce them 
silly. Do you know a fine air, called "Jackie 
Hume's Lament ?" I have a song of consider- 
able merit to that air. I'll enclose you both 
the song and tune, as I had them ready to send 
to Johnson's Museum. f I send you likewise, 
to me, a beautiful little air, which I had taken 
down from viva voce.% — -Adieu ! R. B. 



No. XXII. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

April 1793. 

My dear Sir : 
I had scarcely put my last letter into the 
post office, when I took up the subject of " The 
last time I came o'er the moor," and ere I slept 



t [" The song here mentioned is that given in No. XVIII., 
' O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ?' This song is 
surely Burns' s own writing, though he does not generally 
praise his own songs so much." — Note by Mr. Thomson.] 

% [The air here mentioned is that for which he wrote the 
ballad of " Bonnie Jean."] See No. XX VII. 



460 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



drew the outlines of the foregoing. How far 
I have succeeded, 1 leave on this, as on every 
other, occasion, to you to decide. I own my 
vanity is flattered when you give my songs a 
place in your elegant and superb work ; but to 
be of service to the work is my first wish. As 
I have often told you, I do not in a single in- 
stance wish you, out of compliment to me, to 
insert anything of mine. One hint let me give 
you — whatever Mr. Pleyel does, let him not 
alter one iota of the original Scottish airs ; I 
mean in the song department ; but let our na- 
tional music preserve its native features. They 
are, I own, frequently wild and irreducible 
to the more modern rules ; but on that very 
eccentricity, perhaps, depends a great part of 
their effect. R. B. 



No. XXIII. 



G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 26th April, 1793. 

I heartily thank you, my dear Sir, for 
your last two letters, and the songs which ac- 
companied them. I am always both instructed 
and entertained by your observations ; and the 
frankness with which you speak out your mind 
is to me highly agreeable. It is very possible I 
may not have the true idea of simplicity in 
composition. I confess there are several songs, 
of Allan Ramsay's for example, that I think 
silly enough, which another person, more con- 
versant than I have been with country people, 
would perhaps call simple and natural. But 
the lowest scenes of simple nature will not 
please generally, if copied precisely as they are. 
The poet, like the painter, must select what will 
form an agreeable as well as a natural picture. 
On this subject it were easy to enlarge ; but at 
present suffice it to say that I consider simpli- 
city, rightly understood, as a most essential 
quality in composition, and the ground-work of 
beauty in all the arts. I will gladly appropriate 
your most interesting new ballad, " When wild 
war's deadly blast," &c, to the " Mill, Mill, O," 
as well as the two other songs to their respective 
airs ; but the third and fourth lines of the first 
verse must undergo some little alteration in 
order to suit the music. Pleyel does not alter 
a single note of the songs. That would be ab- 
surd indeed ! With the airs which he intro- 
duces into the sonatas, I allow him to take such 
liberties as he pleases, but that has nothing to 
do with the songs. 

P.S. — I wish you would do as you proposed 
with your " Rigs of Barley." If the loose 



* [The lines were the third and fourth : — 

" WV mony a sweet babe fatherless, 
And mony a widow mourning." 
"As our poet had maintained a long silence, and the first 
part of Thomson's Musical work was in the press, this gen- 
tleman ventured, by Mr. Erskine's advice, to substitute for 
them in that publication, 



sentiments are thrashed out of it, I will find an 
air for it ; but as to this there is no hurry. 

G. T. 

[" It is quite plain, from this letter, that Thom- 
son was at issue with his correspondent on the 
subject-matter of simplicity. Burns, like old 
Burton, was a plain man, calling " a spade a 
spade ;" simplicity of expression was dear to 
his heart, and he considered it as essential in 
song. Thomson says, " I confess there are 
several songs, of Allan Ramsay's for example, 
that I think silly enough, which another per- 
son, more conversant than I have been with 
country people, would perhaps call simple and 
natural." He desired to vindicate the diplomatic 
language of the polished city ; but Burns felt 
that elegance and simplicity were " sisters 
twin," and that words which failed to convey a 
clear meaning, or present a distinct image, were 
not for him." — Cunningham.] 



No. XXIV. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

June 1793. 

When I tell you, my dear Sir, that a friend 
of mine, in whom I am much interested, has 
fallen a sacrifice to these accursed times, you 
will easily allow that it might unhinge me for 
doing any good among ballads. My own loss, 
as to pecuniary matters, is trifling : but the 
total ruin of a much-loved friend is a loss in- 
deed. Pardon my seeming inattention to your 
last commands. 

I cannot alter the disputed lines in the " Mill, 
Mill, O."* What you think a defect, I esteem 
as a positive beauty : so you see how doctors 
differ. I shall now, with as much alacrity as 
I can muster, go on with your commands. 

You know Fraser, the hautboy-player in 
Edinburgh — he is here, instructing a band of 
music for a fencible corps quartered in this coun- 
try. Among many of his airs that please me, 
there is one, well known as a reel, by the name 
of " The Quaker's Wife," and which I remem- 
ber a grand-aunt of mine used to sing, by the 
name of " Liggeram Cosh, my bonnie wee 
lass." Mr. Fraser plays it slow, and with an 
expression that quite charms me. I became 
such an enthusiast about it that I made a song 
for it, which I here subjoin, and enclose Fra- 
ser's set of the tune. If they hit your fancy 
they are at your service ; if not, return me the > 
tune, and I will put it in John-son's Museum. 
I think the song is not in my worst manner. 

' And eyes again with pleasure beam'd, &c.,' 

which, though better suited to the music, are inferior to the 
original. This is the only alteration adopted by Thomson, 
which Burns did not approve, or at least assent to." — 
Currik.] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



461 



33l£tl)c Ijae # been. 



Tune — Ligzeram Cosh. 



Blythe hae I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free, 

As the breeze flew o'er me. 
Now nae 1 anger sport and play, 

Mirth or sang can please me ; 
Lesley is sae fair and coy, 

Care and anguish seize me. 
ii. 
Heavy, heavy is the task, 

Hopeless love declaring : 
Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r, 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 
If she winna ease the thraws 

In my bosom swelling ; 
Underneath the grass-green sod, 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 

I should wish to hear how this pleases you. 



[Though Miss Lesley Baillie, the heroine of 
this song, passed before the eyes of the Poet 
iike a vision which never returns, her loveliness 
seems to have been long remembered. In ex- 
pressing the hopelessness of misplaced love, 
Burns has surpassed all other poets : this song, 
and that of Jessy, would go' far to sustain the 
assertion ; but there are others of equal tender- 
ness, which cannot but be present to the minds 
of all readers. Of the old song, from which 
he has borrowed nothing but the air, little is 
known : it was sometimes sung in Nithsdale, 
and had a touch of the nursery about it.] 

No. XXV. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

June 25th, 1793. 

Have you ever, my dear Sir, felt your bosom 
ready to burst with indignation on reading of 
those mighty villains who divide kingdom 
against kingdom, desolate provinces, and lay 
nations waste, out of the wantonness of ambi- 
tion, or often from still more ignoble passions ? 
In a mood of this kind to-day, I recollected the 
air of " Logan Water," and it occurred to me 
that its querulous melody probably had its 
origin from the plaintive indignation of some 
swelling, suffering heart, fired at the tyrannic 
strides of some public destroyer ; and over- 
whelmed with private distress, the consequence 
of a country's ruin. If I have done any 
thing at all like justice to my feelings, the 
following song, composed in three-quarters of 
an hour's meditation in my elbow-chair, ought 
to have some merit : — 



SCogan 3$t'ae$. 

Tune— Logan Water. 
I. 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
That day I was my Willie's bride ! 
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy flow'ry banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes ! 

II. 

Again the merry month o' May 

Has made our hills and valleys gay ; 

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 

The bees hum round the breathing flowers : 

Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye, 

And evening's tears are tears of joy : 

My soul, delightless, a' surveys, 

While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

ill. 
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; 
Her faithfu' mate w T ill share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I, wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights, and joyless days, 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 



O wae upon you, men 0' state, 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?* 
But soon may peace bring happy days 
And Willie hame to Logan braes ! 



[Burns in one of his letters says, " I remem- 
ber the two last lines of a verse in some of the 
old songs of Logan water, which I think 
pretty : — 

" Now my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes." 

These lines belong to the." Logan braes" of 
the late John Mayne : the song was printed in 
the Star newspaper of May 23, 1789, and soon 
became a favourite, as it well might : — 

" By Logan streams that rin sae deep, 
Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep : 
I've herded sheep, or gather'd slaes 
Wi' my dear lad on Logan braes. 
But wae's my heart thae days are gans. 
And fu' o' grief I herd my lane ; 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

* Originally — 

" Ye mind na, 'mid your cruel joys, 
The widow's tears| the orphan's cries." 



402 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



Nae mair at Logan kirk will he 
Atween the preachings meet wi' me — 
Meet wi' me, or when it's mirk, 
Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk. 
I weel may sing thae days are gane, 
Frae kirk and fair, I come my lane ; 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes." 

The old verses to the same air, on which the 
modern songs are founded, will be given in the 
Poet's notes on Scottish Song — they are curious.] 

Do you know the following beautiful little 
fragment, in Witherspoon's collection of Scots 



Air — Hughie Graham. 



" O gin my love were yon red rose, 
That grows upon the castle wa' ; 
And I mysel' a drap o' clew, 
Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! 

" Oh, there beyond expression blest, 
I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light." 

This thought is inexpressibly beautiful ; and 
quite, so far as I know, original. It is too short 
for a song, else I would forswear you alto- 
gether, unless you gave it a place. I have 
often tried to eke a stanza to it, but in vain. 
After balancing myself for a musing five minutes, 
on the hind-legs of my elbow-chair, I produced 
the following. 

The verses are far inferior to the foregoing, I 
frankly confess ; but, if worthy of insertion at 
all, they might be first in place ; as every poet, 
who knows any thing of his trade, will husband 
his best thoughts for a concluding stroke. 

O were my love yon lilac fair, 

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 

And I, a bird to shelter there, 

When wearied on my little wing ! 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing on wanton wing, 

When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. 
R. B. 

[There are fragments of song of a nature so 
exquisitely fine that, like the purest marble, 
they cannot be eked out or repaired without 
showing where the hand of the restorer has 
been. Burns, though eminently skilful, has 
not succeeded in writing a verse worthy of the 
one preserved by Witherspoon : his lines are 
beautiful : but lilacs are not favorites with 
birds : the odour of their blossoms is unpleasing 
to the musicians of the air, and they seldom 
build in them, or seek them out as a shelter. 
Tradition has many additional verses, of which 
the following are pretty : — 



' O were my love yon pickle leeks, 

That's growing in the garden green ; 
And were I but the gard'ner lad — 

I wad lie near the leeks at e'en. 
O were my love yon fragrant gean, 

That hangs sae drap ripe on the tree ; 
And I were but yon little bird — 

Far wi' that fragrant gean I'd flee. 
O gin my love were a turtle dove, 

Flying about frae tree to tree ; 
And I myself a single blackbird, 

I'd fly and bear her company."] 



No. XXVI. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Monday, 1st July, 1793. 

I am extremely sorry, my good Sir, that any 
thing should happen to unhinge you. The 
times are terribly out of tune, and when har- 
mony will be restored, Heaven knows. 

The first book of songs, just published, will 
be dispatched to you along with this. Let me 
be favoured with your opinion of it, frankly 
and freely. 

I shall certainly give a place to the song you 
have written for the " Quaker's Wife ;" it is 
quite enchanting. Pray will you return the 
list of songs, with such airs added to it as you 
think ought to be included. The business now 
rests entirely on myself, the gentlemen who 
originally agreed to join the speculation having 
requested to be off. No matter, a loser I can- j 
not be. The superior excellence of the work ! 
will create a general demand for it, as soon as ; 
it is properly known. And, were the sale even I 
slower than it promises to be, I should be some- 
what compensated for my labour by the plea- | 
sure I shall receive from the music. I cannot 
express how much I am obliged to you for the 
exquisite new songs you are sending me ; but 
thanks, my friend, are a poor return for what 
you have done : as I shall be benefited by the 
publication, you must suffer me to inclose a 
small mark of my gratitude,* and to repeat it 
afterwards, when I find it convenient. Do not 
return it, for, by Heaven ! if you do, our cor- 
respondence is at an end: and, though this 
would be no loss to you, it would mar the pub- 
lication, which, under your auspices, cannot 
fail to be respectable and interesting. 

Wednesday Morning. 

I thank you for your delicate additional 
verses to the old fragment, and for your excel- 
lent song to " Logan Water :" Thomson's truly 
elegant one will follow for the English singer. 
Your apostrophe to statesmen is admirable, but 
I am not sure if it is quite suitable to the sup- 
posed gentle character of the fair mourner who 
'sit. G. T. 



* A bank-note for five pounds. 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



[One of the gentlemen whom Thomson al- 
ludes to as partners in his speculation was the 
Hon. Andrew Erskine : his health was decli- 
ning, and, desiring to free his mind from all the 
solicitude of either verse or music, he requested, 
as his partner says, to " be off." He did not 
long survive the separation.] 



No. XXVII. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

July 2nd, 1793. 

My dear Sir: 
I have just finished the following ballad, 
and, as I do think it in my best style, I send it 
you. Mr. Clarke, who wrote down the air 
from Mrs. Burns' wood-note wild, is very fond 
of it ; and has given it a celebrity by teaching 
it to some young ladies of the first fashion here. 
If you do not like the air enough to give it a 
place in your collection, please return it. The 
song you may keep, as I remember it. 

%\)txz foag a £a&J, antt sfyt foas fair. 



Tune — Bonnie Jean. 



There was a lass, and she was fair, 

At kirk and market to be seen, 
When a' the fairest maids were met, 

The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 
II. 
And aye she wrought her mammie's wark, 

And aye she sang sae merrilie : 
The blithest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

in. 
But hawks will rob the tender joys 

That bless the little lintwhite's nest : 
And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 

And love will break the soundest rest. 

IV. 

Young Robie was the bra west lad, 

The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, 

And wanton naigies nine or ten. 
v. 
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 

He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down ; 
And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. 

VI. 

As in the bosom o' the stream, 

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ; 

So trembling, pure, was tender love 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.* 



* [In the original MS. our Poet asks Mr Thomson if this 
stanza is not original?— Carrie.] 



And now she works her mammie's wark, 
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain ; 

Yet wist na what her ail might be, 
Or what wad mak her weel again. 

VIII. 

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, 
And did na joy blink in her e'e, 

As Robie tauld a tale o' love 
Ae e'enin' on the lily lea ? 

IX. 

The sun was sinking in the west, 

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 
His cheek to hers he fondly prest, 

And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : 
x. 
" O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 

O canst thou think to fancy me ? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? 

XI. 

"At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, 
Or naething else to trouble thee ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the Avaving corn wi' me." 

XII. 

Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 

She had nae will to say him na : 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 

And love was aye between them twa. 

I have some thoughts of inserting in your 
index, or in my notes, the names of the fair 
ones, the themes of my songs. I do not mean 
the name at full ; but dashes or asterisms, so as 
ingenuity may find them out. 

The heroine of the foregoing is Miss M., 
daughter to Mr. M., of D., one of your sub- 
scribers. I have not painted her in the rank 
which she holds in life, but in the dress and 
character of a cottager. R. B. 



[Some of the finest of the songs of Burns 
were composed in honour of the charms of 
ladies of my native vale. Jean, the eldest 
daughter of John M'Murdo, Esq. of Drum- 
lanrig, was the heroine of this exquisite song. 
The original, presented by the Poet to the 
family, lies before me : there are many varia- 
tions, but they are of language rather than of 
sentiment. It wants the verse which Burns 
reckoned original : 

" As in the bosom of the stream 

The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en ; 
So trembling pure was tender love 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean." 

The first two lines of the eleventh verse stand I 
thus in the manuscript, and perhaps it would be 
as well to restore them : — I 



464 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



" Thy handsome foot thou shalt na set 
In barn or byre to trouble thee." 

The homage paid to the graceful forms of the 
ladies of the M'Murdo family merits notice, 
were it but to justify the Poet from a charge, 
brought against him in Ayr-shire, that his 
beauties were not other men's beauties. The 
o'erword of an old song seems to have been in 
his fancy when composing this lyric : — 

" Learn to turn the maut wi' me." 

— it occurs oftener than once in the manuscript. 
— Cunningham.] 



No. XXVIII. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

July, 1793. 

I assure you, my dear Sir, that you truly 
hurt me with your pecuniary parcel. It de- 
grades me in my own eyes. However, to return 
it would savour of affectation ; but, as to any 
more traffic of that debtor and creditor kind, 
I swear, by that Honour which crowns the up- 
right statue of Robert Burns's Integrity — 
on the least motion of it, I will indignantly 
spurn the by-past transaction, and from that 
moment commence entire stranger to you ! 
Burns's character for generosity of sentiment 
and independence of mind will, I trust, long 
outlive any of his wants, which the cold un- 
feeling ore can supply : at least, I will take 
care that such a character he shall deserve. 

Thank you for my copy of your publication. 
Never did my eyes behold, in any musical work, 
such elegance and correctness. Your preface, 
too, is admirably written : only your partiality 
to me has made you say too much : however, 
it will bind me down to double every effort in 
the future progress of the work. The follow- 
ing are a few remarks on the songs in the list 
you sent me. I never copy what I write to 
you, so I may be often tautological, or perhaps 
contradictory. 

" The Flowers o' the Forest" is charming as 
a poem ; and should be, and must be, set to the 
notes, but, though out of your rule, the three 
stanzas, beginning 

" I hae seen the smiling o" fortune beguiling," 

are worthy of a place, were it but to immortal- 
ize the author of* them, who is an old lady of 
my acquaintance, and at this moment living in 
Edinburgh. She is a Mrs. Cockburn ; I forget 
of what place ; but from Roxburgh - shire. 
What a charming apostrophe is 

" O fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting, 
Why, why torment us— poor sons of a day !" 

The old ballad, " I wish I were where Helen 
lies," is silly, to contemptibility. My altera- 



tion of it, in Johnson's, is not much better. 
Mr. Pinkerton, in his, what he calls, ancient 
ballads (many of them notorious, though beau- 
tiful enough, forgeries), has the best set. It is 
full of his own interpolations, — but no matter. 

In my next I will suggest to your considera- 
tion a few songs which may have escaped your 
hurried notice. In the mean time allow me to* 
congratulate you now, as a brother of the quill. 
You have committed your character and fame ; 
which will now be tried, for ages to come, by 
the illustrious jury of the Sons and Daugh- 
ters of Taste — all whom poesy can please, 
or music charm. 

Being a bard of nature, I have some preten- 
sions to second sight ; and I am warranted by 
the spirit to foretel and affirm that your great- 
grand-child will hold up your volumes, and say, 
with honest pride, " This so much admired 
selection was the work of my ancestor !" 



[Much has been said, and not a little written, 
concerning the refusal of Burns to receive a 
recompense in money for his labours ; he had 
a right to do as he pleased, but certainly the 
labourer was worthy of his hire. Had he lived, 
he might have taken a lesson from Thomson in 
such matters. — " The publisher," says that 
gentleman in his preface, "has an exclusive 
right to all the songs written purposely for his 
collections, as well as to all the symphonies and 
accompaniments. And as he did not obtain 
these without expending a large sum of money, 
without laborious researches and unwearied 
exertions, and not until after a correspondence 
of twenty years with poets, musicians, antiqua- 
ries, both at home and abroad, he feels it due 
to himself distinctly to announce that if any 
person shall publish any of these songs, or any 
of the symphonies or accompaniments, he may 
depend upon being prosecuted for damages, in 
terms of the Act of Parliament." Nay, even 
from Burns himself he obtained a document 
which might have opened the Poet's eyes to 
the value of his own productions. — " 1 do here- 
by certify that all the songs of my writing, 
published and to be published by Mr. George 
Thomson of Edinburgh, are so published by 
my authority. And, moreover, that I never 
empowered any other person to publish any of 
the songs written by me for his work. And I 
authorize him to prosecute any person or per- 
sons who shall publish or vend any of those 
songs without his consent. (Signed) Robert 
Burns." 

The old ballad of "I wish I were where 
Helen lies," for which the Poet expresses such 
contempt, is considered by many both beautiful 
and affecting, dime seems to suppose that 
Burns was unacquainted with the genuine old 
strain, but the song which he altered for the 
Museum contains proof to the contrary : it is 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



465 



the ancient strain itself; anything but improved 
by the alterations. Tradition readily supplies 
many versions — all are beautiful : — 

FAIR HELEN OF KIRKCONNELL. 

" I wish I were where Helen lies — 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
O that I were where Helen lies, 
On fair Kirkconnell lea. 

O Helen fair, beyond compare, 
I'll make a garland of thy hair, 
Shall bind my heart for evermair, 
Until the day I die. 

Curs'd be the heart that thought the thought, 
And curs'd the hand that fir'd the shot, 
When in my arms burd Helen dropt, 
And died for sake o' me. 

think na but my heart was sair 
When my love fell and spak nae mair ; 

1 laid her down wi' meikle care 
On fair Kirkconnell lea. 

I laid her down, my sword did draw, 
Stern was our strife in Kirtle-shaw — 
I hew'd him down in pieces sma' 
For her that died for me. 

O that I were where Helen lies, 

Night and day on me she cries, 

Out of my bed she bids me rise, 

' O come, my love, to me ! ' 

Helen fair ! O Helen chaste 1 
Were I with thee I would be blest, 
Where thou ly'st low, and tak'st thy rest 

On fair Kirkconnell lea. 

1 wish I were where Helen lies, 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
I'm sick of all beneath the skies, 

Since my love died for me." 

Fair Helen of Kirkconnell belongs to the 
romantic songs of Scotland ; other poets have 
taken up the story of the lovers, but the strains 
of the elder bard still triumph.] 



No. XXIX. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 



Edinburgh, 1st August, 1793. 



Dear Sir: 



I had the pleasure of receiving your last 
two letters, and am happy to find you are quite 
pleased with the appearance of the first book. 
When you come to hear the songs sung and 
accompanied, you will be charmed with them. 

" The bonnie brucket Lassie" certainly de- 
serves better verses, and I hope you will match 
her. " Cauld Kail in Aberdeen," " Let me in 
this ae night," and several of the livelier airs, 
wait the muse's leisure: these are peculiarly 
worthy of her choice gifts : besides, you'll no- 
tice that, in airs of this sort, the singer can 



always do greater justice to the poet than in 
the slower airs of " The bush aboon Traquair," 
" Lord Gregory," and the like ; for, in the 
manner the latter are frequently sung, you must 
be contented with the sound without the sense. 
Indeed, both the airs and words are disguised 
by the very slow, languid, psalm-singing style 
in which they are too often performed : tney 
lose animation and expression altogether, and 
instead of speaking to the mind, or touching 
the heart, they cloy upon the ear, and set us a 
yawning ! 

Your ballad, " There was a Lass, and she 
was fair," is simple and beautiful, and shall 
undoubtedly grace my collection. G. T. 



XXX 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

August, 1793. 

My Dear Thomson: 

I hold the pen for our friend Clarke, who, 
at present, \s studying the music of the spheres 
at my elbow. The " Georgium Sidus," he 
thinks, is rather out of tune ; so, until he rec- 
tify that matter, he cannot stoop to terrestrial 
affairs. 

He sends you six of the Rondeau subjects, 
and, if more are wanted, he says you shall 
have them. 

Confound your long stairs ! 

S. Clarke. 



[The writer of this odd note was Stephen 
Clarke, teacher and composer of music ; who 
superintended the publication of the Musical 
Museum, and through Burns was introduced to 
several good families in Dumfries-shire.] 



No. XXXI. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

August, 1793. 

Your objection, my dear Sir, to the pas- 
sages in my song of " Logan Water," is right 
in one instance ; but it is difficult to mend it ; 
if I can I will. The other passage you object 
to does not appear in the same light to me. 

I have tried my hand on "Robin Adair," 
and, you will probably think, with little suc- 
cess ; but it is such a cursed, cramp, out-of-the- 
way measure, that I despair of doing any thing 
better to it. 

2 H 



P&fflfo tty dTatr. 



Tune — Robin Adair. 



While larks with little wing 

Fann'd the pure air, 
Tasting the breathing spring, 

Forth I did fare : 
Gay the sun's golden eye 
Peep'd o'er the mountains high 
Such thy morn ! did I cry, 

Phillis the fair. 



In each bird's careless song, 

Glad did I share ; 
While yon wild flowers among, 

Chance led me there : 
Sweet to the opening day, 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray ; 
Such thy bloom ! did I say, 

Phillis the fair. 



Down in a shady walk 
Doves cooing were ; 

I mark'd the cruel hawk 
Caught in a snare : 

So kind may fortune be, 

Such make his destiny ! 

He who would injure thee, 
Phillis the fair. 



So much for Namby-pamby. I may, after 
all, try my hand on it in Scots verse. There I 
always find myself most at home. 

I have just put the last hand to the song I 
meant for " Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." If it 
suits you to insert it, I shall be pleased, as the 
heroine is a favourite of mine : if not, I shall 
also be pleased ; because I wish, and will be 
glad, to see you act decidedly on the business. 
'Tis a tribute as a man of taste, and as an editor, 
which you owe yourself. R. B. 



[Phillis M'Murdo is the heroine of this song : 
Burns wrote it at the request of Stephen Clarke 
the musician, who believed himself in love with 
his "charming pupil."] 



No. XXXII. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 



My good Sir, 



August, 1793. 



I consider it one of the most agreeable cir- 
cumstances attending this publication of mine 



that it has procured me so many of your much 
valued epistles. Pray make my acknowledg- 
ments to St. Stephen for the tunes : tell him I 
admit the justness of his complaint on my stair- 
case conveyed in his laconic postscript to your 
jeu $ esprit ; which I perused more than once, 
without discovering exactly whether your dis- 
cussion was music, astronomy, or politics : 
though a sagacious friend, acquainted with the 
convivial habits of the poet and the musician, ! 
offered me a bet, of two to one, you were just 
drowning care together ; that an empty bowl j 
was the only thing that would deeply affect 
you, and the only matter you could then study I 
how to remedy ! 

I shall be glad to see you give " Robin 
Adair" a Scottish dress. Peter is furnishing 
him with an English suit for a change, and you 
are well matched together. Robin's air is 
excellent, though he certainly has an out-of- 
the-way measure as ever poor Parnassian wight 
was plagued with. — I wish you would invoke 
the muse for a single elegant stanza to be sub- 
stituted for the concluding objectionable verses 
of " Down the Burn, Davie," so that this most 
exquisite song may no longer be excluded from 
good company. 

Mr. Allan has made an inimitable drawing 
from your " John Anderson, my Jo," which I 
am to have engraved as a frontispiece to the 
humourous class of songs ; you will be quite 
charmed with it, I promise you. The old 
couple are seated by the fire-side. Mrs. Ander- 
son, in great good-humour, is clapping John's 
shoulders, while he smiles and looks at her with 
such glee as to shew that he fully recollects the 
pleasant days and nights when tbey were " first 
acquent." The drawing would do honour to 
the pencil of Teniers. G. T. 



No. XXXIII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

August, 1/93. 

That crinkum-crankum tune " Robin A- 
dair" has run so in my head, and I succeeded 
so ill in my last attempt, that I have ventured, 



[" The ' Mrs. Anderson' on whom this praise 
is bestowed is what the old ballad calls 

' A carlin— a rig-widdie carlin,' 

and seems fitter for a wife to him of Linkum- 
doddie than to be spouse to cantie and douce 
John. She has the look of an ogress : her nose 
resembles a ram-horn, and the fingers which 
she is about to apply to her husband's lyart- 
locks are as hard as lobster-claws." — Cun- 
ningham.] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON, 



467 



in this morning's walk, one essay more. You, 
my dear Sir, will remember an unfortunate part 
of our worthy friend Cunningham's story, 
which happened about three years ago. That 
Btruck my fancy, and I endeavoured to do the 
idea justice, as follows : — 

Ha* # a Cafce. 

Tune — Robin Adair. 



Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing 
There would I weep my woes, [roar ; 

There seek my lost repose, 

Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more. 
ii. 
Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare 
All thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air ! 
To thy new lover hie, 
Laugh o'er thy perjury, 
Then in thy bosom try 
What peace is there ! 



By the way, I have met with a musical 
Highlander, in Breadalbane's Fencibles, which 
are quartered here, who assures me that he well 
remembers his mother's singing Gaelic songs 
to both " Robin Adair" and " Gramachree." 
They certainly have more of the Scotch than 
the Irish taste in them. 

This man comes from the vicinity of Inver- 
ness ; so it could not be any intercourse with 
Ireland that could bring them ; — except, what 
I shrewdly suspect to be the case, the wandering 
minstrels, harpers, and pipers, used to go fre- 
quently errant through the wilds both of Scot- 
land and Ireland, and so some favourite airs 
might be common to both. A case in point — 
They have lately, in Ireland, published an 
Irish air, as they say, called " Caun du delish." 
The fact is, in a publication of Corri's a great 
while ago, you will find the same air, called a 
Highland one, with a Gaelic song set to it. 
Its name there, I think, is " Oran Gaoil," and 
a fine air it is. Do ask honest Allan, or the 
Rev. Gaelic parson,* about these matters. 

R. B. 



No. XXXIV. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 



My dear Sir : 

" Let me in this ae night" I will re-consider. 
I am glad that you are pleased with my song, 
" Had I a cave," &c, as I liked it myself. 



* The Gaelic parson referred to was, we are informed, the 
Rev. Joseph Robertson Macgregor. 



I walked out yesterday evening, with a vo- 
lume of the Museum in my hand ; when, turn- 
ing up " Allan Water," "What numbers shall 
the muse repeat," &c, as the words appeared to 
me rather unworthy of so fine an air, and re- 
collecting that it is on your list, I sat and raved 
under the shade of an old thorn, 'till I wrote 
one to suit the measure. I may be wrong ; but 
I think it not in my worst style. You must 
know, that in Ramsay's " Tea Table," where 
the modern song first appeared, the ancient 
name of the tune, Allan says, is " Allan Water ;" 
or, " My love Annie's very bonnie/' This 
last has certainly been a line of the original 
song ; so I took up the idea, and, as you will 
see, have introduced the line in its place, which, 
I presume, it formerly occupied ; though I like- 
wise give you a choosing line, if it should not 
hit the cut of your fancy : — 



J3j> ailan Stream. 



Tune — " Allan Water.'' 



By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove 

While Phcebus sank beyond Benledi ; f 
The winds were whispering through the grove, 

The yellow corn was waving ready : 
I listen'd to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfu' pleasures many ; 
And aye the wild wood echoes rang — 

O dearly do I love thee, Annie ! \ 
ii. 
O, happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; 
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 
Her head upon my throbbing breast, 

She, sinking, said " I'm thine for ever !" 
While mony a kiss the seal imprest, 

The sacred vow, — we ne'er should sever. 

in. 
The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae, 

The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 
How cheery, thro' her shortening day, 

Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow ! 
But can they melt the glowing heart, 

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, 
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ? 



Bravo ! say I : it is a good song. Should 
you think so too, (not else,) you can set the 
music to it, and let the other follow as English 
verses. 

Autumn is my propitious season. I make 
more verses in it than all the year else. 

God bless you ! R. B. 



f A mountain west of Strath-Allan, 3,009 feet high.— K.B» 
1 Or, " O my love Annie's very bonnie."— R.B. 

2 Ha 



408 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



[The fancy of Burns took a flight north- 
wards in conceiving this song. Allan Water 
gives its name to the strath. The Poet might 
have found all that he wanted in his immediate 
neighbourhood : Criffel or Queensberry rise 
loftily enough, and Annan Water is sufficiently 
pure for all the purposes of song : moreover, 
the old lyric from which he took the idea be- 
longs to the district : — 

4i O Annan Water's wide and deep, 

And my love Annie's wondrous bonnie 
Shall I be laith to weet my feet 

For her whom I love best of onie ? 
Gar saddle me my bonnie black, 

Gar saddle soon and make him ready, 
For I will down the Gatehope-slack 

And a' to see my bonnie lady." 

Another ancient strain has a similarity of 
thought and language — the lover seems to be a 
cautious person : 

" O Annan Water's wading deep, 
Yet lam loth to weet my feet ; 
But if ye"ll consent to marry me, 
I'll hire a horse to carry thee." 

The Annan is a beautiful river with alternate 
pool and stream, and liable, like all mountain 
waters, to sudden floods. Burns was often on 
its banks ; amongst its woods he sought for 
smugglers, or wooed the muses, as circumstances 
required. — Cunningham.] 



No. XXXV. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

August, 1793. 

Is " Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad," 
one of your airs? I admire it much; and 
yesterday I set the following verses to it. Ur- 
bani, whom I have met with here, begged 
them of me, as he admires the air much ; but, 
as I understand that he looks with rather an 
evil eye on your work, I did not choose to 
comply. However, if the song does not suit 
your taste, I may possibly send it him. The 
set of the air which I had in my eye is in 
Johnson's Museum. 

# foljts'ilr, antt Fit come to j>cu. 
i. 

O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and rnither and a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 



* [This song is founded on some old lines to the same air, 
which the Poet has wrought into the first verse. There are 
several variations in Burns's own hand. 

" O whistle, and I'll come to thee, my jo, 
O whistle, and I'll come to thee, my jo, 
Tho' father and mother and a' should say no, 
O whistle, and I'll come to thee, my jo." 

From one of the variations it appears that the name of the 
heroine was Jeanie : — 



But warily tent, when you come to court me, 
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee ; 
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see, 
And come as ye were na comin' to me, 
And come as ye were na comin' to me. 

II. 
At Kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie ; 
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. 

in. 
Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ; 
But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.* 

Another favourite air of mine is, " The 
muckin o' Geordie's byre." When sung slow, 
with expression, I have wished that it had had 
better poetry : that, I have endeavoured to 
supply, as follows : — ■ 

Sftfofon tutntfmcj; |2ttf). 
i. 

A down winding Nitli I did wander, 

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring ; 
Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 

Awa wi' your belles and your beauties, 

They never wi' her can compare : 
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis ! 
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 

ii. 

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, 

So artless, so simple, so wild ; 
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 

For she is simplicity's child. 

in. 

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer, 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest : 

How fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer and purer her breast ! 

IV. 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, 
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 

Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, 
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 



" Though father and mother and a' should gae mad, 
Thy Jeanie will venture wi' thee, my lad." 

[See Letter LXXIX.] 

Who the lady was no one has told us : Jeanies abounded in 
the district: some of them were eminently beautiful; yet 
none, save one, was likely to countenance a lover who made 
his appearance under the cloud of night and courted con- 
cealment .] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



469 



Her voice is the song of the morning, 

That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove, 

When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 



But beauty how frail and how fleeting, 
The bloom of a fine summer's day ! 

While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 
Will flourish without a decay. 

Awa wi' your belles and your beauties, 
They never wi' her can compare : 

Whaever has met wi' my Phillis 
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.* 



Mr. Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a 
corner in your book, as she is a particular flame 
of his. She is a Miss P. M., sister to " Bonnie 
Jean." They are both pupils of his. You 
shall hear from me, the very first grist I get 
from my rhyming-mill. R. B. 



No. XXXVI. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

August, 1793. 

That tune, " Cauld Kail," is such a favourite 
of yours that I once more roved out yesterday 
for a gloamin-shot at the muses ;f when the 
muse that presides o'er the shores of Nith, or 
rather my old inspiring dearest nymph, Coila,, 
whisperel me the following. I have two 
reasons for thinking that it was my early, sweet 
simple inspirer that was by my elbow, " smooth 
gliding without step," and pouring the song on 
my glowing fancy. In the first place, since I 
left Coila's native haunts, not a fragment of a 
poet has arisen to cheer her solitary musings, 
by catching inspiration from her ; so I more 
than suspect that she has followed me hither, 
or at least makes me occasional visits : secondly, 
the last stanza of this song I send you is the 
very words that Coila taught me many years 
ago, and which I set to an old Scots reel in 
Johnson's Museum. 



* [This song is not indebted to old verses for either its sen- 
timents or its character. The young lady who inspired it was 
Miss Phillis M'Murdo, afterwards Mrs. Norman Lockhart, of 
Carnwath. " This song," says Currie, " though certainly 
beautiful, would appear to more advantage without the chorus, 
as is indeed the case with several other son<js of our author.' 
The chorus seems no incumbrance in this ius'ance ; it main- 
tains the leading sentiment, and, in singing, enables the other 
voices to take a share, and give additional emphasis to the 
praise bestowed on this Nithsdale beauty. The former editors 
of Burns seem to have disliked choruses greatly ; they are 



Come, Itt me take Cfjcr. 

Air— Cauld Kail. 



Come, let me take thee to my breast, 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The warld's wealth and grandeur ■ 
And do I hear my Jeanie own 

That equal transports move her ? 
I ask for dearest life alone 

That I may live to love her. 
II. 
Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share, 

Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever ! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never ! 



If you think the above will suit your idea of 
your favourite air, I shall be highly pleased. 
" The last time I came o'er the moor" I cannot 
meddle with, as to mending it ; and the musical 
world have been so long accustomed to Ram- 
say's words that a different song, though 
positively superior, would not be so well re- 
ceived. I am not fond of choruses to songs, 
so I have not made one for the foregoing. R.B. 

[The legends of the Vale of Nith say that 
the heroine of " Come let me take thee to my 
breast," was Jean Lorimer. Burns was so 
much under the influence of beauty that he is 
never supposed to sing without some living fair 
one in his mind ; and, as the " Lass of Cralgie- 
burn" was far from coy, popular belief has 
seated her beside the Poet, and inspired him 
with her blue eyes and rosy lips. Be this as it 
may, it is quite evident that nothing is bor- 
rowed from the old words of the air to which 
the song is adapted.] 

No. XXXVII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

August, 1793 

Dainty IBabtc. 
1. 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 

To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers , 



sometimes omitted, though the song cannot be sung without 
them. It is true that the chorus seldom carries on the story ; 
but then that is not its object ; it enables the company to take 
a share in the entertainment, and no one need be told with 
what effect two or three well-tuned voices take up the o'er- 
word at the end of each verse. — Allan Cunningham.] 

t [Gloaming —twilight. A beautiful poetic word which 
ought to be adopted, in England. A gloaming-shot, a twi- 
light interview.— Currie. 

The word gloaming is now adopted by the best writers in the 
English language, as a peculiarly sweet and poetical synonvmc.] 



470 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



And now comes in my happy hours, 
To wander wi' my Davie. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe, 

Dainty Davie, dainty Davie, 

There I'll spend the day wi' you, 

My ain dear dainty Davie. 

ii. 
The crystal waters round us fa', 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A wandering wi' my Davie. 

in. 
When purple morning starts the hare, 
To steal upon her early fare, 
Then thro' the dews I will repair, 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 

IV. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best, 
And that's my ain dear Davie. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe, 
Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie, 

There I'll spend the day wi' you, 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 

So much for Davie. The chorus, you know, 
is to the low part of the tune. — See Clarke's 
set of it in the Museum. 

N.B. In the Museum they have drawled out 
the tune to twelve lines of poetry, which is 
cursed nonsense. Four lines of song, and four 
of chorus, is the way. R. B. 



[" The reader will find an earlier song to this 
air, under the title of " When Rosy May comes 
in wi' Flowers." The Poet has added a very 
happy chorus, and made some alterations ; they 
are curious — as showing the care with which he 
sometimes revised compositions from which he 
hoped for fame. — ' Dainty Davie' is the name 
of an old merry song, from which Burns has 
borrowed nothing save the title and the mea- 
sure. It relates the adventure of David Wil- 
liamson, a preacher of the days of the Cove- 
nant : he was pursued by DalzelPs dragoons, 
and seeking refuge in the house of Cherry trees, 
the devout lady put the man of God into a bed 
beside her daughter to hide him from the men 
of Belial : the return which the reverend gen- 
tleman made for this is set forth very graphically 
in the old verses. The young lady sings — 

" Being pursued by a dragoon, 
Within my bed he was laid down, 
And weel I wat he was worth his room — 
My douce, my dainty Davie." 

The lady of Cherry trees is not the only ex- 
ample of strong faith in the fair sex. Sir 



Robert Strange, the eminent engraver, fled in 
his youth from a field of battle, where he had 
fought in vain for his native princes, and, being 
hotly pursued, sought refuge in a gentleman's 
house, where a lady — beautiful and young — 
concealed him under her hooped petticoat. 
When the days of peace came and fortune 
smiled, the grateful rebel wooed his protectress 
and made her his wife : she was equally witty 
and lovely, and figured among the fashionables 
of London till the death of her husband. 

" The Nithsdale lady went to no such extre- 
mities in her affection — her name has not trans- 
pired — the name of one who had courage to 
keep a tryste on the ( Warlock knowe' is 
worthy of remembrance." — Cunningham.] 



No. XXXVIII. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 



Edi 

My dear Sir: 



1st September, 1793. 



Since writing you last, I have received half 
a dozen songs, with which I am delighted be- 
yond expression. The humour and fancy of 
"Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad," will 
render it nearly as great a favourite as " Dun- 
can Gray." " Come, let me take thee to my 
breast," — " A down winding Nith," and "By 
Allan stream," &c, are full of imagination and 
feeling, and sweetly suit the airs for which they 
are intended. — '" Had I a cave on some wild 
distant shore" is a striking and affecting com- 
position. Our friend, to whose story it refers, 
read it with a swelling heart, I assure you. — 
The union we are now forming, I think, can 
never be broken : these songs of yours will de- 
scend with the music to the latest posterity, and 
will be fondly cherished so long as genius, taste, 
and sensibility exist in our island. 

While the muse seems so propitious, I think it 
right to inclose a list of all the favours I have 
to ask of her — no fewer than twenty and three ! 
I have burdened the pleasant Peter with as 
many as it is probable he will attend to : most 
of the remaining airs would puzzle the English 
poet not a little ; they are of that peculiar mea- 
sure and rhythm that they must be familiar to 
him who writes for them. G. T. 



[" Thomson at first spoke of twenty or five and 
twenty songs : at the time when he wrote this 
letter he had received seven and twenty, yet he 
requests three and twenty more because the 
muse was propitious, and the Poet enthusiastic ! 
It, will be seen that the list was not limited to 
this number. When Burns refused money, it 
was for the songs which he had undertaken to 
supply : there is no word of any recompense 
for the new batch of lyrics." — Allan Cun- 
ningham.] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



471 



No. XXXIX. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

Sept. 1793. 

You may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any 
exertion in my power is heartily at your service. 
But one thing I must hint to you ; the very 
name of Peter Pindar is of great service to 
your publication, so get a verse from him now 
and then : though I have no objection, as well 
as I can, to bear the burden of the business. 

You know that my pretensions to mu- 
sical taste are merely a few of nature's in- 
stincts, untaught and untutored by art. For 
this reason, many musical compositions, par- 
ticularly where much of the merit lies in 
counterpoint, however they may transport and 
ravish the ears of you connoisseurs, affect my 
simple lug no otherwise than merely as melo- 
dious din. On the other hand, by way of 
amends, I am delighted with many little me- 
lodies which the learned musician despises as 
silly and insipid. I do not know whether the 
old air, " Hey, tuttie taitie," may rank among 
this number; but well I know that, with Fraser's 
hautboy, it has often filled my eyes with tears. 
There is a tradition, which I have met with in 
many places of Scotland, that it was Robert 
Brace's march at the battle of Bannock-bum. 
This thought, in my solitary wanderings, 
warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on the 
theme of liberty and independence, which I 
threw into a kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the 
air that one might suppose to be the gallant 
Royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on 
that eventful morning : — 



ftvuct'g atottvtjte to ¥)i$ grmj) at 
Bamtodtfcunt. 

Tune — Hey, tuttie taitie. 



Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has often led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to Victorie ! 



Now's the day, and now's the hour ■ 
See the front o' battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's pow'r- 
Chains and slaverie ! 

111. 

Wha will be a traitor-knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Let him turn and flee ! 



IV. 

Wha for Scotland's king and law, 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw ; 
Free-man stand, or Free-man fa' ? 
Let him follow me ! 



By Oppression's woes and pains ! 

By your sons in servile chains ! 

We will drain our dearest veins, 

But they shall be free ! 

VI. 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! — 
Let us do, or die ! 

So may God ever defend the cause of truth 
and liberty, as he did that day ! — Amen. 

P.S. I showed the air to Urbani, who was 
highly pleased with it, and begged me to make 
soft verses for it, but I had no idea of giving 
myself any trouble on the subject, till the acci- 
dental recollection of that glorious struggle for 
freedom, associated with the glowing ideas ot 
some other straggles of the same nature, not 
quite so ancient, roused my rhyming mania. 
Clarke's set of the tune, with his bass, you will 
find in the Museum 5 though I am afraid that 
the air is not what will entitle it to a place in 
your elegant selection. R. B. 



[It is related, by Syme of Ryedale, that 
Burns composed this noble song under the in- 
fluence of a storm of rain and lightning among 
the wilds of Glenken, in Galloway. When 
" the rain and the whirlwind came abroad," 
the Poet regarded them not : he neither drew 
his hat over his brow, nor urged his pony on- 
ward, but seemed lost in thought. The fruit of 
this silence was the " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace 
bled •" an extraordinary song produced in an 
extraordinary manner. 

Something of the spirit of this far-famed song 
is visible in memoranda, made by Burns on 
visiting the field of battle in August, 1787. — 
"Come on to Bannockburn. Shewn the old 
house where James III. finished so tragically 
his unfortunate life. The field of Bannock- 
burn : the hole in the stone where glorious 
Bruce set his standard. Here no Scot can 
pass uninterested. I fancy to myself that I 
see my gallant, heroic countrymen, coming o'er 
the hill and down upon the plunderers of 
their country — the murderers of their fathers : 
noble revenge and just hate glowing in every 
vein, striding more and more eagerly as they 
approach the oppressive, insulting, blood-thirsty 
foe ! I see them meet in gloriously-triumphant 
congratulation on the victorious field, exulting 
in their heroic royal leader, and rescued liberty 
and independence !"] 



472 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



No. XL. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

Sept. 1/93. 

I dare say, my dear Sir, that you will 
begin to think my correspondence is persecution. 
No matter, I can't help it; a ballad is my 
hobby-horse, which, though otherwise a simple 
sort of harmless idiotical beast enough, has yet 
this blessed headstrong property, that, when 
once it has fairly made off with a hapless 
wight, it gets so enamoured with the tinkle- 
gingle, tinkle-gingle of its own bells, that it is 
sure to run poor pilgarlick, the bedlam jockey, 
quite beyond any useful point or post in the 
common race of man. 

The following song I have composed for 
" Oran-gaoil," the Highland air that, you tell 
me in your last, you have resolved to give a 
place to in your book. I have this moment 
finished the song, so you have it glowing from 
the mint. If it suit you, well ! — If not, 'tis 
ilso well ! R. B. 



fttfjoltt tljc Hour. 



Tune — Oran-gaoil 



Behold the hour, the boat arrive , 

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart ! 
Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 

But fate has will'd, and we must part. 
I'll often greet this surging swell, 

Yon distant isle will often hail : 
" E'en here I took the last farewell ; 

There, latest mark'd her vanish' d sail." 

11. 

Along the solitary shore, 

While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, 
Across the rolling, dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye : 
Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say, 

Where now my Nancy's path may be ! 
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, 

O, tell me, does she muse on me ? 



[The inspirer of this song is said to have 
been Clarinda : she meditated, it seems, a 
voyage to a certain Western isle, and the Poet 
has imagined the last farewell taken, and the 
parting looks interchanged. Some of his most 
impassioned lyrics were composed in honour of 
this accomplished lady.] 



* [In the third volume of Thomson's Collection we find the 
following remarks ; — " The Poet originally intended this no- 
Die strain for the air of Hey Tutti Taitie ; but on a sugges- 
tion from the editor, who then thought Lewie Gurdun a better 



No. XLI. 
G. THOMSON TO BUR>S. 

Edinburgh, 5th Sept. 1793. 

I believe it is generally allowed that the 
greatest modesty is the sure attendant of the 
greatest merit. While you are sending me 
verses that even Shakspeare might be proud to 
own, you speak of them as if they were ordinary 
productions ! Your heroic ode is, to me, the 
noblest composition of the kind in the Scottish 
language. I happened to dine yesterday with 
a party of your friends, to whom I read it. 
They were all charmed with it, entreated me to 
find out a suitable air for it, and reprobated the 
idea of giving it a tune so totally devoid of in- 
terest or grandeur as Hey, tuttie taitie. As- 
suredly your partiality for this tune must arise 
from the ideas associated in your mind by the 
tradition concerning it; for I never heard any 
person, and I have conversed again and again 
with the greatest enthusiasts for Scottish airs — 
I say, I never heard any one speak of it as 
worthy of notice 

I have been running over the whole hundred 
airs of which I lately sent you the list, and I 
think Lewie Gordon is most happily adapted to 
your ode ; at least with a very slight variation 
of the fourth line, which I shall presently submit 
to you. There is in Lewie Gordon more of the 
grand than the plaintive, particularly when it is 
sung with a degree of spirit which your words 
would oblige the singer to give it. I would 
have no scruple about substituting your ode in 
the room of "Lewie Gordon," which has 
neither the interest, the grandeur, nor the 
poetry that characterize your verses. Now the 
variation I have to suggest upon the last line ot 
each verse — the only line too short for the air- 
is as follows: — 

Verse 1st, Or to glorious victorie. 

2nd, Chains — chains and slaverie. 

3rd, Let him, let him turn and flee. 

4th, Let him bravely follow me. 

5th, But they shall, they shall be free. 

6th, Let us, let us do or die ! 
If you connect each line with its own verse, 
I do not think you will find that either the sen- 
timent or the expression loses any of its energy. 
The only line which I dislike in the whole of 
the song is, " Welcome to your gory bed." 
Would not another word be preferable to " wel- 
come ?" In your next I will expect to be 
informed whether you agree to what I have 
proposed. The little alterations I submit with 
the greatest deference.* 



tune for the words, they were united together, and published 
in the preceding volume. The editor, however, having since 
examined the air Hey Tutti Haiti with more particular atten- 
tion, frankly owns that he has changed his opinion ; and that 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



473 



The beauty of the verses you have made for 
" Oran-gaoil" will ensure celebrity to the air. 
G. T. 

[The simple energy of this noble war-ode is 
weakened greatly by lengthening the fourth 
line of each verse to suit the air of Lewie Gor- 
don. These changes are now generally rejected 
both by reader and singer. A more finished 
version of the Ode appears in p. 476.] 



No. XLII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

September, 1793. 

I have received your list, my dear Sir, and 
here go my observations on it.* 

" Down the burn, Davie." I have this mo- 
ment tried an alteration, leaving out the last 
half of the third stanza, and the first half of 
the last stanza, thus : — 

As down the burn they took their way, 

And thro' the flowery dale ; 
His cheek to hers he ai't did lay, 

And love was aye the tale. 
With " Mary, when shall we return, 

Sic pleasure to renew ?" 
Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the burn, 
And aye shall follow you."f 

" Through the wood, laddie" — I am decidedly 
of opinion that both in this, and (t There'll 
never be peace till Jamie comes hame," the 
second or high part of the tune being a repe- 
tition of the first part an octave higher, is only 
for instrumental music, and would be much 
better omitted in singing. 

" Cowden-knowes." Remember, in your in- 
dex, that the song in pure English to this tune, 
beginning — ■ 

"When summer comes, the swains on Tweed," 

is the production of Crawford. Robert was 
his Christian name. 

" Laddie, lie near me," must lie by me for 
some time. I do not know the air ; and, until 
I am complete master of a tune, in my own 
singing (such as it is), I can never compose for 
it. My way is : 1 consider the poetic senti- 
ment correspondent to my idea of the musical 
expression ; then choose my theme ; begin one 
stanza — when that is composed, which is gene- 
rally the most difficult part of the business, I 
walk out, sit down now and then, look out for 
objects in nature round me that are in unison or 



he thinks it much better adapted for giving energy to the 
poetry than the air of Lewie Gordon, He therefore sent it to 
Haydn, who has entered into the spirit of it with a felicity 
peculiar to himself; his inimitable symphonies and accom- 
paniments render it completely martial and highly charac- 
teristic of the heroic verses. It is worthy of remark that 
this appears to be the oldest Scottish air concerning which 
anything like evidence is to be found.] 

* Mr. Thomson's list of songs for his publication. In his 



harmony with the cogitations of my fancy, and 
workings of my bosom ; humming every now 
and then the air, with the verses I have framed. 
When I feel my muse beginning to jade, I re- 
tire to the solitary fire-side of my study, and 
there commit my effusions to paper ; swinging 
at intervals on the hind-legs of my elbow-chair, 
by way of calling forth my own critical stric- 
tures, as my pen goes on. Seriously, this, at 
home, is almost invariably my way. 

What cursed egotism ! 

" Gil Morris" I am for leaving out. It is a 
plaguy length ; the air itself is never sung, and 
its place can be well supplied by one or two 
songs for fine airs that are not in your list. For 
instance, " Craigie-burn wood," and " Roy's 
Wife." The first, beside its intrinsic merit, has 
novelty ; and the last has high merit as well as 
great celebrity. I have the original words of a 
song for the last air, in the hand-writing of the 
lady who composed it : and they are superior to 
any edition of the song which the public has 
yet seen. J 

" Highland laddie." The old set will please 
a mere Scotch ear best ; and the new an Itali- 
anized one. There is a third, and, what Os- 
wald calls, the old " Highland laddie," which 
pleases me more than either of them. It is 
sometimes called " Jinglan Johnnie ;" it being 
the air of an old humorous tawdry song of that 
name. You Avill find it in the Museum, " I 
hae been at Crookieden," &c. I would advise 
you, in this musical quandary, to offer up your 
prayers to the muses for inspiring direction ; 
and, in the mean time, waiting for this direc- 
tion, bestow a libation to Bacchus ; and there 
is no doubt but you will hit on a judicious 
choice. Probatum est. 

" Auld Sir Simon," 1 must beg you to leave 
out, and put in its place, " The Quaker's 
Wife." 

" Blythe hae I been o'er the hill," is one of 
the finest songs I ever made in my life ; and, 
besides, is composed on a young lady, positively 
the most beautiful, lovely woman in the world. 
As I purpose giving you the names and desig- 
nations of all my heroines, to appear in some 
future edition of your work, perhaps half 
a century hence, you must certainly include 
"The bonniest lass in a' the warld" in your 
collection. 

" Dainty Davie," I have heard sung, nine- 
teen thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine 
times, and always with the chorus to the low 
part of the tune ; and nothing has surprised me 



remarks, the Bard proceeds in order, and goes through the 
whole ; but on many of them he merely signifies his approba- 
tion. All his remarks of any importance are presented to 
the reader. — Currie. 

t This alteration Thomson has adopted, instead of the last 
stanza of the original song, which is objectionable in point of 
delicacy. — Currie. 

% This song, so much admired bv our bard, appears in 
No. LXVI. 



474 



SONGS, AND COKRESPONDENCE 



so much as your opiuion on this subject. If it 
will not suit, as I proposed, we will lay two of 
the stanzas together, and then make the cho- 
rus follow. 

" Fee him, father." — I inclose you Fraser s 
set of this tune when he plays it slow ; in fact, 
he makes it the language of despair. I shall 
here give you two stanzas in that style, merely 
to try if it will be any improvement. Were it 
possible, in singing, to give it half the pathos 
which Fraser gives it in playing, it would make 
an admirably pathetic song. I do not give 
these verses for any merit they have. I com- 
posed them at the time in which " Patie Allan's 
Mither died, that was, about the back o' mid- 
night ;" and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch, 
which had overset every mortal in company, 
except the hautbois and the muse. 



Cljmi I)aSt hit mc ebtr. 

Tune — Fee Mm, Father. 



Thou hast left me ever, Jamie ! 

Thou hast left me ever ; 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie ! 

Thou hast left me ever. 
Aften hast thou vow'd that death 

Only should us sever ; 
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye— 

I maun see thee aever, Jamie, 
I'll see thee never ! 

ii. 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie ! 

Thou hast me forsaken ; 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie ! 

Thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou canst love anither jo, 

While my heart is breaking : 
Soon my weary een I'll close- - 

Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken ! 



[The Poet left these exquisite verses un- 
finished : it was his intention to have added 
another stanza, but he either forgot or failed to 
find the muse in a suitable mood. Though a 
fragment, the song, when sung with proper 
feeling, never fails to make a deep impression. 
" The Scotch," says Currie, " employ the ab- 
breviation < I'll ' or ' I shall,' as well as ' I 
will,' and it is for ' I shall ' it is used in this 
song. In Annandale,, as in the northern coun- 
ties of England, for ' I shall' they use ' I'se.' "] 

" Jockey and Jenny " I would discard, and 
in its place would put " There's nae luck about 
the house," which has a very pleasant air; 



* The song here alluded to appears entire in an English 
dress in No. XLV. beginning, 

' Where are the joys I hae met in the morning." 



and which is positively the finest love-ballad 
in that style in the Scottish, or perhaps in any 
other, language. " When she came ben she 
bobbet," as an ah-, is more beautiful than either, 
and in the andante way would unite with a 
charming sentimental ballad. , 

" Saw ye my Father ?" is one of my greatest 
favorites. The evening before last I wandered 
out and began a tender song, in what I think 
is its native style. I must premise that the old 
way, and the way to give most effect, is to have 
no starting note, as the fiddlers call it, but to 
burst at once into the pathos. Every country 
girl sings — " Saw ye my Father?" &c. 

My song is but just begun ; and I should 
like, before I proceed, to know your opinion of 
it. I have sprinkled it with the Scottish 
dialect, but it may be easily turned into correct 
English. 4 * 

" Todlin hame." Urbani mentioned an idea 
of his, which has long been mine — that this air 
is highly susceptible of pathos : accordingly, 
you will soon hear him at your concert try it 
to a song of mine in the Museum — " Ye banks 
a«id braes o* bonnie Doon." One song more 
and I have done — " Auld lang syne." The 
air is but mediocre ; but the following song, 
the old song of the olden times, and which has 
never been in print, nor even in manuscript, 
until I took it down from an old man's singing, 
is enough to recommend any ah* : — 

&ulfc tang Sgne. 
i. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min' ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne ! 
ii. 
We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we've wandered mony a weary foot, 
Sin auld lang syne, 
in. 
We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 

Frae mornin' sun till dine : 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd, 
Sin auld lang syne. 

IV. 

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, 

For auld lang syne ! 



The Scottish version of the first four verses which tin 
Poet submits to Thomson in this letter differs in a very j 
slight d 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



And surely ye il be your pint-stoup, 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet. 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne ! 



Now, I suppose, I have tired your patience 
fairly. You must, after all is over, have a 
number of ballads, properly so called. " Gil 
Morice," " Tranent Muir," " Macpherson's 
farewell," " Battle of Sherriff Muir," or, " We 
ran and they ran" (I know the author of this 
charming ballad, and his history). " Hardik- 
nute," " Barbara Allan" (I can furnish a finer 
set of this tune than any that has yet ap- 
peared) ; and besides do you know that I really 
have the old tune to which " The Cherry and 
the Slae " was sung ; and which is mentioned 
as a well known air in " Scotland's Complaint," 
a bock published before poor Mary's days. It 
Mas then called " The banks o' Helicon ;" an 
old poem which Pinkerton has brought to 
light. You will see all this in Tytler's history 
of Scottish music. The tune, to a learned ear, 
may have no great merit ; but it is a great 
curiosity. I have a good many original things 
of this kind. R. B. 



["Auld Lang Syne" is one of those lyrics 
which owes its conception to the olden muse, 
and all the beauty of its language and sentiment 
to the modern. Burns introduced it to Thom- 
| son as an effort of an old minstrel, and he 
wrote thus to Mrs. Dunlop : — " Light be the 
turf on the breast of the heaven-inspired poet 
who composed this glorious fragment \" In 
this sentiment millions will concur. As he pro- 
fessed to have taken it down from the lips of an 
old man — one of those old men whom true poets 
alone can meet with — we need not seek for the 
original in our collections. The " Auld Lang 
Syne" of Ramsay's Miscellany helps us to a 
line or so : — 

" Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
Though they return wi' scars ; 
These are the noble hero's lot, 
Obtained in glorious wars." 

We subjoin the earliest copy of this song, 
printed before 1700, from which it will be seen 
that, notwithstanding the Poet's resolute dis- 
claimer, the merits of his version are peculiarly 
his own : — 



AULD LANGSYNE. 



To its own proper tune. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgo* 

And never thought upon, 
The flames of love extinguished, 

And freely past and gone ; 
Is thy kind heart, now grown so cold, 

In that loving breast of thine, 
That thou can'st never once reflect 

On auld langsyne ? 

Where are thy protestations — 

Thy vows and oaths, my dear, 
Thou made to me, and I to thee, 

In register yet clear ; 
Is faith and truth so violate 

To the immortal gods divine, 
That thou can'st never once reflect 

On auld langsyne ? 

Is't Cupid's fears, orfrostie cares, 

That makes thy sp'rits decay ? 
Or is't some object of more worth 

That's stol'n thy heart away? 
Or some desert makes thee neglect 

Her once so much was thine, 
That thou can'st never once reflect 

On auld langsyne ? 

Is't worldly cares so desperate, 

That makes thee to despair ? 
Is't that makes thee exasperate, 

And makes thee to forbear ? 
If thou of that were free as I, 

Thou surely should be mine, 
And then, of new, we would renew 

Kind auld langsyne. 

But since that nothing can prevail, 

And all hope now is vain, 
From these rejected eyes of mine 

Still showers of tears shall rain ; 
And though thou hast me now forgot, 

Yet I'll continue thine, 
Yea, though thou hast me now forgot, 

And auld langsyne. 

If e'er I have a house, my dear, 

That's truly called mine, 
And can afford but country cheer, 

Or aught that's good therein ; 
Tho' thou were rebel to the king, 

And beat with wind and rain, 
Thou'rt sure thyself of welcome, love, 

For auld langsyne.] 



No. XLIII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

September, 1793. 

I am happy, my dear Sir, that my ode 
pleases you so much. Your idea, " honour's 
bed," is, though a beautiful, a hackneyed idea ; 
so, if you please, we will let the line stand as 
it is. I have altered the song as follows : — 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



^Uc. 



BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS TROOPS AT 
BANNOCKBURN.* 



Tune — Lewis Gordon. 



Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace t bled ; 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie ! 



* ["The field on which this memorable battle was fought 
is annually visited by English tourists, and they seldom leave 
it without carrying away something to remind them of the 
spot. Some even invaded the sanctity of the ' Bore stone,' 
in which the standard of Bruce was placed, and carried bits 
with them as specimens. Those who reflect rightly on the 
upshot of the contest feel that in the triumph of free-born 
men the great cause of liberty triumphed : no historian, save 
one with a contracted heart — nor enlightened statesman, 
can regard the struggles of Scotland with other feelings than 
those of sympathy. " Few Scotsmen can pass the porphyry 
tomb of Edward the First in Westminster Abbey, without a 
certain mounting of the blood; or look upon the 'old black 
stone of Scone,' without recollecting how it came there. 
These are not narrow-souled nationalities. 

" The memorable Scotch stone is any thing but black ; it is 
j j a rough-piled reddish-grey sandstone, such as may be found 
j i on the Solway-side at Arbigland; it is six-and- twenty inches 
i | long, sixteen inches wide, and eleven inches thick, and is 
i i fixed in the bottom of the chair with cramps of iron. The 
! stone is unquestionably Scottish : troughs, crosses, and other 
| ancient matters, at present to be found in the north, seem 
i ; from the same quarry." — Cunningham.] 

t [The renowned Sir William Wallace, of Elderslie, whose 
i ardent love of his native country, and the freedom of her sons, 
j distinguished him above all other men of his own day, and 
who, by his talents and his valour, and his many patriotic 
virtues, won the confidence of the whole Scottish nation, was 
a younger branch of the very ancient family of Wallace of 
Craigie and Elderslie, in the county of Ayr, which family is 
noted in history long before the time of the great Sir William, 
and had been honoured with rank and wealth, and had exten- 
sive possessions. Among the distinguished members of this 
ancient family, perhaps the most remarkable was Sir John 
Wallace of Craigie, who defeated the English at the battle of 
Sark. The Wallaces of Craigie, among other proofs of royal 
favour, had a coat of arms very nearly the same as the royal 
arms of Scotland, including tne royal tressure, a mark of dis- 
tinction granted in ancient times for signal services in the 
field of battle. The arms of this family (a lion within a 
double tressure, with two lions ;is supporters, and two eagles' 
heads crossed), were borne by them. Mottoes were not much 
in use in these early days ; and therefore we find the arms of 
Wallace of Craigie without any motto attached, as the im- 
pression of a seal of that family now before us proves, which 
seal is attached to a deed written on parchment, dated in 
1464, with a sight of which we have been favoured by its 
possessor, Mr. Wallace of Kelly ; both are in perfect preserv- 
ation, and we have been permitted to attach an engraving of 
the seal to the fac-simile of Burns' celebrated Ode, in order 
to exhibit the arms of Sir William Wallace's family. 

Sir William Wallace of Elderslie, the patriot so especially 
referred to in the universally popular Ode of Scots, wha 
hae wi' Wallace bled ; but better known in the history 
of his country under the well-merited title of " The Guardian 
of Scotland," left no male issue ; and consequently the branch 
of the family he sprung from, which was a younger branch, 
was merged in that of the parent stock. Besides the arms 
here described, the Wallace family have long used as a crest 
the broad-sword proper, with ''Pro Libertate," as motto. 
This device was conferred on the " Guardian of Scotland" 
by the monarch who wore that crown he so gallantly de- 
fended, as emblematic of his high deserts, indomitable cou- 



Now 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's powei- 
Edward ! chains and slaverie ! 



Wha will be a traitor-knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 



rage, and extraordinary success in defence of his king and 
country. 

Mr. Wallace, of Kelly, the male representative of the 
family, is entitled to bear the principal arms of the ancient 
family of Craigie, surmounted by the proper crest and motto. 

The immortal Sir William Wallace, one of the favourite 
heroes of our Bard, is still honourably represented by Mr. 
Wallace, through a long line of ancestors. In the family tree 
his descent is clearly traced as the heir male of Wallace of 
Craigie, and of the younger branch from which sprung the 
Guardian of Scotland, who, it is well known, was treacher- 
ously betrayed by Sir John Monteith into the hands of Edw. I. 
of England, and afterwards most foully murdered in the Tower 
of London, in 1305.— Had Burns been spared to witness the 
course of public life that he who represents the Guardian of 
Scotland has chalked out and followed during three succes- 
sive Parliaments — that is, ever since the passing of the Re- 
form Bill, which for the first time opened the doors of the 
House of Commons to men of Mr. Wallace's liberal views 
on all questions, political and commercial — a course so truly 
congenial to the liberty-loving soul of the Poet, it would 
doubtless have induced him to address the honourable mem- 
ber for Greenock in terms of well-merited eulogiurc ; and 
thereby have lent his aid in transmitting to posterity the 
worth and usefulness of that public-spirited and indefatiga- 
ble legislator. 

The Wallace family have often had the honour of knight- 
hood conferred on its chiefs, besides being able to boast of 
at least two baronetcies. Why these have not been continued 
to the heirs male we are at a loss to conjecture ; for surely 
honours bestowed for services rendered the state in times so 
long gone by should be perpetuated ; and we cannot but think 
that, in doing this, Mr. Wallace would be but receiving an 
act of justice to the memory of his patriotic progenitors, and 
to his own position in the country. Who else is there in all 
the length and breadth of the land, who would not be proud 
to boast of the lineage entitling him to bear the arms and 
claim the rank of Sir John Wallace, who defeated the Eng- 
lish on the banks of the Sark ; and still more those of Scot- 
land's hero and chosen guardian, the illustrious Sir William 
Wallace? — Vide Burns's noble poem, "The Vision," p. 206. 

Mr. Wallace's only surviving brother, Sir James Maxwell 
Wallace, commands (1840) that distinguished regiment, the 
8th dragoon guards. He entered the army in 1805, and rose 
gradually from cornet to colonel in the following regiments, 
the 9th, 11th, 2 1st, and royal dragoons. He had the honour 
of knighthood, and order of Hanover conferred on him by 
William IV., and the order of Leopold, by the King of the 
Belgians, who was many years his commanding officer, as 
Colonel of the Princess Charlotte's Own, or 5th Dragoon 
Guards. He was promoted to the rank of colonel at the 
coronation of Queen Victoria, and attained the privilege of 
wearing the Beigic Order of Leopold, in consequence of the 
services he performed on the l6th, ljth, and 18th of June, 
1815, during the memorable battles of Quatre Bras, Gemappe, 
and Waterloo. He married, first, in 1818, Miss E. Hodges, 
daughter of W. P. Hodges, Esq. of Euston Grey ; secondly, 
the widow of the late Sir Alexander Don, of Newton Don, 
M.P. for the county of Roxburgh, whose only son, Sir Wil- 
liam Don, is the nearest lineal descendant of Burns's friend 
and patron, James, Earl of Glencairn, to whom the Poet 
dedicated one of his best odes. — C.J 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



477 



W-ha for Scotland's king and law, 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw ; 
Free-man stand, or Free-man fa', 
Sodger ! hero ! on wi' me I* 

v. 
By Oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall, they shall be free ! 



Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! 

Forward ! let us do, or die ! ! ! 



N.B. — I have borrowed the last stanza from 
the common stall edition of Wallace : — 

" A false usurper sinks in every foe, 
And liberty returns with every blow." 

A couplet worthy of Homer. Yesterday you 
had enough of my correspondence. The post 
goes, and my head aches miserably. One com- 
fort — I suffer so much, just now, in this world, 
for last night's joviality, that I shall escape 
scot-free for it in the world to come. Amen ! 
R. B. 

We are happy in being enabled to illustrate 
this unique Standard Edition of the works 
of our great Scottish Bard, by an exact 
Fac-Simile of the improved version of this 
immortal Ode, embellished with accurately 
engraved represent ations of the Family Seals 
of Sir William Wallace of Craigie, chief of the 
Wallaces in 1464, and of the elder branch of 
that illustrious family, together with the two- 
edged sword of the hero. The original ode in 
question is now where it ought to be, in the 
hands of Robert Wallace, Esq., of Kelly, M.P. 
for Greenock, who has kindly lent it to the 
Editor of this work for the purpose of having a 
Fac-Simile engraved, to present to the ad- 
mirers of Burns throughout the world. 

The original Ode is accompanied by the fol- 
loAving letter of the Poet : — 

TO CAPT. MILLER, DALSWINTON. 

Dear Sir : 

The following Ode is on a subject which I 
know you by no means regard with indif- 
ference. 

" O Liberty,— 



Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay, 
Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day!" 

It does me so much good to meet with a man 
whose honest bosom glows with the generous 
enthusiasm, the heroic daring, of Liberty, that 
I could not forbear sending you a composition 



* Afterwards altered to Caledonian I <*ee No. XLV. 



of my own on the subject, which I really think 
is in my best manner. 

I have the honour to be, 
Dear Sir, 
Your very humble Servant, 

Robert Burns. 



No. XLIV. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

12th September, 1793. 

A thousand thanks to you, my dear Sir, 
for your observations on the list of my songs. 
I am happy to find your ideas so much in 
unison with my own, respecting the generality 
of the airs, as well as the verses. About some 
of them we differ, but there is no disputing 
about hobby-horses. I shall not fail to profit 
by the remarks you make ; and to re-consider 
the whole with attention. 

" Dainty Davie" must be sung, two stanzas 
together, and then the chorus ; His the proper 
way. I agree with you that there may be 
something of pathos, or tenderness at least, in 
the air of "Fee him, Father," when performed 
with feeling : but a tender cast may be given 
almost to any lively air, if you sing it very 
slowly, expressively, and with serious words. 
I am, however, clearly and invariably for re- 
taining the cheerful tunes joined to their own 
humorous verses, wherever the verses are passa- 
ble. But the sweet song for " Fee him, Father," 
which you began about the back of midnight, I 
will publish as an additional one. Mr. James 
Balfour, the king of good fellows, and the best 
singer of the lively Scottish ballads that ever 
existed, has charmed thousands of companies 
with "Fee him, Father," and with "Todlm' 
hame" also, to the old words, which never 
should be disunited from either of these airs. 
Some Bacchanals I would wish to discard. 
" Fye, let's a' to the bridal," for instance, is so 
coarse and vulgar that I think it fit only to be 
sung in a company of drunken colliers : and 
" Saw ye my Father" appears to me both in- 
delicate and silly. 

One word more with regard to your heroic 
ode. I think, with great deference to the poet, 
that a prudent general would avoid saying any 
thing to his- soldiers which might tend to make 
death more frightful than it is. " Gory" pre- 
sents a disagreeable image to the mind ; and to 
tell them, " Welcome to your gory bed," 
seems rather a discouraging address, notwith- 
standing the alternative which follows. I have 
shewn the song to three friends of excellent 
taste, and each of them objected to this line, 
which emboldens me to use the freedom of 
bringing it again under your notice. I would 
suggest, 

" Now prepare for honour's bed, 

Or for glorious victorie." G. T. 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



[Some of the opinions expressed in this letter 
are entitled to respect : others are so singular 
as to require notice. Neither " Fye, let us a' 
to the bridal," nor "Saw ye my Father/' merit 
the hard words which Thomson applies to them : 
for the time in which they were written, they 
are neither vulgar nor indelicate. Both songs 
till a late period continued to be sung in the 
best companies in Scotland, nor has the noble 
descendant of a house — noble both by genius 
and birth — hesitated to claim the merit of 
writing — "Eye, let us a' to the bridal," for one 
of his ancestors. Something like the taste of 
Thomson came a few years back over a small 
coterie of ladies in the north : they laid the 
songs of Scotland before them, and, placing their 
fingers on all such parts as they reckoned inde- 
licate, held a consultation upon the meaning, 
and, after many shakings of the head and whis- 
perings in the ear, they smoothed down without 
remorse whatever seemed to rise higher than 
their fanciful level of purity. The concluding- 
paragraph of Thomson's communication requires 
no comment : that he was wrong the world has 
likely by this time convinced him. Who can 
read his altered lines after 

" Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to victorie — " 

without feeling that such emendations crush the 
original spirit out of the verse, and give nothing 
in return, save increase of sound ? — Cunning- 
ham.] 



No. XLV. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

September, 1793. 

" Who shall decide when doctors disagree?" 
My ode pleases me so much that I cannot alter 
it. Your proposed alterations would, in my 



* See the annexed fac simile of this improved version. 

j- [" Mr. Thomson very properly adopted the song of ' Ban- 
nockurn,' as the Bard presented it to him. He attached it to 
the air of 'Lewie Gordon,' and perhaps among the existing 
airs he could not find a better ; but the poetry is suited to a 
much higher strain of music, and may employ the genius of 
some Scottish Handel, if any such should in future arise. 
The reader will have observed that Burns adopted the altera- 
tions proposed by his friend and correspondent in former in- 
stances, with great readiness ; perhaps indeed, on ail indiffer- 
ent occasions. In the present instance, however, he rejected 
them, though repeatedly urged, with determined resolution. 
With every respect for the judgment of Mr. Thomson and 
his friends, we may be satisfied that he did so. He who in 
preparing for an engagement attempts to withdraw his ima- 
gination from images of death will probably have but im- 
perfect success ; and is not fitted to stand in the ranks of bat- 
tle, where the liberties of a kingdom are at issue. Of such 
men the conquerors at Bannockburn were not composed. 
Bruce's troops were inured to war, and familiar with all its 
sufferings and dangers. On the eve of that memorable day, 
their spirits were without doubt wound up to a pitch of enthu- 
siasm suited to the occasion — a pitch of enthusiasm at which 
danger becomes attractive, and the most terrific fi rms of 
death are no longer terrible. Such a strain of sentiment 
this heroic 'welcome' may be supposed well calcu'ated to 



opinion, make it tame. I am exceedingly 
obliged to you for putting me on re-considering 
it; as I think I have much improved it. In- 
stead of " soger! hero !" I will have it "Cale- 
donian ! on wi' me !"* 

I have scrutinized it, over and over ; and to 
the world, some way or other, it shall go as it is. 
At the same time it will not in the least hurt 
me should you leave it out altogether, and ad- 
here to your first intention of adopting Logan's 
verses. I 

I have finished my song to " Saw ye my 
Father ;" and in English, as you will see. 
That there is a syllable too much for the ex- 
pression of the air, it is true ; but, allow me to 
say that the mere dividing of a dotted crotchet 
into a crotchet and a quaver is not a great 
matter : however, in that, I have no pretensions 
to cope in judgment with you. Of the poetry 
I speak with confidence ; but the music is a 
business where I hint my ideas with the utmost 
diffidence. 

The old verses have merit, though unequal, 
and are popular : my advice is to set the air to 
the old words, and let mine follow as English 
verses. Here they are — 

dfaiv $tmxv. 



Tune — Saw ye my Father ? 



Where are the joys I have met in the morning, 
That danc'd to the lark's early song ? 

Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, 
At ev'ning the wild woods among ? 

11. 
No more a-winding the course of yon river, 

And marking sweet flow'rets so fair : 
No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 

But sorrow and sad sighing care. 



elevate— to raise their hearts high above fear, and to nerve 
their arms to the utmost pitch of mortal exertion. These 
observations might be illustrated and supported by reference 
to the martial poetry of all nations, from the spirit-stir- 
ring strains of TyrtEeus to the war-song of General Wolfe. 
Mr. Thomson's observation, that 'Welcome to your gory bed 
is a discouraging address,' seems not sufficiently considered. 
Perhaps, indeed, it may be admitted that the term gory is 
somewhat objectionable, not on account of its presenting a 
frightful, but a disagreeable, image to the mind. But a great 
Poet, uttering his conceptions on an interesting occasion, 
seeks always to present a picture that is vivid, and is uni- 
formly disposed to sacrifice the delicacies of taste on the 
altar of the imagination. And it is the privilege of supe- 
rior genius, by producing a new association, to elevate ex- 
pressions that were originally low, and thus to triumph over 
the deficiencies of language. In how many instances might 
this be exemplified from the works of our immortal Shaks* 
peare : — 

" Who would fardels bear. 
To groan and sweat under a weary life ; — 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ?" 

It were easy to enlarge, but to suggest such reflections is 
probably sufficient." — Currie.] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



479 



Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys, 

And grim, surly winter is near ? 
No, no ! the bees' humming round the gay roses, 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

IV. 

Fain would I hide, what I fear to discover, 

Yet long, long too well have I known 
All that has caused this wreck in my bosom, 

Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone, 
v. 
Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish, 

Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 



Adieu, my dear Sir ! The post goes, so I 
shall defer some other remarks until more leisure. 

R. B. 



No. XLYI. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

September, 1793. 

I have been turning over some volumes of 
songs, to find verses whose measures would suit 
the airs for which you have allotted me to find 
English songs. 

For " Muirland Willie," you have, in Ram- 
say's Tea-table Miscellany, an excellent song, 
beginning, "Ah why those tears in Nelly's 
eyes?" As for " The Collier's dochter," take 
the following old Bacchanal : — 

©elii&ett i^foatn, tl)e pleasure. 



Deluded swain, the pleasure 
The fickle fair can give thee 

Is but a fairy treasure — 
Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. 

11. 
The billows on the ocean, 

The breezes idly roaming, 
The clouds' uncertain motion — 

They are but types of woman. 

in. 

O ! art thou not ashamed 
To doat upon a feature ? 

If man thou would' st be named. 
Despise the silly creature. 

IV. 

Go, find an honest fellow ; 

Good claret set before thee : 
Hold on till thou art mellow, 

And then to bed in glory. 

* See No. XXV. where it is given correctly. 



The faulty line in " Logan- Water," I mend 
thus : — 

" How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?"* 

The song, otherwise, will pass. As to 
" M'Gregoira Rua-Ruth," you will see a song 
of mine to it, with a set of the air superior to 
yours in the Museum. Vol. ii. p. 81. The 
song begins : — 

" Raving winds around her blowing. "f 

Your Irish airs are pretty, but they are down- 
right Irish. If they were like the " Banks of 
Banna," for instance, though really Irish, yet 
in the Scottish taste, you might adopt them. 
Since you are so fond of Irish music, what say 
you to twenty-five of them in an additional 
number? We could easily find this quantity 
of charming airs ; I will take care that you 
shall not want songs; and I assure you that 
you would find it the most saleable of the whole. 
If you do not approve of "Roy's wife," for the 
music's sake, we shall not insert it. " Deil 
tak the wars," is a charming song; so is " Saw 
ye my Peggy ?" " There's nae luck about the 
house" well deserves a place. I cannot say 
that " O'er the hills and far awa," strikes me as 
equal to your selection. " This is no my ain 
house," is a great favourite air of mine ; and, if 
you will send me your set of it, I will task my 
muse to her highest effort. What is your 
opinion of " I hae laid a herrin' in sawt ?" I 
like it much. Your Jacobite airs are pretty : 
and there are many others of the same kind, 
pretty ; but you have not room for them. You 
cannot, I think, insert, "Fye, let's a' to the 
bridal " to any other words than its own. 

What pleases me as simple and naive disgusts 
you as ludicrous and low. For this reason, 
" Fye, gie me my coggie, Sirs," " Fye, let's a' 
to the bridal," with several others of that cast, 
are, to me, highly pleasing ; while, " Saw ye 
my Father, or saw ye my Mother ?" delights 
me with its descriptive simple pathos. Thus 
my song, " Ken ye what Meg 0' the Mill has 
gotten ?" pleases myself so much that I cannot 
try my hand at another song to the air : so I 
shall not attempt it. I know you will laugh at 
all this ; but, " Ilka man wears his belt his 
ain gait." R. B. 



[Burns, in the song to the air of " The Col- 
lier's Daughter," seems to have had in mind 
the famous old northern chant : — ■ 

" Fye, gie me my coggie, sirs, 
And fye, gie me my coggie ; 
I wadna gie my three- girred cog, 
For a' the queans in Bogie." 

The songs which the Poet enumerates in this 
letter, and the opinions which he expresses on 



f This Song will be found in page 37'-. 



480 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



their merits, are such as might be looked for 
from one who felt humour and tenderness, 
pathos and simplicity, with all the force of true 
genius. The refinement which would exclude 
from society such songs as " Fie, gie me my 
coggie, Sirs," " Fye, let us a' to the bridal," 
" The Auld Gudeman," " Meg o' the Mill," 
and others of a similar stamp, is of a very 
questionable kind.] 



No. XLVII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

October, 1793. 

Your last letter, my dear Thomson, was 
indeed laden with heavy news. Alas ! poor 
Erskine !* The recollection that he was a coad- 
jutor in your publication has, till now, scared 
me from writing to you, or turning my thoughts 
on composing for you. 

I am pleased that you are reconciled to the 
air of the " Quaker's Wife;" though, by the 
bye, an old Highland gentleman and a deep 
antiquarian tells me it is a Gaelic air, and 
known by the name of " Leiger m' choss." 
The following verses, I hope, will please you^ 
as an English song to the air : — 



Tune— The Quaker's Wife. 



Thine am I, my faithful fair, 

Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 
Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 

Ev'ry roving fancy. 
II. 
To thy bosom lay my heart, 

There to throb and languish : 
Tho' despair had wrung its core, 

That would heal its anguish. 
in. 
Take away these rosy lips, 

Rich with balmy treasure : 
Turn away thine eyes of love, 

Lest I die with pleasure. 

IV. 

What is life when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning : 
Love's the cloudless summer sun, 

Nature gay adorning, f 



* The honourable A. Erskine, brother to Lord Kelly, whose 
melancholy death Mr. Thomson had communicated in an ex 
cellent letter which he has suppressed. — Currie. 

t [We owe this song, it is said, to the charms of Clarinda 
The words bear no resemblance to the old strains which ac- 
company the air of "The Quaker's wife," to which it is 
adapted : — 

" Merrily danced the Quaker's wife, 
Merrily danced the Quaker; 
Menily danced the Quaker's wife, 
Wi' a' her bairns about her." 



Your objection to the English Song I pro- 
posed for " John Anderson, my jo," is certainly 
just. The following is by an old acquaintance 
of mine, and I think has merit. The song was 
never in print, which I think is so much in 
your favour. The more original good poetry 
your collection contains, it certainly has so 
much the more merit. 

SONG. 
By Gavin Turnbull. 

condescend, dear charming maid, 
My wretched state to view ; 

A tender swain to love betray'd, 
And sad despair, by you. 

While here, all melancholy, 

My passion I deplore, 
Yet, urg'd by stern resistless fate, 

1 love thee more and more. 

1 heard of love, and with disdain 
The urchin's power denied : 

I laugh'd at every lover's pain, 
And mock'd them when they sigh A. 

But how my state is alter' d ! 

Those happy days are o'er ; 
For all thy unrelenting hate, 

I love thee more and more. 

O yield, illustrious beauty, yield I 

No longer let me mourn ; 
And, tho' victorious in the field, 

Thy captive do not scorn. 

Let generous pity warm thee, 

My wonted peace restore ; 
And, grateful, I shall bless thee still, 

And love thee more and more. 

The following address of Turnbull's to the 
Nightingale will suit as an English song to the 
air, " There was a lass, and she was fair." By 
the bye, Turnbull has a great many songs in 
MS., which I can command, if you like his 
manner. Possibly, as he is an old friend of 
mine, I may be prejudiced in his favour ; but I 
like some of his pieces very much : — 

THE NIGHTINGALE. 
By G. Turnbull. 
Thou sweetest minstrel of the grove 

That ever tried the plaintive strain ; 
Awake thy tender tale of love, 
And soothe a poor forsaken swain. 

For, tho' the muses deign to aid, 
And teach him smoothly to complain ; 

Yet Delia, charming, cruel maid, 
Is deaf to her forsaken swain. 



The lover of old English poetry will perceive a resemblance 
between the third verse of the song of Burns, and that truly 
exquisite one attributed to 8hakspeare : — 

"Take, oh! take those lips away, 
That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
And those eyes, the break of day, 

Lights that do mislead the more ; 
But my kisses bring again, 
Seals of love, but sealed in vain." 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



481 



All day, with Fashion's gaudy sons, 

In sport she wanders o'er the plain ; 
Their tales approves, and still she shuns 

The notes of her forsaken swain. 
When evening shades obscure the sky, 

And bring the solemn hours again, 
Begin, sweet bird, thy melody, 

And soothe a poor forsaken swain. 

I shall just transcribe another of TurnbulPs, 
which would go charmingly to ' Lewie Gordon :' 

LAURA. 

By G. Turnbull. 
Let me wander where I will, 
By shady wood, or winding rill ; 
Where the sweetest May-born flowers 
Paint the meadows, deck the bowers ; 
Where the linnet's early song 
Echoes sweet the woods among : 
Let me wander where I will, 
Laura haunts my fancy still. 

If at rosy dawn I choose 
To indulge the smiling muse : 
If I court some cool retreat, 
To avoid the noontide heat ; 
If beneath the moon's pale ray, 
Thro' unfrequented wilds I stray ; 
Let me wander where I will, 
Laura haunts my fancy still. 

When at night the drowsy god 
Waves his sleep-compelling rod, 
And to fancy's wakeful eyes 
Bids celestial visions rise ; 
While with boundless joy I rove 
Thro' the fairy land of love : 
Let me wander where I will, 
Laura haunts my fancy still. 

The rest of your letter I shall answer at 
some other opportunity.* 

[Gavin Turnbull was the Author of a volume 
entitled " Poetical Essays," published in Glas- 
gow, in 1788.] 



No.XLVIII. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

7th November, 1/93. 

My good Sir : 

After so long a silence it gave me peculiar 

pleasure to recognize your well-known hand, 

for I bad begun to be apprehensive that all was 

not well with you. I am happy to find, how- 



* [" Like all men of true genius," says Motherwell, 
| Burns was the least susceptible of literary jealousy, and 
the first to acknowledge the claims of a co-rival to poetical 
distinction." In " Alexander Campbell's History of Scottish 
Poetry," there appears this brief notice of the work of one 
of whom Burns speaks in so flattering a manner : — 

" No sooner had the Paisley press produced the poems of 
Mr. Ebenezer Picken, than the Poetical Essays of Gavin 
Turnbull, in 1778, issued from the press of Mr. David Niven 
of Glasgow. The ' Poetical Essays' of Mr. Turnbull are 
such as do him the highest credit. I am hopeful he will go 
on ; for, in truth, the specimens already before the public 
give, so far as I understand, uncommon satisfaction. It was 
the peculiar felicity of Burns, on his first entrance on the 
literary stage, to be patronized and supported, even to a de- 



ever, that your silence did not proceed from that 
cause, and that you have got among the ballads 
once more. 

I have to thank you for your English so\ig 
to "Leiger m' choss," which I think extremely 
good, although the colouring is warm. Your 
friend Mr. TurnbulPs songs have doubtless con- 
siderable merit ; and, as you have the command 
of his manuscripts, I hope you may find out 
some that will answer as English songs, to the 
airs yet unprovided. G. T. 



[During almost the whole period that Burns 
lived in Dumfries, he was suffering from the 
twofold misery of misrepresentation and po- 
verty. His farming speculations had drained 
his pockets of money, and the base and the 
malevolent were labouring to deprive him of 
bread. Well might he say as he did, that he 
had small heart to sing. Can the lark warble 
under the wing of the raven ? — Cunningham.] 



No. XLIX. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

December, 1793. 

Tell me how you like the following verses 
to the tune of " Jo Janet :" — 



Husband, husband, cease your strife, 

Nor longer idly rave, sir : 
Tho' I am your wedded wife, 

Yet I am not your slave, sir. 
" One of two must still obey, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Is it man, or woman, say, 

My spouse, Nancy ?" 



If 'tis still the lordly word, 

Service and obedience ; 
I'll desert my sov'reign lord, 

And so, good b'ye, allegiance !f 
" Sad will I be, so bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Yet I'll try to make a shift, 

My spouse, Nancy." 



gree rarely the lot of the most consummate talents. It be- 
came for a time the rage, to use a fashionable phrase, to 
talk of him, recite his pieces, and boast of having spent an 
evening in company with the Ayr-shire bard. No wonder 
then, if the contemporaries of Burns were neglected by those 
who are looked up to as the umpires of literary reputation. 
But one consolation remained ; the ingenious author escaped 
the most poignant mortification, usually attendant on talents 
unaccompanied by prudence, that is, the supercilious sneer, 
indicative of altered opinion, and its humiliating consequence, 
cold indifference. Did not Burns experience all this ?"] 

t Var. — If the word is still obey, 

Always love and fear you, 
I will take myself away, 

And never more come near you. 
2 I 



482 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



My poor heart then break it must, 

My last hour I'm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust, 

Think, think, how you will bear it. 
" 1 will hope and trust in heaven, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Strength to bear it will be given, 

My spouse, Nancy." 



Well, sir. from the silent dead, 

Still I'll try to daunt you , 
Ever round your midnight bed 

Horrid sprites shall haunt you. 
" I'll wed another, like my dear 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Then all hell will fly for fear, 

My spouse, Nancy." * 



Wit tljou U mg dearie ! 



Air — The Sitter's Dochter. 



Wilt thou be my dearie ? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, 

Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 

By the treasure of my soul, 

That's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow that only thou 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

ii. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 
Or, if thou wilt na be my ain, 
Say na thou'lt refuse me : 
If it winna, canna be, 
Thou, for thine may choose ine, 
Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'est me. 
Lassie, let me quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



* [ In composing this song the Poet had in his eye the 
lyrics of the olden time : the more immediate object of his 
imitation was " My Jo Janet," in the collection of Allan 
Ramsay, beginning — 

" Sweet Sir, for your courtesie, 

When ye come to the Bass, then 
For the love ye bear to me, 
Buy me a keeking-glass, then." 
" Keek into the draw well, 
Janet, Janet, 
And there ye'll see your bonnie sel,' 
My Jo Janet." 

Burns regretted that he had not sooner turned his thoughts 
upon lyrics of a conversational character.] 

t A letter to Mr. Cunningham, to be found in the corres- 
pondence, under the date of Feb. 25th, 1794. 

t f" The painter who pleased Burns and Thomson so much 



[This song was said to have been composed in 
honour of the charms of Janet Miller, of Dais- 
winton, mother to the present Earl of Mar, and 
at that time one of the loveliest women in all 
the south of Scotland. The Poet thought so 
well of it that he gave a copy to Johnson as 
well as to Thomson.] 



No. L. 



G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 17th April, 1794. 

My dear Sir : 

Owing to the distress of our friend for the 
loss of his child, at the time of his receiving 
your admirable but melancholy letter, I had not 
an opportunity till lately of perusing it.f How 
sorry I am to find Burns saying, "canst thou 
not minister to a mind diseased ?" while he is 
delighting others from one end of the island to 
the other. Like the hypochondriac who went 
to consult a physician upon his case — " Go," 
says the doctor, " and see the famous Carlini, 
who keeps all Paris in good humour." "Alas ! 
Sir," replied the patient, " I am that unhappy 
Carlini !" 

Your plan for our meeting together pleases 
me greatly, and I trust that by some means or 
other it will soon take place ; but your Baccha- 
nalian challenge almost frightens me, for I am 
a miserable weak drinker ! 

Allan is much gratified by your good opinion 
of his talents. He has just begun a sketch 
from your " Cotter's Saturday Night," and, if 
it pleases himself in the design, he will pro- 
bably etch or engrave it. In subjects of the 
pastoral and humorous kind, he is perhaps un- 
rivalled by any artist living. He fails a little 
in giving beauty and grace to his females, and 
his colouring is sombre ; otherwise, his paintings 
and drawings would be in greater request. J 

I like the music of the " Sutor's dochter," 
and will consider whether it shall be added to 
the last volume ; your verses to it are pretty ; 
but your humorous English song to suit " Jo 
Janet," is inimitable. What think you of the 
air, " Within a mile of Edinburgh?" It has 



with his shepherds and shepherdesses was David Allan ; he 
studied in Rome and in London, but acquired little fame 
from his classic efforts compared to what he achieved by his 
delineations of the pastoral scenes and happy peasantry of 
his native country. With loveliness he could do little ; but 
give him an old cottage, with older plenishing, and still 
older inhabitants, and he could do all but work miracles. 
An ancient chair with a dog sleeping — or seeming to sleep- 
under it : an old woman twirling her distaff in the sun, with 
her cat and her chickens around her ; or an old man sitting 
ruminating at his own fire-side, with his Bible on his knees, 
inspired him at once ; and in subjects such as these he has 
never been surpassed. His illustrations of Ramsay's Gentk 
Shepherd will bear out these commendations ; his Glaudand 
Symon, his Mause and Madge, are inimitable ; not so his. 
Eatie and his Peggie ; his forte lay in representing humorous 
characters, and he failed when youth and loveliness came be- 
fore him to be limned. His mantle, with a double portion oi 
his power, has fallen on Da\id Wilkie." — Cunningham.] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



483 



always struck me as a modern English imitation, 
but it is said to be Oswald's, and is so much 
liked that I believe I must include it. The 
verses are little better than namby-pamby. 
Do you consider it worth a stanza or two ? 

G. T. 



No. LI. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

May, 1794. 

My dear Sir : 

I return you the plates, with which I am 
highly pleased ; I would humbly propose, 
instead of the younker knitting stockings, to 
put a stock and horn into his hands. A friend 
of mine, who is positively the ablest judge on 
the subject I have ever met with, and, though 
an unknown, is yet a superior, artist with the 
burin, is quite charmed with Allan's manner. 
I got him a peep of the Gentle Shepherd ; and 
he pronounces Allan a most original artist of 
great excellence. 

For my part, I look on Mr. Allan's choosing 
my favourite poem for his subject to be one of 
the highest compliments I have ever received. 

I am quite vexed at Pleyel's being cooped up 
in France, as it will put an entire stop to our 
work. Now, and for six or seven months, I 
shall be quite in song, as you shall see by and 
by. I got an air, pretty enough, composed by 
Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron, which she 
calls " The banks of Cree." Cree is a beautiful 
romantic stream : and, as her Ladyship is a 
particular friend of mine, I have written the 
following song to it : — 

it eve iS tfje (§len. 



Tune— Banks of Cree. 
I. 

Here is the glen, and here the bower, 

All underneath the birchen shade ; 
The village-bell has told the hour — 

O what can stay my lovely maid ? 
11. 
; Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 

'Tis not the balmy-breathing gale, 
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, 

The dewy star of eve to hail, 
in. 
It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove, 
His little faithful mate to cheer, 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 



* A portion of this letter has been left out, for reasons that 
•rill be easily imagined. 

f [" ' It were to be wished,' says Currie, ' that instead of 
' ruffian feeling' in the second verse, that the Bard had used 
) less rugged epithet — e. g. ruder.' Burns seldom failed 
to clothe his thoughts in suitable language : the sentiment 
put on at once its livery of words, and he was loth to make 
alterations. The remark of Currie strikes, not at this expres- 



And art thou come ? and art thou true ? 

O welcome, dear to love and me ! 
And let us all our vows renew 

Along the flow'ry banks of Cree. 



[The Poet had a double task to perform for 
the family of Kerroughtree : he wrote lyrics in 
honour of the lady, and lampoons for the bene- 
fit of the laird. The first was a task according 
to his heart, and he performed it the readier 
that Lady Elizabeth Heron was fair and ac- 
complished : of his success in the latter, the 
Heron Ballads have already informed the reader.] 



No. LII. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

July 1794. 

Is there no news yet of Pleyel? Or is your 
work to be at a dead stop until the allies set 
our modern Orpheus at liberty from the savage 
thraldom of democratic discords ? Alas the 
day ! And woe is me ! That auspicious period, 
pregnant with the happiness of millions — * 
* * * * 

I have presented a copy of your songs to the 
daughter of a much-valued and much-honoured 
friend of mine, Mr. Graham of Fintray. I 
wrote, on the blank side of the title-page, tin 
following address to the young lady : — 

Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives, 

In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'cl, 
Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who gives, 

Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 
So may no ruffian feeling f in thy breast 

Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among ; 
But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 

Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song : 

Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears, 

As modest want the tale of woe reveals ; 

While conscious virtue all the strain endears, 
And heaven-born piety her sanction seals. 



No. LIII. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, \0th August, 1794. 

My dear Sir : 
I owe you an apology for having so long de- 
layed to acknowledge the favour of your last. 



sion alone, but at the general language of the Poet's verse 
We must take him as we find him ; had he softened dowi 
his masculine energy, he would have robbed his poems of ?. 
great charm : the rose would be less lovely were its thorns 
removed, and how would the thistle look without its prickles '! 
The cry of the eagle can never be tamed down into the sonp 
of the lark, nor the wild note of the blackbird sobered intc 
that of the wren." — Cunningham.] 



4S4 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



I fear it will be as you say, I shall have no 
more songs from Pleyel till France and we are 
friends ; but, nevertheless, I am very desirous 
to be prepared with the poetry, and, as the 
season approaches in which your muse of Coila 
visits you, I trust I shall, as formerly, be fre- 
quently gratified with the result of your amo- 
rous and tender interviews ! G. T. 



[Burns in the preceding letter, and Thomson 
in this, allude to the commencement of that 
terrible war which shook the thrones of Europe, 
and strewed hill and vale with slaughtered bo- 
dies. Democratic ferocity on one side, and 
kingly tyranny on the other, turned the Conti- 
nent into a battle-field: the notes of Pleyel 
were unheard amid the trumpet-sound and the 
din of artillery : and some of the songs of 
Burns, expressing a manly — a true Scottish- 
love for freedom — were for a time unacceptable 
to the people of Britain.] 



No. LIV. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

30 th August, 1794. 

The last evening, as I was straying out, and 
thinking of " O'er the hills and far away," I 
spun the following stanza for it ; but whether 
my spinning will deserve to be laid up in store, 
like the precious thread of the silk-worm, or 
brushed to the devil like the vile manufacture 
of the spider, I leave, my dear Sir, to your 
usual candid criticism. I was pleased with 
several lines in it, at first ; but I own that now 
it appears rather a flimsy business. 

This is just a hasty sketch, until I see whe- 
ther it be worth a critique. We have many 
sailor songs ; but, as far as I at present recol- 
lect, they are mostly the effusions of the jovial 
sailor, not the wailings of the love-lorn mis- 
tress. I must here make one sweet exception 
— " Sweet Annie frae the Sea-beach came." 
Now for the song : — 

<&n ti)t §$ta$ antt far aiuai). 



Tune — O'er the Hills and far away. 



How can my poor heart be glad, 
When absent from my sailor lad. 
How can I the thought forego ? 
He's on the seas to meet the foe. 
Let me wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with my love : 
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day, 
Are with him that's far away. 

On the seas and far away, 
On stormy seas and far away ; 



Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 

11. 
When in summer noon I faint, 
As weary flocks around me pant, 
Haply in this scorching sun , ' 
My sailor's thund'ring at his gun : 
Bullets, spare my only joy ! 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate do with me what you may — 
Spare but him that's far away ! 

in. 

At the starless midnight hour, 

When winter rules with boundless power ; 

As the storms the forest tear, 

And thunders rend the howling air, 

Listening to the doubling roar, 

Surging on the rocky shore, 

All I can — I weep and pray, 

For his weal that's far away. 

IV. 

Peace, thy olive wand extend, 

And bid wild war his ravage end, 

Man with brother man to meet, 

And as a brother kindly greet : 

Then may heaven with prosp'rous gales 

Fill my sailor's welcome sails, 

To my arms their charge convey — 

My dear lad that's far away. 

On the seas and far away, 

On stormy seas and far away ; 

Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day, 

Are aye with him that's far away. 
I gave you leave to abuse this song, but do it 
in the spirit of Christian meekness. R. B. 



No. LV. 



G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 16th Sept., 1794. 

My dear Sin: 

You have anticipated my opinion of " On 
the seas and far away ;" I do not think it one 
of your very happy productions, though it cer- 
tainly contains stanzas that are worthy of all 
acceptation. 

The second stanza is the least to my liking, 
particularly " Bullets, spare my only joy." 
Confound the bullets! It might, perhaps, be 
objected to the third verse, " At the starless 
midnight hour," that it has too much grandeur 
of imagery, and that greater simplicity of 
thought would have better suited the character 
of a sailor's sweetheart. The tune, it must be 
remembered, is of the brisk, cheerful kind. 
Upon the whole, therefore, in my humble 
opinion, the song would be better adapted to 
the tune, if it consisted only of the first and last 
verses, with the choruses. 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



485 



[The objections raised by Thomson to this 
song were disapproved of by Currie, and many 
exquisite judges of poetry. The verses proposed 
to be omitted are the most original and touching : 
the third, in particular, is a noble one, and in 
keeping with the excited feelings of a lady 
whose love is on the gred I deep, exposed to the 
accidents of battle and the extremities of the 
tempest.] 

^ 

No. LVI. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

Sept., 1794. 

I shall withdraw my " On the seas and far 
away" altogether : it is unequal, and unworthy 
the work. Making a poem is like begetting a 
son : you cannot know whether you have a wise 
man or a fool, until you produce him to the 
world to try him. 

For that reason I send you the offspring of 
my brain, abortions and all ; and as such, m^j 
look over them and forgive them, and burn 
them.* I am flattered at your adopting " Ca' 
the yowes to the knowes," as it was owing to 
me that it ever saw the light. About seven 
years ago, I was well acquainted with a worthy 
little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunie, who 
sung it charmingly ; and, at my request, Mr. 
Clarke took it down from his singing. When 
I gave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas 
to the song, and mended others, but still it 
will not do for you. In a solitary stroll, 
which I took to-day, I tried my hand on a few 
pastoral lines, following up the idea of the 
chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is, 
with all its crudities and imperfections on its 
head. 

Ca* Xl)z 3|ohu£. 
1. 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them whare the heather grows, 
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes — 

My bonnie dearie ! 
Hark the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang ! 
Then a faulding let us gang, 

My bonnie dearie. 
11. 
We'll gac down by Clouden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves that sweetly glid 

To the moon sae clearly. 



* [This Virgilian order of the Poet should, I think, be dis- 
obeyed with the respect to the song in question, the second 
Stanza excepted. — Note by Thomson.] 

t [The water, on the banks of which the scene of this lyric 
is laid, is a beautiful stream, and known by three names, 
Cairn, Dalgoner, and Clouden, or Cluden. Under the first 
name, it finds its way over wild uplands, among flocks of 
sheep and coveys of black grouse : under the second, it 
washes the walls of old castles, rural villages, and seems at 
one place to be lost among thick groves of hazel and holly ; 



Yonder Clouden's silent towers, 
Where at moonshine midnight hours, 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 

IV. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; 
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonnie dearie. 

v. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown my very heart j 
I can die — but canna part — 

My bonnie dearie ! 
Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them whare the heather growes, 
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes — 

My bonnie dearie ! -f 

I shall give you my opininion of your othel 
newlv adopted songs, my first scribbling fit. 

R. B. 



No. LYII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 



Do you know a blackguard Irish song, called 
" Onagh's Water-fall ?" The air is charming, 
and I have often regretted the want of decent 
verses to it. It is too much, at least for my 
humble rustic muse, to expect that every effort 
of her's shall have merit : still I think that it 
is better to have mediocre verses to a favourite 
air than none at all. On this principle I have 
all along proceeded in the Scots Musical Mu- 
seum ; and, as that publication is at its last 
volume, I intend the following song, to the air 
above mentioned, for that work. 

If it does not suit you as an editor, you may 
be pleased to have verses to it that you can 
sing before ladies. 

Bfyz £ag£ tfije Xo'ts me hz£toi a\ 



Tune — Onagh's Water-fall. 



Sae flaxen were her ringlets,! 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'er-arching 

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. 



and, under the third name, it finds its way among romantic 
rocks, where it forms a succession of deep clear pools, con- 
nected by leaps or falls, the individual murmurings of which 
are any thing but unmusical ; and, finally, it unites itself 
with the Nith in the shadow of the towers of Lincluden. 
Burns formed this song upon an older lyric, an amended 
version of which has been previously inserted.] 

t [The lady with the flaxen tresses was Jean Lorimer, or 
Mrs. Whelpdale, as she loved to be called ; her husband had, 
at this period, deserted her, and she was oftener to be found 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



Her smiling, sae wyling, 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe ; 
What pleasure, what treasure, 

Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face, 

When first her bonnie face I saw ; 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 



Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ankle is a spy, 
Betraying fair proportion, 

Wad mak a saint forget the sky. 
Sae warming, sae charming, 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air ; 
Ilk feature — auld nature 

Declar'd that she could do nae mair . 
Her's are the willing chains o' love, 

By conquering beauty's sovereign law ', 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best o' a'. 



Let others love the city, 

And gaudy show at sunny noon ; 
Gie me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon ; 
Fair beaming, and streaming, 

Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling, 

The amorous thrush concludes his sang : 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows o' truth and love, 

And say thou lo'est me best of a' ? 



Not to compare small things with great, my 
taste in music is like the mighty Frederick of 
Prussia's taste in painting : we are told that he 
frequently admired what the connoisseurs de- 
cried, and always, without any hypocrisy, con- 
fessed his admiration. I am sensible that my 
taste in music must be inelegant and vulgar, 
because people of undisputed and cultivated 
taste can find no merit in my favorite tunes. 
Still, because I am cheaply pleased, is that any 
reason why I should deny myself that plea- 
sure ? Many of our strathspeys, ancient and 
modern, give me most exquisite enjoyment, 



in Dumfries than at Kemmis-hall, the residence of her father. 
Of her beauty something has been already said: her figure, 
it may be added, was rather above than below the middle 
size, and proportioned like one of the truest productions 
of an ancient statuary. Her hair, which she wore flowing 
and abundant, fell almost in armfuls over her round neck and 
white shoulders ; it was inclining to be waving rather than 
curling, and was darker than what the epithet flaxen seems to 
intimate. She danced and sung with much grace and sweet- 
ness ; her eyes were large and lustrous, and laughed more 
than did her lips when she was pleased. This minuteness 
will be forgiven by those who reflect that to her charms we 
owe some of the finest lyrics in the language.] 

* In the original follow here two stanzas of a song, begin- 



where you and other judges would probably be 
showing disgust. For instance, I am just now 
making verses for " Rothemurche's Rant," an 
air which puts me in raptures ; and, in fact, 
unless I be pleased with the tune, I never can 
make verses to it. Here I have Clarke on my 
side, who is a judge that I will pit against any 
of you. " Rothemurche," he says, is an air 
both original and beautiful ; and, on his recom- 
mendation, I have taken the first part of the 
tune for a chorus, and the fourth, or last part, 
for the song. I am but two stanzas deep in the 
work, and possibly you may think, and justly, 
that the poetry is as little worth your attention 
as the music* 

I have begun anew, " Let me in this ae 
night." Do you think we ought to retain the 
old chorus ? I think we must retain both the 
old chorus and the first stanza of the old song. 
I do not altogether like the third line of the 
first stanza, but cannot alter it to please myself. 
I am just three stanzas deep in it. Would you 
have the denouement to be successful or other- 
wise ? Should she "let him in" or not ? 

Did you not once propose " The Sow's tail 
to Geordie" as an air for your work ? I am 
quite delighted with it ; but I acknowledge that 
is no mark of its real excellence. I once set 
about verses for it, which I meant to be in the 
alternate way of a lover and his mistress chant- 
ing together. I have not the pleasure of 
knowing Mrs Thomson's Christian name, and 
yours, I am afraid, is rather burlesque for 
sentiment, else I had meant to have made you 
and her the hero and heroine of the little piece. 

How do you like the following epigram, 
which I wrote the other day, on a lovely young 
girl's recovery from a fever ? Doctor Max- 
well was the physician who seemingly saved 
her from the grave ; and to him I address the 
folio wing; : — 



Co ©v. jftTajrimlt, + 

ON MISS JESSIE STAIG'S RECOVERY. 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave, 

That merit I deny ; 
You save fair Jessie from the grave ?— 

An angel could not die .J 



ning " Lassie wi' the lintwhite locks," which will be found 
at full length afterwards. — Currie. 

t ["Of Dr. Maxwell, a word or two was said in the life of 
the Poet. He was a skilful physician, and an accomplished 
gentleman. He mingled in the stormy doings of the early 
days of the French revolution, and escaped with difficulty, it 
is alleged, from the far-reaching and fierce clutches of the 
Jacobin Club. Tired of revolutions and politics, he retired to 
his native place, and, by his manners and conversation, sus- 
tained the fame of the noble house of Maxwell, of which he 
was a descendant." — Cunningham.] 

X [Miss Jessy Staig married Major Miller, and died young. 
She was the Jessy of the song, — 

'■ True-hearted was he, the sad swain of the Yarrow,"] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



487 



God grant you patience with this stupid 
epistle ! R. B. 



No. LVIII. 



G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

I perceive the sprightly muse is now at- 
tendant upon her favourite poet, whose "wood 
notes wild' 7 are become as enchanting as ever. 
" She says she lo'es me best of a'," is one of 
the pleasantest table songs I have seen, and 
henceforth shall be mine when the song is going 
round. I'll give Cunningham a copy ; he can 
more powerfully proclaim its merit. I am far 
from undervaluing your taste for the strath- 
spey music ; on the contrary, I think it highly 
animating and agreeable, and that some of the 
strathspeys, when graced with such verses as 
yours, will make very pleasing songs, in the 
same way that rough Christians are tempered 
and softened by lovely woman, without whom, 
you know, they had been brutes. 

I am clear for having the " Sow's tail," par- 
ticularly as your proposed verses to it are so 
extremely promising. Geordie, as you observe, 
is a name only fit for burlesque composition. 
Mrs. Thomson's name (Katharine) is not at all 
poetical. Retain Jeanie, therefore, and make 
the other Jamie, or any other that sounds 
agreeably. 

Your " Ca' the ewes" is a precious little 
morceau. Indeed I am perfectly astonished 
and charmed with the endless variety of your 
fancy. Here let me ask you whether you never 
seriously turned your thoughts upon dramatic 
writing ? That is a field worthy of your ge- 
nius, in which it might shine forth in all its 
splendour. One or two successful pieces upon 
the London stage would make your fortune. 
The rage at present is for musical dramas : few 
or none of those which have appeared since the 
" Duenna" possess much poetical merit : there 
is little in the conduct of the fable, or in the 
dialogue, to interest the audience. They are 
chiefly vehicles for music and pageantry. I 
think you might produce a comic opera in three 
acts, which would live by the poetry, at the 
same time that it would be proper to take every 
assistance from her tuneful sister. Part of the 



* ["Our Bard had before received the sameadvice, and cer- 
tainly took it so far into consideration as to have cast about 
for a subject." — Currie.] 

t [" Of such a person, so skilful and so plodding — so dry 
and so doubting — so captious and sarcastic as Joseph Ritson, 
the Poet of Ayr had not heard, till his name was announced 
by Thomson. He was one of the most laborious of our later 
antiquaries ; his birth in a northern English county made him 
familiar with the Scottish dialect and with old ballad lore ; 
his education as a lawyer sharpened his faculties, and disci- 
plined him for habits of research, while his love of all that 
was old, and strange, and uncouth in literature, amounted to 
a passion which, in the end, overpowered his reason. He 
had little or no poetic feeling ; he was a Jacobite, too, and a 
bitter one ; but, by a transition not uncommon, he became a 



songs, of course, would be to our favourite 
Scottish airs ; the rest might be left to the Lon- 
don composer — Storace for Drury-lane, or 
Shield for Covent-garden ; both of them very 
able and popular musicians. I believe that in- 
terest and manoeuvring ■ are often necessary to 
have a drama brought on : so it may be with 
the namby-pamby tribe of flowery scribblers ; 
but, were you to address Mr. Sheridan himself 
by letter, and send him a dramatic piece, I am 
persuaded he would, for the honour of genius, 
give it a fair and candid trial. Excuse me for 
obtruding these hints upon your consideration.* 



No. LIX. 



G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, \4th October, 1794. 

The last eight days have been devoted to 
the re-examination of the Scottish collections. 
I have read, and sung, and fiddled, and consi- 
dered, till I am half blind and wholly stupid. 
The few airs I have added are inclosed. 

Peter Pindar has at length sent me all the 
songs I expected from him, which are, in gene- 
ral, elegant and beautiful. Have you heard of 
a London collection of Scottish airs and songs, 
just published, by Mr. Ritson, an Englishman?! 
I shall send you a copy. His introductory 
essay on the subject is curious, and evinces great 
reading and research, but does not decide the 
question as to the origin of our melodies; 
though he shows clearly that Mr. Tytler, in his 
ingenious dissertation, has adduced no sort of 
proof of the hypothesis he wished to establish ; 
and that his classification of the airs according 
to the seras when they were composed is mere 
fancy and conjecture. On John Pinkerton, 
Esq., he has no mercy ; but consigns him to 
damnation ! He snarls at my publication on the 
score of Pindar being engaged to write songs 
for it, uncandidly and unjustly leaving it to be 
inferred that the songs of Scottish writers had 
been sent a packing to make room for Peter's. 
Of you he speaks with some respect, but gives 
you a passing hit or two for daring to dress up 
a little some old foolish songs for the Museum. 
His sets of the Scottish airs are taken, he says, 



Jacobin, and, as Citizen Ritson, is yet remembered by those 
who had no sympathy for his researches in song. To the task 
of editorship he brought an acuteness which all publishers 
of other men's verses soon learned to dread; and along with 
this came a suspicion that, as Chatterton, Pinkerton, and 
others had imposed new verses as old on the world, there was 
nothing real and genuine to be had. He boldly charged 
Percy with the forgery of many of the ' Reliques of Old 
English Poetry,' an accusation which has since been trium- 
phantly refuted ; and he atiacked the learned and laborious 
Warton with an acrimony new in English criticism. ' All 
his doings to rehearse ' would take many pages ; his disserta- 
tion upon Scottish song is searching and accurate, nor is his se- 
lection of lyrics much amiss, though he has committed several 
mistakes in matters of taste."— Allan Cunningham.] 



^ 



4:88 



SONGS, iND CORRESPONDENCE 



from the oldest collections and best authorities : 
many of them, however, have such a strange 
aspect, and are so unlike the sets which are 
sung by every person of taste, old or young, in 
town or country, that we can scarcely recog- 
nize the features of our favourites. By going 
to the oldest collections of our music, it does 
not follow that we find the melodies in their 
original state. These melodies had been pre- 
served, we know not how long, by oral com- 
munication, before being collected and printed: 
and, as different persons sing the same air very 
differently, according to their accurate or con- 
fused recollection of it, so, even supposing the 
first collectors to have possessed the industry, 
the taste, and discernment to choose the best 
they could hear (which is far from certain), 
still it must evidently be a chance whether the 
collections exhibit any of the melodies in the 
state they were first composed. In selecting 
the melodies for my own collection, I have been 
as much guided by the living as by the dead. 
Where these differed, I preferred the sets that 
appeared to me the most simple and beautiful, 
and the most generally approved : and, with- 
out meaning any compliment to my own capa- 
bility of choosing, or speaking of the pains I 
have taken, I flatter myself that my sets will 
be found equally freed from vulgar errors on 
the one hand, and affected graces on the other. 

G. T. 



No. LX. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 



My dear Friend : 



19th October, 1794. 



By this morning's post I have your list, and, 
in general, I highly approve of it. I shall, at 
more leisure, give you a critique on the whole. 
Clarke goes to your town by to-day's fly, and I 
wish you would call on him and take his opinion 
in general : you know his taste is a standard. 
He will return here again in a week or two ; 
so, please do not miss asking for him. One 
thing I hope he will do, persuade you to adopt 
my favourite, " Craigie-burn Wood/' in your 
selection : it is as great a favourite of his as of 
mine. The lady on whom it was made is one 
of the finest women in Scotland : and, in fact 
(entre nous), is in a manner, to me, what 
Sterne's Eliza was to him — a mistress, or friend, 
or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of 



* [The despairing swain in " Saw ye my Phely" is said to 
have been Stephen Clarke, musician. The lady whom he 
persuaded the Poet to accuse of coldness and inconstancy 
was Phillis M'Murdo. His fantastic woes only excited a smile 
on her part : nor could they be welcome to a family where he 
had been introduced as a teacher. Musicians have sometimes 
riddled and lira- lira-la' d themselves into the affections of 
high-born dames. The air to which these verses were com- 
posed took its name from a song of considerable merit, 
bejrinnine thus : — 



Platonic love. (Now don't put any of your 
squinting constructions on this, or have any 
clishmaclaiver about it among our acquaint- 
ances.) I assure you that to my lovely friend 
you are indebted for many of your best songs 
of mine. Do you think that the sober, gin- 
horse routine of existence could inspire a man 
with life, and love, and joy — could fire him 
with enthusiasm, or melt him with pathos equal 
to the genius of your book ? — No ! no ! — When- 
ever I want to be more than ordinary in song; 
to be in some degree equal to your diviner airs ; 
do you imagine I fast and pray for the celestial 
emanation ? Tout au contraire ! I have a 
glorious recipe ; the very one that for his own 
use was invented by the divinity of healing and 
poetry, when erst he piped to the flocks of 
Admetus. I put myself on a regimen of ad- 
miring a fine woman ; and in proportion to the 
adorability of her charms, in proportion you are 
delighted with my verses. The lightning of 
her eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and the 
witchery of her smile, the divinity of Helicon ! 
To descend to business ; if you like my idea 
of " When she cam ben she bobbit," the fol- 
lowing stanzas of mine, altered a little from 
what they were formerly, when set to another 
air, may, perhaps, do instead of worse stanzas : — 

Jz>afo vt nu> 1$i)tlt).* 

(quasi dicat phillis.) 



Tune — When she cam ben she bobbit. 



O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love, 
She winna come hame to her Willy. 



What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 
And for ever disowns thee, her Willy. 



O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair — 
Thou's broken the heart 0' thy Willy. 



' O when she came ben she bobbit fu' law, 
And when she came ben she bobbit fu' law, 
When she came ben, she kissed Cockpen, 
And then denied that she did it at a 5 . 

' O never look down my lassie ava, 
O never look down my lassie ava, 
Thy coatie and sark are thy ain hands' wark, 
And Lady Jane's sel was never sae braw."J 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



489 



Xow for a few miscellaneous refnarks. "The 
Posie" (in the Museum) is my composition ; the 
air was taken down from Mrs. Burns's voice.* 
It is well known in the West Country, but the 
old words are trash. By the bye, take a look at 
the tune again, and tell me if you do not think 
it is the original from which " Roslin castle" is 
composed. The second part, in particular, for 
the first two or three bars, is exactly the old air. 
" Strathallan's Lament" is mine : the music is 
by our right trusty and deservedly well-beloved 
Allan Masterton. "Donocht-Head" is not 
mine : I would give ten pounds it were. It 
appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald ; and 
came to the editor of that paper with the New- 
castle post-mark on it.f " Whistle o'er the lave 
o't' ; is mine : the music said to be by a John 
Bruce, a celebrated violin player in Dumfries, 
about the beginning of this century. This I 
know, Bruce, who was an honest man, though 
ared-wud Highlandman, constantly claimed it; 
and, by all the old musical people here, is be- 
lieved to be the author of it. 

"Andrew and his cutty gun." The song to 
which this is set in the Museum is mine, and 
was composed on Miss Euphemia Murray, of 
Lintrose, commonly and deservedly called the 
Flower of Strathmore. 

" How long and dreary is the night." I met 
with some such words in a collection of songs 
somewhere, which I altered and enlarged ; and, 
to please you, and to suit your favourite air, I 
have taken a stride or two across my room, and 
have arranged it anew, as you will find on the 
other page : — 

ilofo lang anfcf fcrearg fe tyt $lts?)t. 

Tune— Can Id Kail in Aberdeen. 



How lang and dreary is the night, 
When I am frae my dearie ; 

I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 
Though I were ne'er sae weary. 



* This and the other scenes to which the Poet alludes, 
had appeared in the " Museum," and Thomson had enquired 
whether they were our Bard's. — Currie. 

t [" Donocht-Head," which the Poet praises so highly, was 
written by a gentleman, now dead, of the name of Pickering, 
who lived at Newcastle. There are some who still believe it 
to be by Burns himself, I know not on what grounds, ex- 
cept that it is equally natural and original : — 

" Keen blaws the wind o'tr Donocht-Head, a 

The snaw drives snelly thro' the dale, 
The Gaber-lunzie tirls my sneck, 

And, shivering, tells his waefu' tale. 
Cauld is the night, oh let me in, 

And dinnalet your minstrel fa', 
And dinnalet his winding-sheet 

Be naething but a wreath o' snaw. 
Full ninety winters hae I seen, 

And pip'd where gor-cocks whirring flew, 
And mony a day I've danc'd I ween 

To lilts which from my drone I blew. 



1 A mountain in the North. 



For oh ! her lanely nights are lang : 

And oh, her dreams are eerie ; 
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair, 
That's absent frae her dearie. 
ii. 
When I think on the lightsome days 

I spent wi' thee, my dearie ; 
And now what seas between us roar — 
How can I be but eerie ? 
in. 
How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ! 

The joyless day how dreary ! 
It was na sae ye glinted by, 
When I was wi' my dearie. 

For oh ! her lanely nights are lang ; 

And oh, her dreams are eerie ; 

And oh, her widow'd heart is sair, 

That's absent frae her dearie. J 



Tell me how you like this. I differ from 
your idea of the expression of the tune. There 
is, to me, a great deal of tenderness in it. You 
cannot, in my opinion, dispense with a bass to 
your addenda airs. A lady of my acquaintance, 
a noted performer, plays and sings at the same 
time so charmingly that I shall never bear to 
see any of her songs sent into the world, as 
naked as Mr. What-d'ye-call-um (Ritson) has 
done in his London collection. 

These English songs gravel me to death. I 
have not that command of the language that I 
have of mv native tongue. I have been at 
" Duncan dray," to dress it in English, but all 
I can do is deplorably stupid. For instance : 

£et not OTmnan e'er complain. 



Tune — Duncan Gray. 



Let not woman e'er complain 
Of inconstancy in love ; 

Let not woman e'er complain 
Fickle man is apt to rove : 



My Eppiewak'd, and soon she cry'd, 
Get up, guidman, and let him in ; 
For weel ye ken the winter night 

Was short when he began his din. 
My Eppie's voice, O wow it's sweet, 

Even tho' she bans and scaulds a wee , 
But when it's tun'd to sorrow's tale, 

O, haith, its doubly dear to me ! 

Come in, auld carl, I'll steer my fire, 

I'll make it bleeze a bonnie flame; 

Your bluid is thin, ye've tint the gate, 

Ye should nae stray sae far frae hame. 
Nae hame have I, the minstrel said, 
Sad party-strife o'erturn'd my ha' ; 
And, weeping at the eve of life, 
I wander thro' a wreath o' snaw." 
" This affecting poem is apparently incomplete. The au- 
thor need not be ashamed to own himself. It is worthy oi 
Burns or of Macneil." — Cureie.] 

J [The earlier version of " How long and dreary is the night," 
will be found in another part of the volume ; the measure u 
different, as well as many of the lines, and it is directed to be 
sung to a Gaelic air. Both songs are simple and affecting.] 



490 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



Look abroad through nature's range, 
Nature's mighty law is change ; 
Ladies, would it not be strange, 
Man should then a monster prove ? 



Mark the winds, and mark the skies ; 

Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 
Sun and moon but set to rise, 

Round and round the seasons go : 
Why then ask of silly man 
To oppose great nature's plan ? 
We'll be constant while we can — 

You can be no more, you know. 

Since the above, I have been out in the 
country, taking a dinner with a friend, where I 
met with the lady whom I mentioned in the 
second page of this odds-and-ends of a letter. 
♦As usual, I got into song ; and, returning 
home, I composed the following : — ■ 

%\)Z Habere Phi-nuts Salute to lite 



Tune— Dcii tak the Wars. 



Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature? 

Rosy morn now lifts his eye, 
Numbering ilka bud which nature 

Waters wi the tears o' joy : 

Now thro' the leafy woods, 

And by the reeking floods, 
Wild nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray; 

The lintwhite in his bower 

Chants o'er the breathing flower ; f 

The lav'rock to the sky 

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, 
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. 

ii. 

Phoebus, gilding the brow o' morning, 

Banishes ilk darksome shade, 
Nature gladdening and adorning ; 

Such to me my lovely maid. 

When absent i'rae my fair, 

The murky shades o' care 
With startless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky ; 
But when, in beauty's light, - 



* [The Poet has himself, in part, ascribed the origin of this 
song to Chloris. — " He sat sae late and drank sae stout," at 
his friend's house, that the morning sun rose on him on his 
way home, and suggested these verses to his excited fancy. 
The complicated measure has communicated a laboured-like 
air to the stanzas : they are full, however, of truth and na- 
tufe' : they were favourites with the Poet, from the trouble 
which they cost him, perhaps ; his manuscripts afford sundry 
traditions.] 



t [Var.- 



' ' Now to the streaming fountain, 
Or up the heathy mountain, 



She meets my ravish'd sight, 
When thro' my very heart 
Ller beaming glories dart — 
'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy.'): 



If you honour my verses by setting the air to 
them, I will vamp up the old song, and make 
it English enough to be understood. 

I enclose you a musical curiosity, an East 
Indian air, which you would swear was a Scot- 
tish one. I know the authenticity of it, as the 
gentleman who brought it over is a particular 
acquaintance of mine. Do preserve me the 
copy I send you, as it is the only one I have, 
Clarke has set a bass to it, and I intend to put 
it into the Musical Museum. Here follow the 
verses I intend for it : — 

%\)z anlt* Plan. 



Tune— The Winter of Life. 



But lately seen in gladsome green, 

The woods rejoic'd the day ; 
Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled, 

On winter blasts awa ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a'. 

ii. 
But my white pow, nae kindly thowe 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield, 

Sinks in Time's wintry rage. 
Oh ! age has weary days, 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 

Why com'st thou not again ? 



I would be obliged to you if you would pro- 
cure me a sight of Ritson's collection of English 
Songs, which you mention in your letter. I 
will thank you for another information, and 
that as speedily as you please — whether this 
miserable drawling hotch-potch epistle has not 
completely tired you of my correspondence ? 

R. B. 



The heart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray ; 
In twining hazel bowers 
His lay the linnet pours ; 
The lav'rock to the sky, &c."] 
% [Var. — " When frae my Chloris parted, 
Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, 
Then night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky ; 
But when she charms my sight, 
In pride of beauty's light : 
When thro' my very heart 
Her beaming glories dart, 
'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and joy."] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



491 



No. LXI. 



G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, October 27th, 1794. 

I am sensible, my dear friend, that a genuine 
poet can no more exist without his mistress than 
his meat. I wish I knew the adorable she, 
vhose bright eyes and witching smiles have so 
often enraptured the Scottish bard, that I might 
drink her sweet health when the toast is going 
round. " Craigie-burn Wood" must certainly 
be adopted into my family, since she is the ob- 
ject of the song ; but, in the name of decency, 
I must beg a new chorus verse from you. " O 
to be lying beyond thee, dearie/' is, perhaps, a 
consummation to be wished, but will not do for 
singing in the company of ladies. The songs in 
your last will do you lasting credit, and suit the 
respective airs charmingly. I am perfectly of 
your opinion with respect to the additional airs : 
the ide-a of sending them into the world naked 
as they were born was ungenerous. They must 
all be clothed and made decent by our friend 
Clarke. 

I find I am anticipated by the friendly Cun- 
ningham in sending you Ritson's Scottish Col- 
lection. Permit me, therefore, to present you 
with his English Collection, which you will 
receive by the coach. I do not find his histori- 
cal Essay on Scottish song interesting. Your 
anecdotes and miscellaneous remarks will, I am 
sure, be much more so. Allan has just sketched 
a charming design from " Maggie Lauder." 
She is dancing with such spirit as to electrify 
the piper, who seems almost dancing too, while 
he is playing with the most exquisite glee. I 
am much inclined to get a small copy, and to 
have it engraved in the style of Ritson's prints. 

P.S. Pray what do your anecdotes say con- 
cerning " Maggie Lauder 1" Was she a real 
personage, and of what rank? You would 
surely " spier for her, if you ca'd at Anstruther 
town." 

G. T. 



[Of Maggie Lauder much has been written 
by annotators, but no light has been thrown 
upon either her birth-place or her station : she 
is likely a creation of the minstrel muse, and 
belongs to the imagination. The mind of the 
world is essentially prosaic ; it loves truth, and 
rejoices to find that sometimes the characters 
which fiction presents are derived from originals 
of flesh and blood. Maggie Lauder has lately 
obtained a longer lease of life at the hands of a 
northern poet. She is the heroine in Tennant's 
Anster Fair, a poem of great originality as well 
as force — the forerunner of what has been called 
the Beppo School of verse. — Cunningham.] 



No. LXII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

November, 1794. 

Many thanks to you, my dear Sir, for your 
present : it is a book of the utmost importance 
to me. I have yesterday begun my anecdotes, 
&c, for your work. T intend drawing them up 
in the form of a letter to you, which will save 
me from the tedious dull business of systematic 
arrangement. Indeed, as all I have to say con- 
sists of unconnected remarks, anecdotes, scraps 
of old songs, &c, it would be impossible to 
give the work a beginning, a middle, and an 
end, which the critics insist to be absolutely 
necessary in a work. In my last I told you my 
objections to the song you had selected for 
" My lodging is on the cold ground." On my 
visit, the other day, to my fair Chloris (that is 
the poetic name of the lovely goddess of my 
inspiration), she suggested an idea, which I, on 
my return from the visit, wrought into the fol- 
lowing song : — 

CJIovfe. 



My Chloris,* mark how green the groves, 
The primrose banks how fair ; 

The balmy gales awake the flowers, 
And wave thy flaxen hair. 

II. 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings ; 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds as to kings, 
in. 
Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly lighted ha' : 
The shepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blithe, in the birken shaw. 

IV. 

The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours, 

Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

v. 

The shepherd, in the flow'ry glen, 
In shepherd's phrase will woo : 

The courtier tells a finer tale — 
But is his heart as true ? 

VI. 

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck 

That spotless breast 0' thine : 
The courtier's gems may witness love — 

But 'tis na love like mine. 

* [In another copy of this song it begins thus ; — 
Behold, my love, how green the groves.] 



=-& 



492 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



How do you like the simplicity and tender- 
ness of this pastoral ? — I think it pretty well. 

I like you for entering so candidly and so 
kindly into the story of " ma chere Amie." I 
assure you, I was never more in earnest in my 
life than in the account of that affair which I 
sent you in my last. — Conjugal love is a passion 
which I deeply feel, and highly venerate ; but 
somehow, it does not make such a figure in 
poesy as that other species of the passion, 

"Where Love is liberty, and Nature law." 

Musically speaking, the first is an instrument 
of which the gamut is scanty and confined, but 
the tones inexpressibly sweet ; while the last 
has powers equal to all the intellectual modula- 
tions of the human soul. Still, I am a very 
poet in my enthusiasm of the passion. The 
welfare and happiness of the beloved object is 
the first and inviolate sentiment that pervades 
my soul j and whatever pleasure I might wish 
for, or whatever might be the raptures they 
would give me, yet, if they interfere with that 
first principle, it is having these pleasures at a 
dishonest price ; and justice forbids, and gene- 
rosity disdains the purchase. 

Despairing of my own powers to give you 
variety enough in English songs, I have been 
turning over old collections, to pick out songs, 
o.f which the measure is something similar to 
what I want ; and, with a little alteration, so 
as to suit the rhythm of the air exactly, to give 
you them for your work. Where the songs 
have hitherto been but little noticed, nor have 
ever been set to music, I think the shift a fair 
one. A song, which, under the same first 
verse, you will find in Ramsay's Tea-table 
Miscellany, I have cut down for an English 
dress to your " Daintie Davie," as follows : — 

EI;e djanmng Monti) of :Pag. 



It was the charming month of May, 
When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay, 
One morning, by the break of day, 

The youthful, charming Chloe ; 
From peaceful slumber she arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose, 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes, 

The youthful, charming Chloe. 

Lovely was she by the dawn, 
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 

Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 



* [In some of the copies of this lyric the last verse runs 
thus ;— 

And should the howling wintry blast 

Disturb my lassie's midnight rest, 

I'll fauld thee to my faithful breast, 

And comfort thee, my dearie, O ! 

Currie.] 



The feather d people you might see, 
Perch' d all around, on every tree, 
In notes of sweetest melody, 

They hail the charming Chloe ; 
Till, painting gay the eastern skies, 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes 

Of youthful, charming Chloe. 

Lovely was she by the dawn, 
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 

Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 



You may think meanly of this, but take a 
look at the bombast original, and you Avill be 
surprised that I have made so much of it. I 
have finished my song to " Rothemurche's 
Rant ;" and you have Clarke to consult, as to 
the set of the air for singing : — 

%a$$h ton* tlje 5Unt4i>I)ite lUcfeS. 



Tune — Rothemurche's Rant. 



Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee ; 
O wilt thou share its joy wi' me, 
And say thou' It be my dearie, O ? 

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 

Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks ? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? 

ii. 
And when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie, O. 

in. 
When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer's hameward way ; 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie, O. 

IV. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest j 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O. * 
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks ? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? f 



t [It is said that the wife of Nollekens, the sculptor, was 
of a disposition so jealous that she would not allow him to 
have living models to finish his fancy-figures by; and, as the 
sculptor could not imagine what he did not see, he was com- 
pelled to desist from the modelling of Venuses and Graces. 
In like manner, there are some poets write best from what 
they see ; they look, and talk, and think, till their feelings and 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



493 



This piece has at least the merit of "being a 
regular pastoral : the vernal morn, the summer 
noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter 
night, are regularly rounded. If you like it, 
well: if not, I will insert it in the Museum. 

R. B. 



No. LXIII. 

BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

I am out of temper that you should set so 
sweet, so tender an air as "Deil tak the wars," 
to the foolish old verses. You talk of the sil- 
liness of " Saw ye my Father;" by heavens, the 
odds is gold to brass ! Besides, the old song, 
though now pretty well modernized into the 
Scottish language, is originally, and in the 
early editions, a bungling low imitation of the 
Scottish manner, by that genius, Tom D'Urfey ; 
go has no pretensions to be a Scottish produc- 
tion. There is a pretty English song, by 
Sheridan, in the " Duenna," to this air, which 
is out of sight superior to D'Urfey "s. It 
begins — 

" When sable night each drooping plant restoring." 

The air, if I understand the expression of it 
properly, is the very native language of sim- 
plicity, tenderness, and love. I have again 
gone over my song to the tune, as follows.* 

Now for my English song to " Nancy's to 
the Greenwood," &c. : — 

^jFarriDttt, tljott Stream. 



Farewell, thou stream that winding flows 

Around Eliza's dwelling ! 
O mem'ryj spare the cruel throes 

Within my bosom swelling : 
Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 

And yet in secret languish, 
To feel a fire in every vein, 

Nor dare disclose my anguish. 
ii. 
Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my griefs would cover ; 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 

Betray the hapless lover. 



fancy rise into the region of poesie, and then empty their 
hearts into the verse. There are others in whose imagina- 
tions eternal beauty resides, and who have no occasion to 
kindle themselves up by the presence of living loveliness. 
Burns seems to have belonged to the former class ; not but 
that beauty had a permanent abode in his fancy, but the ex- 
citement which the voice and looks of woman occasioned 
saved him the trouble of drawing upon his imagination. 

Those acquainted with the Poet's life and habits of study 
will perceive much of both in the sweet song of •' Lassie wi' 
the lint-white locks." Dumfries is a small town ; a few steps 
carried Burns to green lanes, daisied brae-sides, and quiet 
stream-banks. Men returning from labour were sure to meet 
him " all under the light of the moon," sauntering forth as 



I know thou doom'st me to despair, 

Nor wilt, nor can'st, relieve me • 
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer— 

For pity's sake forgive me ' 
in. 
The music of thy voice I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing feard, 

'Till fears no more had sav'd me : 
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast, 

The wheeling torrent viewing ; 
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



There is an air, " The Caledonian Hunt's 
Delight," to which I wrote a song that you 
will find in Johnson. — " Ye banks and braes o' 
bonnie Doon ;" this air, I think, might find a 
place among your hundred, as Lear says of his 
knights. Do you know the history of the air? 
It is curious enough. A good many years ago, 
Mr. James Miller, writer in your good town, — 
a gentleman whom, possibly, you know, — was 
in company with our friend Clarke ; and talk- 
ing of Scottish music, Miller expressed an 
ardent ambition to be able to compose a Scots 
air. Mr. Clarke, partly by way of joke, told 
him to keep to the black keys of the harpsi- 
chord, and preserve some kind of rhythm, and 
he would infallibly compose a Scots air. Cer- 
tain it is, that, in a few days, Mr. Miller pro- 
duced the rudiments of an air, which Mr. 
Clarke, with some touches and corrections, 
fashioned into the tune in question. Ritson, 
you know, has the same story of the black 
keys ; but this account which I have just given 
you, Mr. Clarke informed me of several years 
ago. Now, to show you how difficult it is to 
trace the origin of our airs, I have heard it re- 
peatedly asserted that this was an Irish air ;— 
nay, I met with an Irish gentleman who af- 
firmed he had heard it in Ireland among the old 
women ; while, on the other hand, a Countess 
informed me that the first person who intro- 
duced the air into this country was a baronet's 
lady of her acquaintance, who took down the 
notes from an itinerant piper in the Isle of 
Man. How difficult, then, to ascertain the 
truth respecting our poesy and music ! I, my- 
self, have lately seen a couple of ballads sung 



if he had no aim ; his hands behind his back, his hat turned 
up a little behind by the shortness of his neck, and noting all, 
yet seeming to note nothing. Yet those who got near with- 
out being seen might hear him humming some old Scottish 
air, and fitting verses to it — the scene and the season supply - 
ingthe imagery, and the Jeanies, the Nancies, the Phelies, and 
the Jessies of his admiration furnishing bright eyes, white 
hands, and waving tresses, as the turn of the song required.— 
Cunningham.] 

* See the " Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistress," p. 490 
Our Bard remarks upon it, " I could easily throw this into an 
English mould ; but, to my taste, in the simple and the ten- 
der of the pastoral song, a sprinkling of the old Scottish hae 
an inimitable effect." — Currie. 



494 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



through the streets of Dumfries, with my name 
at the head of them as the author, though it 
was the first time I had ever seen them. 

I thank you for admitting " Cragie-burn 
Wood," and I shall take care to furnish you 
with a new chorus. In fact, the chorus was 
not my work, but a part of some old verses to 
the air. If I can catch myself in a more than 
ordinarily propitious moment, I shall write a 
new " Cragie-burn Wood" altogether. My 
heart is much in the theme. 

I am ashamed, my dear fellow, to make the 
request ; 'tis dunning your generosity ; but in 
a moment when I had forgotten whether I 
was rich or poor, I promised Chloris a copy of 
your songs.* It wrings my honest pride to 
write you this, but an ungracious request is 
doubly so by a tedious apology. To make you 
some amends, as soon as I have extracted the 
necessary information out of them, I will return 
you Ritson's volumes. 

The lady is not a little proud that she is to 
make so distinguished a figure in your collec- 
tion, and I am not a little proud that I have it 
in my power to please her so much. Lucky it 
is for j'our patience that my paper is done, for, 
when I am in a scribbling humour, I know not 
when to give over. 

R. B. 



No. LXIV. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

15th November, 1794. 

My good Sir : 
Since receiving your last, I have had ano- 
ther interview with Mr. Clarke, and a long 
consultation. He thinks the " Caledonian 
Hunt" is more Bacchanalian than amorous in its 
nature, and recommends it to you to match the 
air accordingly. Pray did it ever occur to you 
how peculiarly well the Scottish airs are adapted 
for verses in the form of a dialogue ? The first 
part of the air is generally low, and suited for 
a man's voice, and the second part, in many 
instances, cannot be sung, at concert pitch, but 
by a female voice. A song, thus perform ed ? 
makes an agreeable variety, but few of ours are 



* [Chloris, it is said, was so pleased to see herself reflected 
in verse, and associated with the genius of Burns, that she 
showed the works of Thomson to her friends or admirers ; 
and, as they were not few, it soon became publicly known 
that her flaxen locks, blue eyes, and " passing, pleasing 
tongue" would communicate new charms to northern song. 
This, it sems, gave some offence to the more staid and stately 
of the Poet's friends ; they remonstrated with him, not on 
the impropriety of resorting to the beauty of a farmer's 
daughter to bestow grace or tenderness on his strains, but 
because he had given her copies of his songs, both in manu- 
script and print, which, in the careless gaiety of her nature, 
she exhibited to the world. The Poet saw that he had acted 
imprudently ; a mutual friend was employed to reclaim the 
manuscripts ; the lady gave them up with reluctance, but 
retained, and, perhaps, still retains, the work of Thomson.] 

t [" The anecdotes promised by the Poet were but in part 



written in this form : I wish you would think 
of it in some of those that remain. The only 
one of the kind y ou have sent me is admirable, 
and will be an universal favourite. 

Your verses for " Rothemurche" are so 
sweetly pastoral, and your serenade to Chloris, 
for " Deil tak the Wars," so passionately ten- 
der, that I have sung myself into raptures with 
them. Your song for " My lodging is on the 
cold ground," is likewise a diamond of the first 
water ; I am quite dazzled and delighted with 
it. Some of your Chlorises, I suppose, have 
flaxen hair, from your partiality for this colour ; 
else we differ about it ; for I should scarcely 
conceive a woman to be a beauty, and reading 
that she had lint- white locks ! 

" Farewell thou stream that winding flows," 
I think excellent, but it is much too serious to 
come after " Nancy :" at least it would seem 
an incongruity to provide the same air with 
merry Scottish, and melancholy English, verses! 
The more that the two sets of verses resemble 
each other in their general character, the better. 
Those you have manufactured for " Dainty 
Davie" will answer charmingly. I am happy 
to find y T ou have begun your anecdotes : f 1 
care not how long they be, for it is impossible 
that any thing from your pen can be tedious. 
Let me beseech y r ou not to use ceremony in 
telling me when you wish to present any oi 
your friends with the songs : the next carrier 
will bring you three copies, and you are as wel- 
come to twenty as to a pinch of snuff. 



No. LXV. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

IQth November, 1794. 

You see, my dear Sir, what a punctual cor- 
respondent I am ; though indeed you may thank 
yourself for the tedium of my letters, as you 
have so flattered me on my horsemanship witL 
my favourite hobby, and have praised the gract 
of his ambling so much, that I am scarcely evej 
off his back. For instance, this morning, 
though a keen blowing frost, in my walk be- 
fore breakfast, I finished my duet, which yo 1 ^ 



written : a rich treat has thus been lost to all his admirers. 
He would have given us a chapter on the human heart, in- 
formed us of the various feelings and impulses under which 
he wrote his lyrics — the hour and the season in which they 
were produced — the walks in which he mused, and the hero- 
ines who lent look and life to the strains. Of each we would 
have known as much as we do of Highland Mary ; nor could 
this have been otherwise than acceptable to the ladies them- 
selves. We have been left to tradition, or conjecture, oi 
accidental intimations : and the honour done to the charms oi 
one has, we fear, sometimes been conferred on another. The 
Poet wrote notes of another kind on Johnson's Museum : 
These will be found in another portion of the volume. They 
are at once old and new, serious and comic, full of anecdotes 
and scraps of quaint and curious song, and marked every- 
where with that peculiar spirit and feeling which distinguished 
Burns amongst all the sons of Caledonia." — Cunningham. 1 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



495 



were pleased to praise so much. Whether I 
have uniformly succeeded, I will not say ; but 
here it is for you, though it is not an hour old : — 

<® $pip, Ijappj? U tljat Sap. 



Tune— The Sow's Tail. 



P hilly, happy be that day, 
When, roving through the gather'd hay, 
My youthfu' heart was stown away, 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 



O Willy, aye I bless the grove 
Where first I own'd my maiden love, 
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above 
To be my ain dear Willy. 



As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And charming is my Philly. 



As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blows, 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 



The milder sun and bluer sky 
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, 
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye 
As is a sight o' Philly. 



The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Tlio' wafting o'er the flowery spring, 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring 
As meeting o' my Willy. 



The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, 
Upon the lips o' Philly. 



The woodbine in the dewy weet 
When evening shades in silence meet, 
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
As is a kiss o' Willy. 



Let fortune's wheel at random rin, 
And fools may tyne, and knaves may win ; 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
And that's my ain dear Philly. 



What's a' the joys that gowd can gie ? 
I care na wealth a single flie ; 
The lad I love's the lad for me, 
And that's my ain dear Willy. 

Tell me, honestly, how you like it ; and 
point out whatever you think faulty. 

I am much pleased with your idea of singing 
our songs in alternate stanzas, and regret that 
you did not hint it to me sooner. In those that 
remain I shall have it in my eye. I remember 
your objections to the name, Philly ; but it is 
the common abbreviation of Phillis. Sally, the 
only other name that suits, has, to my ear, a 
vulgarity about it, which unfits it for anything 
except burlesque. The legion of Scottish poet- 
asters of the day, whom your brother editor, 
Mr. Ritson, ranks with me, as my coevals, 
have always mistaken vulgarity for simplicity : 
whereas, simplicity is as much eloignee from 
vulgarity, on the one hand, as from affected 
point and puerile conceit on the other. 

I agree with you, as to the air "Craigie-burn 
Wood," that a chorus would, in some degree, 
spoil the effect ; and shall certainly have none 
in my projected song to it. It is not, however, 
a case in point with u Rothemurche ;" there, as 
in " Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch," a chorus 
goes, to my taste, well enough. As to the cho- 
rus going first, that is the case with " Roy's 
Wife" as well as " Rothemurche." In fact, 
in the first part of both tunes, the rhythm is so 
peculiar and irregular, and on that irregularity 
depends so much of their beauty, that we must 
e'en take them with all their wildness, and 
humour the verse accordingly. Leaving out 
the starting-note in both tunes has, I think, an 
effect that no regularity could counterbalance 
the want of: — 



Try 
and 
compare with 1 , "^ f 



/ Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch. 
I O Lassie wi' the lint-white locks. 



Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch. 
'issie wi' the lint-whitelocks. 



Does not the tameness of the prefixed syllable 



strike 



you.' 



In the last case, with the true 



furor of genius, you strike at once into the wild 
originality of the air ; whereas, in the first in- 
sipid method, it is like the grating screw of the 
pins before the fiddle is brought into tune. This 
is my taste ; if I am wrong I beg pardon of the 
cognoscenti. 

" The Caledonian Hunt" is so charming that 
it would make any subject in a song go down ; 
but pathos is certainly its native tongue. Scot- 
tish Bacchanalians we certainly want, though 
the few we have are excellent. For instance, 
" Todlin Hame" is, for wit and humour, an un- 
paralleled composition ; and " Andrew and his 
cutty Gun" is the work of a master. By the 
way, are you not quite vexed to think that those 



496 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



men of genius, for such they certainly were, 
who composed our fine Scottish lyrics, should 
be unknown ? It has given me many a heart- 
ache. Apropos to Bacchanalian songs in Scot- 
tish; I composed one yesterday, for an air I 
like much — " Lumps o' pudding " : — 

Content** fo{' Stttle. 



Tune — Lumps o' Pudding. 



Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, 
Whene'er I foregather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp, as they're creeping alang, 
"Wi a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish 

sang. 

II, 
I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
' But man is a sodger, and life is a faught ; 
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my 

pouch, [dare touch. 

And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch 



A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a' : 
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last, 
W ha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past? 



Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her 

way ; 
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae : 
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or 

pain; [again!" 

My warst word is — " Welcome, and welcome 

If you do not relish the air, I will send it to 
Johnson. R. B. 



[Pastoral verse exhibits many examples of 
the dramatic mode of composition : compliments 
and scorn, praise and censure, are bandied about 
by shepherds and shepherdesses, till the subject- 
matter is exhausted. In like manner, Willy 
and Philly, in the first of these lyrics, carry on 
the pleasant strife of compliment, till flowery 
comparisons grow scant, and the lovers are 
reduced to silence. Phillis is a favourite in 
northern song ; in the present instance it is the 
true name of the heroine, Miss Phillis M'Murdo, 
of Dumlanrig.] 

[One of the happiest examples of free wit and 
humour may be found in the " Auld Gude- 



" The auld gudeman that thou tells of, 
The country kens where he was born, 
Was but a silly poor vagabond, 
And ilka ane leugh him to scorn ; 



For he did spend and make an end 
Of gear that his forefathers wan ; 

He gart the poor stand frae the door, — 
Sae tell nae mairo' the auld gudeman. 



My heart alake is liken to break, 

When I think on my winsome John ; 
His blinkan e'e and gate sae free, 

Was naething like thee, thou dosen'd drone. 
His rosie cheek and flaxen hair, 

And a skin as white as onie swan, 
Was large and tall and comely withal, 

And thou'lt never be like my auld gudeman." 

Tradition has recorded that Burns wrote 
" Contented wi' little " in a moment of hope, 
when fortune seemed inclined to pause in her 
persecution, and the frozen finger of the Excise 
pointed to the situation of supervisor. Yet 
hope did not hinder him from thinking of in- 
dependence, even while keeping sorrow and 
care at ba} r with a cup and song : he forgot not 
that his freedom Avas a ' lairdship nae monarch 
dare touch.' Of songs which honour fire-side 
happiness and domestic felicity we have but 
few, compared with those which treat of love 
and wine ; yet of these, some are truly excel- 
lent : and, among the latter, who can refuse to 
include 

" Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair !" 

Cunningham.] 



No. LXVI. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

Since yesterday's penmanship, I have 
framed a couple of English stanzas, by way of 
an English song to " Roy's Wife." You will 
allow me that, in this instance, my English 
corresponds in sentiment with the Scottish : — 

Camit tljott leabt nu tljuS, my Batp ? 



Tune— Roy's Wife. 



Is this thy plighted, fond regard, 
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? 

Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
Well thou know'st my aching heart — 
And canst thou leave me thus for pity ? 

ii. 
Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 

That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 
Thou may'st find those will love thee dear— 

But not a love like mine, my Katy ! 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



497 



Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
Well thou know'st my aching heart — 
And canst thou leave me thus for pity ? 



Well ! I think this, to be done in two or 
three turns across my room, and with two or 
three pinches of Irish blackguard, is not so far 
amiss. You see I am determined to have my 
quantum of applause from somebody. 

Tell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we 
only want the trifling circumstance of being 
known to one another to be the best friends on 
earth) that I much suspect he has, in his plates, 
mistaken the figure of the stock and horn. I have 
at last gotten one ; but it is a very rude instru- 
ment : it is composed of three parts ; the stock, 
which is the hinder thigh-bone of a sheep, 
such as you see in a mutton-ham ; the horn, 
1 which is a common Highland cow's horn, cut 
off at the smaller end, until the aperture be 
large enough to admit the stock to be pushed 
up through the horn, until it be held by the 
thicker end of the thigh bone ; and lastly, an 
oaten reed, exactly cut and notched like that 
which you see every shepherd-boy have, when 



• [This is an interesting and minute account of an ancient 
instrument of music, well known to the peasantry of Scot- 
land. In ihe Complaynt of Scotland, written in 1548, the 
author draws this graphic picture of the manners of our pas- 
toral ancestors. " I rais and returnit to the fresche fieldis 
that I cam fra, quhar I beheld mony hudit hirdis blawand 
ther buc hornis and ther corne pipis, calland and convoyand 
mony fat floe to be fed on the fieldis. Than the scheiphirdis 
pat ther scheip on bankis and brais and on dry hillis, to get 
ther pastour. Than I beheld the scheiphirdis wyvis and ther 
childer that brocht there morning bracfast to the scheiphirdis. 
Than the scheiphirdis wyvis cutt it rachis and seggis and 
gardit mony fragrant grene meduar-t, with the quhilkis tha 
covurit the end of a leye rig, and syne sat doune altogyddir 
to tak there refectione, quhar thai maid grit cheir of evyrie 
sort of mylk, baitht of ky mylk, and zoue mylk, sueit mylk, 
and sour milk, curdis and qiihaye, sourkittis, fresche buttir, 
and salt buttir, rv yme, dot quhdye, grene cheis, kyrn mylk. 
Evyrie scheiphird hed an home spune in the lug of there 
bonet : thai had na breyd, but ry caikis and fustean skonnis 
maid of flour. Than eftir there disjune, thai began to talk of 
grit myrrynes that was rycht plesand to be hard." 

The things "rycht plesand to be hard," consisted of 
" gude tailis and fabillis," and "sueit melodious sangis of 
natural music of the antiquete," after enumerating which 
our author goes on to tell the different musical instruments 
wherewith the shepherds enlivened the dance. "Than eftir 
this sueit celest armonye, thai began to dance in ane ring ; 
evyrie aid scheiphird led his wyfe be the hand, and evyrie 
zong scheiphird led hyr quhome he luffit best. There was 
viij scheiphirdis, and ilk ane of them hed ane syndry instru- 
ment to play to the laif. The first hed ane drone bag pipe, 
the nyxt hed ane pipe maid of ane bleddir and of ane reid, 
the third playit on ane trump, the feyrd on ane corne pipe, 
the fyft playit on ane pipe maid of ain gait home, the sext 
playit on ane recordar, the sevint plait on ane fiddil, and the 
last plait on ane quhissil." 

The late Dr. Leyden, who edited the curious work from 
which the above extracts are given, has enriched his edition 
with a learned and valuable dissertation, from which we take 
the following passages, as illustrative of ihe subject in ques- 
tion, for he has exhausted all that can be said about it. 

" The 'pipe maid of ane gait home,' is the stock and horn, 
or ' buck home' of the Scottish peasantry, formed by insert- 
ing a reed, or pipe, into a horn, which gives a full and mellow 
expression to the sound. The reed or whistle was often 
formed of the excavated elder branch, to which practice there 
u an allusion in Cockelby's Sow, where ' the pype maid of a 



the corn-stems are green and full-grown. The 
reed is not made fast in the bone, but is held by 
the lips, and plays loose in the smaller end of 
the stock ; while the stock, with the horn 
hanging on its larger end, is held by the hands 
in playing. The stock has six or seven ventiges 
on the upper side, and one back-ventige, like the 
common flute. This of mine was made by a 
man from the braes of Athole, and is exactly 
what the shepherds were wont to use in that 
country. 

However, either it is not quite properly bored 
in the holes, or else we have not the art of 
blowing it rightly ; for we car. make little of 
it. If Mr. Allan chooses, I will send him a 
sight of mine ; as I look on myself to be a kind 
of brother-brush with him. " Pride in poets is 
nae sin," and, I will say it, that I look on Mr. 
Allan and Mr. Burns to be the only genuine 
and real painters of Scottish costume in the 
world.* 



[To the Song " Canst thou leave me thus, 
my Katy V written in the character of a for- 
saken lover, a reply was found on the part of 
the lady, among the MSS. of Burns, evidently 



bourit bourtre,' is mentioned as the appropriate musical in- 
strument of the 'nolt hirdis.' The 'stoc-horn,' mentioned 
in the same poem, is merely a species of bugle, or open cow's 
horn, used for giving an alarm, like the Irish stuic or stoc, a 
brazen tube formed like the horn of a cow, and employed as 
a speaking trumpet. The pib-corn, used in some districts of 
Wales, seems to be only an improved species of the stock 
and horn, from which it differs, in having both extremities of 
the pipe or whistle inserted in a horn. The Welch, according 
to Higden, employed these 'homes of gheet,' as he terms 
them, at their funerals. The stock and horn may likewise be 
considered as synonymous with the ' chalemaute de Cornou- 
aille' in the Romaunt of the Rose, rendered by Chaucer, 
'horn pipes of Cornewaile.' In Merciai's 'Les Vigiles de la 
mort du Roi Charles Septiesme,' the Horn pipe is likewise 
mentioned as a favourite pastoral instrument. 

" There can be no doubt but this instrument is the ' liltyng 
horn' of Chaucer, such 

' As haue these little heerde gromes, 
That kepen beastes in the bromes.' 

" The stock and horn was so formed that the parts could be I 
easily separated, while the horn might be employed as a bugle, j 
and the pipe, as a simple pipe or whistle. The stock horn, 
in the strict sense, is the cornet, or crumhorn of the Germans, 
the shalmey, or chalumeau, used with the trumpet at tilts 
and tournaments. Thus, 

' Trumpettis and schalmis with a schout 
Played or the rink began.' 

" The shalmele is enumerated by Gower among the instru- 
ments of music in the court of Venus. 

' In suche accorde and such a sowne 
Of bumbarde and of clariowne, 
"With cornemuse and shalmele, 
That it was halfe a mannes hele 
So glad a noise for to here. — ' 

" It is curious that the pipe is excluded from 'the companie 
of Eldie,' in the court of Venus. 

' But yet I herde no pipes there 
To make mirthe in mannes ere ; 
But the musike I might knowe 
For olde men which sowned lowe, 
With harpe and lute and the citole ; 
The houe dance and the carole. 
In such a wise as loue hath bede, 
A softe paas thei daunce and trede.' 



498 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



in a female hand-writing. The temptation to 
give it to the public is irresistible ; and if, in so 
doing, offence should be given to the fair 
authoress, the beauty of her verses must plead 
our excuse : — 

Tune— Roy's Wife. 

Tell me that thou yet art true, 

And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven, 
And when this heart proves fause to thee, 
Yon sun shall cease its course in heaven. 
Stay, my Willie — yet believe me, 
Stay, my Willie — yet believe me, 
For, ah! thou know'st na' every pang 
Wad wring my bosom, shouldst thou leave me. 

But to think I was betrav'd. 

That falsehood e'er our loves should sunder ! 
To take the flow'ret to my breast, 

And find the guilefu' serpent under. 

Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive, 

Celestial pleasures, might I choose 'em, 
I'd slight, nor seek in other spheres 
That heaven I'd find within thy bosom. 
Stay my Willie — yet believe me, 
Stay my Willie — yet believe me, 
For, ah ! thou know'st na' every pang 
Wad wring my bosom, shouldst thou leave me.] 

[" It may amuse the reader to be told that, on 
this occasion, the gentleman and the lady have 
exchanged the dialects of their respective coun- 
tries. The Scottish Bard makes his address in 
pure English : the reply on the part of the lady 
in the Scottish dialect is, if we mistake not, by 
a young and beautiful Englishwoman. " — 
Cureje.] 

[This reply was written by a young and 
beautiful Englishwoman — Mrs. Riddel. She 
alludes to her quarrel with the Poet : she took 
a flower to her bosom, and found a serpent 
under. In that metaphorical way she intimated 
that the Poet had the presumption to attempt 
to salute her — a piece of forwardness which a 
coldness of two years' continuance more than 
punished. — Cunningham.] 



No. LXVII. 



G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

29th November, 1794. 

I acknowledge, my dear Sir, you are not 
only the most punctual, but the most delectable, 
correspondent I ever met with. To attempt 
flattering you never entered my head ; the 
truth is, I look back with surprise at my impu- 
dence, in so frequently nibbling at lines and 
couplets of your incomparable lyrics, for which, 
perhaps, if you had served me right, yx>a would 
have sent me to the devil. On the contrary, 



* The query put by Thomson is sufficiently answered by the 
lengthened note to the Drecedmg letter, the value of which 



however, you have, all along, condescended to 
invite my criticism with so much courtesy that 
it ceases to be wonderful if I have sometimes 
given myself the airs of a reviewer. Your last 
budget demands unqualified praise: all the 
songs are charming, but the duet is a chef 
ctceimrc. " Lumps of pudding" shall certainly 
make one of my family dishes : you have 
cooked it so capitally that it will please all pa- 
lates. Do give us a few more of this cast, 
when you find yourself in good spirits ; these 
convivial songs are more wanted than those of 
the amorous kind, of which we have great 
choice. Besides, one does not often meet with 
a singer capable of giving the proper effect to the 
latter, while the former are easily sung, and ac- 
ceptable to every body. I participate in your 
regret that the authors of some of our best 
songs are unknown : it is provoking to every 
admirer of genius. 

I mean to have a picture painted from your 
beautiful ballad, " The Soldier's Return," to be 
engraved for one of my frontispieces. The 
most interesting point of time appears to me, 
when she recognizes her ain dear Willy, "She 
gaz'd, she reddened like a rose." The three 
lines immediately following are, no doubt, more 
impressive on the reader's feelings ; but were 
the painter to fix on these, then you'll observe 
the animation and anxiety of her countenance 
is gone, and he could oidy represent her faint- 
ing in the soldier's arms. But I submit the 
matter to you, and beg your opinion. 

Allan desires nie to thank you for your accu- 
rate description of the stock and horn, and for 
the very gratifying compliment you pay him, 
in considering him worthy of standing in a 
niche, by the side of Burns, in the Scottish 
Pantheon. He has seen the rude instrument 
you describe, so does not want you to send it ; 
but wishes to know whether you believe it to 
have ever been generally used as a musical pipe 
by the Scottish shepherds, and when, and in 
what part of the country chiefly. I doubt 
much if it was capable of any thing but rout- 
ing and roaring. A friend of mine says, he 
remembers to have heard one in his younger 
days (made of wood instead of your bone), and 
that the sound was abominable.* 

Do not, I beseech you, return any books. 

G. T. 



No. LXVIII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

December, 179*« 

It is, I assure you, the pride of my heart to 
do any thing to forward, or add to the value of, 



will be duly appreciated by every one 
Scottish music. — Motherwell. 



in the history of 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



your book ; and, as I agree with you that the 
Jacobite song in the Museum, to "There'll 
never be peace till Jamie comes home" would 
not so well consort with Peter Pindnr's excel- 
lent love-song to that air, I have jusi framed 
for you the following : — ■ 

JJfij) f^anmVs afoa. 



Tune— There'll never be Peace, §c. 



Now in her green mantle blithe* nature arrays, 
A.nd listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
Whilef birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw j 
But to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa ! 

n. 
Thesnaw-drap & primrose our woodlands adorn, X 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; 
They pain my sad § bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nannie — and Nannie's awa! 

in. 

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the 
lawn, [dawn, 

The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa', 
Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa ! 

IV. 

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and grey, || 
And soothe me with tidings o' nature's decay : 
The dark dreary winter, and wild driving snaw, 
Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa ! 

How does this please you ? — As to the point 
of time for the expression, in your proposed 
print from my " Sodger's Return," it must cer- 
tainly be at — " She gaz'd." The interesting 
dubity and suspense taking possession of her 
countenance, and the gushing fondness, with a 
mixture of roguish playfulness in his, strike me 
as things of which a master will make a great 
deal. — In great haste, but in great truth, yours. 

R. B. 



[Clarinda was the Nannie whose absence 
Burns laments in this pretty pastoral. His 
thoughts were often in Edinburgh. On festive 
occasions, when toasts were called for, Syme 
used to exclaim, " Come, we all know what 
Burns will give — here's Mrs. Mac." The lave- 
rock was a favourite bird with him ; and many 
happy images it has supplied him with. It is, 
indeed, pleasant both to eye and ear to be out 
by grey daylight on a summer morning, when 
a thousand larks are ascending into the bright- 
ening air ; the warblings of some are near, and 
the songsters may be seen mounting as they 
sing : others are unseen in the cloud, and the 
whole atmosphere is full of melody.] 



* Var.- 



-Gay. f Var.— And. — Cui 

f The primrose and daisy our glens 



NINGHAT.I. 

may adorn. 



No. LXIX. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

January, 1795. 

I fear for my songs ; however, a few may 
please, yet originality is a coy feature in compo- 
sition, and in a multiplicity of efforts in the 
same style, disappears altogether. For these 
three thousand years, we poetic folks have been 
describing the spring, for instance ; and, as the 
spring continues the same, there must soon be 
a sameness in the imagery, &c, of these said 
rhyming folks. 

A great critic (Aikin) on songs says that love 
and wine are the exclusive themes for song- 
writing. The following is on neither subject, 
and consequently is no song ; but will be al- 
lowed, I think, to be two or three pretty good 
prose thoughts, inverted into rhyme : — 

fc? t\)m, for IjoneSi Robert]). 



that, and a' that. 



Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward-slave, we pass him by, 

We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toil's obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea-stamp, 

The man's the gowd for a' that ! 

ii. 
What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 

Wear hoddin grey, and a' that ; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 

A man's a man, for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 

Is king o' men for a' that ! 
HI. 
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd — a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
Though hundreds worship at his word, 

He's but a coof for a' that : 
For a' that, and a' that, 

His riband, star, and a' that, 
The man of independent mind 

He looks and laughs at a' that ! 



A king can mak a belted knight, 
A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 

But an honest man's aboon his might, 
Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! 



§ Var. — Torture my. 

U Array.— Poet's MS, 



500 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



For a' that, and a' that, 
Their dignities, and a' that, 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are higher ranks than a' that. 



Then let us pray that come it may — 

As come it will for a' that — 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 

May bear the gree, and a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It's comin' yet for a' that, 
That man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that ! * 

I do not give you the foregoing song for your 
book, but merely by way of vive la bagatelle ; 
for the piece is not really poetry. How will 
the following do for " Craigie-burn Wood V — 

Cvatgt^fcum OTootl.t 



Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 
And blithe awakes the morrow ; 

But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 



1 see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing ; 

But what a weary wight can please, 
And care his bosom wringing ? 



* [" In his noble song, 'A man's a man for a' that,' the 
Poet has vindicated the natural and unalienable rights of his 
species : he has distinguished between our social condition as 
contemplated by God, and that artificial state brought about 
by the perverse ingenuity of man. In resorting to first prin- 
ciples, he is compelled to speak with contempt of hereditary 
rank, and treat it as a manifest usurpation. That genius and 
enterprise should raise themselves in society seem as natural 
as for the sun to shine ; but that they will continue in the 
family-line, from generation to generation, no person but a 
prince expects. God made genius personal, not hereditary ; 
he gave the wisdom to Solomon which he refused to Reho- 
boham ; and even in our own country, noble houses may be 
pointed out of which nothing remains noble save the name. 
Burns could not but feel that wealth, not talent, is the way to 
titles : the most glorious persons in British story went to the 
dust with plain ' master ' on their coffin - lids — Spenser, 
Shakspeare, Milton, Locke. There should be rank and ho- 
nours for all those who greatly distinguish themselses in lite- 
rature and arts, as well as in arms. He who would truly 
contemptate the history of a country should consider that its 
greatness arises from the union of many qualities ; Watt de- 
serves a place as well as Wellington ; nor are the achieve- 
ments of Scott to be forgotten in the account of battles by 
sea and shore. Titles should fiowfrom the fountain of hon- 
our readily and unsolicited to all who are illustrious ; instead 
of which they flow almost solely to the wealthy. Those who 
have amassed fortunes by all manner of speculation, and have 
become swollen and big, like striped pumpkins flourishing on 
heaps of dung, are sure to have the sword lain on their shoul- 
ders, or their brows enclosed in coronets. There is nothing 
left for genius but to join in the song of Burns, — 

' Then let us pray that come it may, 
As come it will for a' that ; 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
Can bear the gree, and a' that.' 

" In this sentiment men of talent should join more earnestly, 
sinco it has been publicly declared that genius is so supremely- 



Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 

Yet dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer. 

IV. 

If thou refuse to pity me, 

If thou shalt love anither, 
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, 

Around my grave they'll wither. 

Farewell ! God bless you. 

R. B. 



No. LXX. 



G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 30th January, 1 795. 

My dear Sir . 
I thank you heartily for " Nannie's awa," 
as well as for " Craigie-burn," which I think 
a very comely pair. Your observation on the 
difficulty of original writing in a number of ef- I 
forts, in the same style, strikes me very forcibly ; 
and it has again and again excited my wonder j 
to find you continually surmounting this diffi- 
culty, in the many delightful songs you have 
sent me. Your vive la bagatelle song, " For a' 
that," shall undoubtedly be included in my 
list. 

G. T. 



blest as not at all to require other distinction — a doctrine 
which decrees to dulness the star and the garter — 
' Amen— and virtue is its own reward.' " 

Cunningham.] 

t [This sweet little sone: savours much of the secret love 
displayed in the following old verses : — 

When ye come to yon town end, 

Fu' mony a lass ye'll see; 
Dinna, dinna, look at (hem, 
For fear ye mindna me. 
Dinna ask me gin I luve thee ? 

Deed I darena tell ; 
Dinna ask me gin I luve thee ? 
Ask it o' yoursell. 

O dinna look at me sae aft, 

Sae weel as ye may trow ; 
For when ye look at me sae aft, 

I canna look at you. 

Dinna ask me, &e. 

Little ken ye but mony ane, 

Will say they fancy thee ; 
But only keep your mind to them 

That fancies nane but thee. 

Dinna ask me gin I luve thee,— 

Deed I darena tell ; 
Dinna ask me gin I luve thee, — 
Ask it o' yoursell. B. 

Craigie-burn Wood is situated on the banks of the river 
Moffat; and about three miles distant from the village of that 
name, celebrated for its medicinal waters. The woods of 
Craigie-burn and of Duncrief were at one time favourite 
h;iunts of our poet. It was there he met the "Lassie wi' 1 
the lint-white locks," and that he conceived several of hie 
beautiful lyrics. — Curp.ie.] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



[In these cold words, " Your vive la baga- 
telle song, e For a' that/ shall undoubtedly be 
included in my list," Thomson accepts the pre- 
sent of a song which will live while the lan- 
guage lasts. — Cunningham.] 



No. LXXI. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

February, 1795. 

Here is another trial at your favourite air: — 



Tune — Let me in this ae Night. 



O lassie, art thou sleeping yet, 
Or art thou waking, I would wit ? 
For love has bound me hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

O let me in this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
For pity's sake this ae night, 

O rise and let me in, jo ! 



Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet : 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 
And shield me frae the rain, jo. 



The bitter blast that round me blaws, 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's : 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 

O let me in this ae night, 
This ae, ae, ae night ; 

For pity's sake this ae night, 
O rise and let me in, jo ! 

HER ANSWER. 



O tell na me o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ! 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 
1 winna let ye in, jo. 

I tell you now this ae night, 
This ae, ae, ae night ; 

And ance for a' this ae night, 
I winna let you in, jo, 



The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours, 
Is nocht to what poor she endures, 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 



The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, 
Now trodden like the vilest weed ; 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 

IV. 

The bird that charm'd his summer-day 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
I tell you now this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night ; 
And ance for a' this ae night, 
I winna let you in, jo ! 

I do not know whether it will do. R. B. 



[If Burns drew his song of " A man's a man 
for a' that" solely from his own mind and 
fancy, there is no question that he is indebted 
to an old strain for the idea of these twin lyrics. 
He has changed the lead into gold, and dis- 
missed a deal of dross : still the sentiment be- 
longs to the olden times. These are part of the 
old words : — 

" O lassie, art thou sleeping yet, 
Or are you waking, I wad wit ? 
For love has bound me hand and fit, 
And I wad fain be in, jo. 
O let me in this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night ; 
O let me in this ae night, 
Or I'll ne'er come back again, jo. 

The night it is baith cauld and weet, 
The morn it will be snaw and sleet ; 
My shoon are freezing to my feet, 
Wi' standing here alane, jo. 

I am the laird o' Windy wa's, 
I come na here without a cause ; 
And I hae gotten mony fa's, 
Wad killed a thousand men, jo. — " 

" My father's waukrife in his sleep, 
My mither the cha'mer keys does keep, 
And a' the doors sae chirp and cheep, 
I daurna let you in, jo. 
Sae gae ye're ways this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
O gae ye're ways this ae night, 
I daurna let ye in, jo." 

" But I'll come stealing saftly in, 
And cannily mak little din ; 
And then the gate to you I'll find, 
If you'll direct me in, jo. 
O let me in this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night ; 
O let me in this ae night, 
Or I'll ne'er come back again, jo." 

It is said that the thoughts of Burns wan- 
dered to Yv 7 oodlee-Park, and his feud with Mrs. 
Riddel, when he composed these songs. The 
lady in the old verses resisted nothing like so 
stoutly or successfully as the modern heroine is 
made to do.] 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



No. LXXII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

Ecclefechan, "Jth February, 1795. 

My dear Thomson : 

You cannot have any idea of the predica- 
ment in which I write to you. In the course 
of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity I 
have acted of late), I came yesternight to this 
unfortunate, wicked, little village.* I have 
gone forward, but snows, of ten feet deep, have 
impeded my progress : I have tried to " gae 
back the gate I cam again," but the same ob- 
stacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. 
To add to my misfortune, since dinner, a scraper 
has been torturing catgut, in sounds that would 
have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under 
the hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on 
that very account, exceeding good company. 
In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to get 
drunk, to forget these miseries ; or to hang 
myself, to get rid of them : like a prudent man 
(a character congenial to my every thought, 
word, and deed), I, of two evils, have chosen 
the least, and am very drunk, at your service !f 

I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had 
not time then to tell you all I wanted to say ; 
and, Heaven knows, at present I have not ca- 
pacity. 

Do you know an air — I am sure you must 
know it— " We'll gang nae mair to yon town?" 
I think, in slowish time, it would make an ex- 
cellent song. I am highly delighted with it ; 
and if you should think it worthy of your at- 
tention, 1 have a lair dame in my eye, to whom 
I would consecrate it. 

As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good 
night. K. B. 



* [" Ecclefechan is a little thriving village in Annandale : 
nor is it more known for its hiring fairs than for beautiful 
lasses and active young men. The latter, when cudgel- 
playing was regularly taught to the \outhof the Scottish low- 
lands, distinguished themselves by skill and courage ; they 
did not, however, enjoy their fame without contention : they 
had frequent feuds with the lads of Lockerby, and their 
laurels were put in jeopardy. On an old New Year's-day, 
some thirty years ago, Ecclefechan sent some two hundred 
'sticks' against Lockerby: they drew themselves up beside 
an old fortalice, and intimated their intention of keeping 
their post till the sun went down : — they bit their thumbs, 
nourished their oak saplings, and said, ' We wad like to see 
wha wad hinder us.' This was a matter of joy to the lads 
of Lockerby : an engagement immediately took place, and 
Ecclefechan seemed likely to triumph, when a douce elder of 
the kirk, seizing a stick from one who seemed unskilful in 
using it, rushed forward, broke the enemy's ranks, pushed 
the lads of Ecclefechan rudely out of the place, and ex- 
claimed, 'That's the way we did lang syne!' The Poet 
paid Ecclefechan many a visit, friendly and official, and even 
wrought its almost unpronounceable name into a couple of 
songs." — Cunningham.] 

t [" The Bard must have been tipsy indeed, to abuse sweet 
Ecclefechan at this rate." — Currie.] 

% [The tune to which this address was written, " Where will 
bonnie Annie lie?" is sweet; and happily allied to words 
•imple and unaffected, particularly if we were to take into 
account the exalted personages who formed the hero and 



No. LXIIT. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

25th February, 1795. 

I have to thank you, my dear Sir, for two 
epistles, one containing " Let me in this ae 
night ;" and the other from Ecclefechan, proving 
that, drunk or sober, your " mind is never 
muddy." You have displayed great address 
in the" above song. Her answer is excellent, 
and at the same time takes away the indelicacy 
that otherwise would have attached to his en- 
treaties. I like the song, as it now stands, very 
much. 

I had hopes you would be arrested some days 
at Ecclefechan, and be obliged to beguile the 
tedious forenoons by song-making. It will 
give me pleasure to receive the verses you in- 
tend for " O wat ye wha's in yon town." 

G. T. 



No. LXXIV. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

May, 1795. 

Stotorcas to tlje OToo^Iavfe.I 



Tune — Wliere'll bonnie Ann lie. 
Or, Loch-Eroch side. 



O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray, 
A hapless lover courts thy lay, 
Thy soothing, fond complaining. 



heroine of the song — viz. James, fifth duke, and Ann, duchess 
of Hamilton. It was written by Allan Ramsay on the eve of 
their marriage. The following are the first two stanzas : — 



" Where wad bonny Annie lie ? 
Alane nae mair ye maun lie ; 
Wad ye a goodman try ? 

Is that the thing ye'ere laking? 

SHE. 

Can a lass sae young as I 
Venture on the bridal tie, 
Syne down with a goodman lie? 
I'm need he'd keep me wauking." 

A later version of the song runs as follows : — 

Where will bonnie Annie lie ? 

Where will bonnie Annie lie ? 

Where will bonnie Annie He, 

I' the cauld nights o' winter, O ! 

Where but in her true love's bed ; 
Arms of love around her spread ; 
Pillow'd on his breast her head, 

I' the cauld nights o' winter, O ! 
There will bonnie Annie lie, 
There will bonnie Annie lie, 
There will bonnie Ann»ie lie, 

I' the cauld nights o' winter. O ! 



i 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart 

Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 
in. 
Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
And heard thee as the careless wind ? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd 

Sic notes o' wo could wauken. 

IV. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief and dark despair : 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair ! 
Or my poor heart is broken ! 

Let me know, your very first leisure, 
you like this song. 

<®n Cf)torfe fmng til. 



how 



Tune — Ay wakin' 0. 



Can I cease to care ? 

Can I cease to languish ? 
While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguish ? 
Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow, 
"While my soul's delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow. 
ii. 
Every hope is fled, 

Every fear is terror : 
Slumber even I dread, 
Every dream is horror. 
hi. 
Hear me, Pow'rs divine ! 

Oh, in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine, 
But my Chloris spare me ! 



When the storm is raging high, 
Calm she'll list it whistling bye ! 
While cozie in his arms she'll lie, 

I' the cauld nights o' winter, O. 
Wher.e will bonnie Annie lie ? 
Where will bonnie Annie lie ? 
Where will bonnie Annie lie, 

I' the c-auld nights o' winter, O ? 
In the arms of wedded love, 
Breathing thanks to Him above, 
Whose care and goodness she does prove, 

I' the cauld nights o' winter, O !] 

* [The song on the "Alness of Chloris," is one of the 
Poet's brief and h;tppy things : it is modelled on an old lyric, 
still popular in some parts of the north, and justly so : — 
" Ay waking, oh, 

Waking ay, and weary, 
Sleep I canna get, 

For thinking on my dearie. 
I have fallen in love 

Wi' a' the world's darling, 
An' canna see the sun 

For bonnie May Macfarlane-"} 



Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow, 

While my soul's delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow.* 

How do you like the foregoing ? — The Irish 
air, " Humours of Glen," is a great favourite 
of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the 
" Poor soldier," there are not any decent verses 
for it, I have written for it as follows : — 

Calcttom'a 



Tune — Humours of Glen. 



Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands 

reckon, [perfume ; 

Where bright-beaming summers exalt their 

Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow 

broom : 

Far dearer to me are yonf humble broom bowers, 

Where the blue-bell and gowan J lurk lowly 

unseen ; [flowers, 

For there, lightly tripping amang the wild 

A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 



Tho'richis the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, 
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 
Their sweet-scented Avoodlands that skirt the 
proud palace, [and slave ! 

What are they? — The haunt o' the tyrant 
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling 
fountains, 
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
He wanders as free as the winds of his moun- 
tains, [Jean.§ 
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his 



t [Vae.— These. 



% Vak. — Blue-bells and gowans.] 



§ [" The exquisite song of ' Caledonia' unites domestic 
affection with love of country, and is exceedingly popular. 
The heroine was Mrs, Burns, who so charmed the Poet by 
singing it with taste and feeling that he declai-ed it to be one 
of his luckiest lyrics. She sang with ease and simplicity; 
science adorned without injuring nature : and her ' wood 
note wild' was said^to be almost unequalled. 

" The original MS. of this song, with which the text has 
been collated, is thus marked : — ' To Provost Whigham, 
this first copy of the song : from the author.' 

" ft is remark-worthy that the song in honour of his wife 
wa,; accompanied by two in honour of his friend. For 
the beautiful song which follows in the text, ' 'Twas na her 
bonnie blue e'e was my ruin,' we are indebted to Jean Lori- 
mer. It is true that ' Mary ' is wrought into the texture of 
the verse : but copies have been seen with the first line of the 
last verse running thus : — 

' Jeanie, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest.' 

It has already been intimated that this Nithsdale beauty wa* 
a sort of lay-figure, on which the muse hung her garlands." 
— Cunningham.] 



504 


SONGS, AND 


CORRESPONDENCE 




'Ciaa^ ua Ijtr boimie blue dB'e. 




No. LXXV1. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 




Tune — Laddie lie near me. 







T. 


Hoto cruel arc fyt $arent<$ J* 



'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ; 
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' 
kindness. 



Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ! 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 



Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest i 
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter — 
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 



Let me hear from you. 



R. B. 



No. LXXV. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

You must not think, my good Sir, that I 
have any intention to enhance the value of my 
gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and 
worthy artist, that the design and execution of 
the Cotter's Saturday Night is, in my opinion, 
one of the happiest productions of Allan's pen- 
cil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you 
are not quite pleased with it. 

The figure intended for your portrait I think 
strikingly like you, as far as 1 can remember 
your phiz. This should make the piece inter- 
esting to your family every way. Tell me 
whether Mrs. Burns finds you out among the 
figures. 

I cannot express the feeling of admiration 
with which I have read your pathetic " Address 
to the Wood-lark," your elegant Panegyric 
on " Caledonia," and your affecting verses on 
" Chloris's illness." Every repeated perusal of 
these gives new delight. The other song, to 
"Laddie, lie near me," though not equal to 
these, is very pleasing. 



* [This song is altered from an old English one : it preaches 
a sermon on matrimonial alliances, which all believe and no 
one obeys ; parents still use undue influence with their chil- 
dren, and, while securing a fleeting splendour, are heedless 
of entailing a lasting wretchedness.] 

* [The idea of the first stanza of this song appears to have 
been borrowed from the old love verses that follow : — 



Tune— John Anderson, my Jo. 



How cruel are the parents 

Who riches only prize, 
And, to the wealthy booby, 

Poor woman sacrifice ! 
Meanwhile the hapless daughtP" 

Has but a choice of strife ;- • 
To shun a tyrant father's hate, 

Become a wretched wife. 



The rav'ning hawk pursuing, 

The trembling dove thus flies, 
To shun impelling ruin 

Awhile her pinion tries ; 
Till of escape despairing, 

No shelter or retreat, 
She trusts the ruthless falconer, 

And drops beneath his feet ! 



JHark j)onfcer ikmp. 



Tune Deil tak the Wars. 



Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, 
Round the wealthy, titled bride : 

But when compar'd with real passion, 
Poor is all that princely pride. 
What are the showy treasures ? 
What are the noisy pleasures ? 

The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art : 
The polish'd jewel's blaze 
May draw the wond'ring gaze, 
And courtly grandeur bright 
The fancy may delight, 

But never, never can come near the heart, f 



But, did you see my dearest Chloris 
In simplicity's array ; 



" Love's a gentle gen'rous passion ! 

Source of all sublime delight ; 
When, with mutual inclination, 

Two fond hearts in one unite. 
What are titles, pomp, or riches, 

If compar'd with true content ? 
That false joy which now bewitches, 

When too late, we may repent."] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



500 



Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, 
Shrinking from the gaze of day ? 

O then, the heart alarming, 

And all resistless charming, 
In Love's delightful fetters she chains the wil- 
ling soul ! 

Ambition would disown 

The world's imperial crown, 

Even Avarice would deny 

His worshipp'd deity, 
And feel thro' ev'ry vein Love's raptures roll. 

Well ! this is not amiss. You see how I 
answer your orders : your tailor could not be 
more punctual. I am just now in a high fit for 
poetizing, provided that the strait-jacket of 
criticism don't cure me. If you can in a post 
or two administer a little of the intoxicating 
potion of your applause, it will raise your hum- 
ble servant's phrenzy to any height you want. 
I am at this moment " holding high converse" 
with the Muses, and have not a word to throw 
away on such a prosaic dog as vou are. 

R. B. 



No. LXXVII. 



BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

May, 1795. 

Ten thousand thanks for your elegant pre- 
sent ; though I am ashamed of the value of 
it, being bestowed on a man who has not by 
any means merited such an instance of kind- 
ness. I have shewn it to two or three judges 
of the first abilities here, and they all agree 
with me in classing it as a first-rate production. 
My phiz is sae kenspeckle that the very join- 
er's apprentice whom Mrs. Burns employed to 
break up the parcel (I was out of town that 
day) knew it at once. My most grateful com- 
pliments to Allan, who has honoured my rustic 
muse so much with his masterly pencil. One 
strange coincidence is, that the little one who 
is making the felonious attempt on the cat's 
tail, is the most striking likeness of an ill-deedie, 
d — n'd, wee, rumble - gairie urchin of mine, 
whom, from that propensity to witty wickedness 
and manfu' mischief, which, even at twa days 
auld, I foresaw would form the striking features 
of his disposition, I named Willie Nicol ; after a 
certain friend of mine who is one of the masters 
of a grammar school in a city which shall be 
nameless. 

Give the enclosed epigram to my much- valued 
friend Cunningham, and tell him that on Wed- 
nesday I go to visit a friend of his, to whom 
his friendly partiality in speaking of me in a 
manner introduced me — I mean a well-known 
military and literary character, Colonel Dirom. 

You do not tell me how you liked my two 
last songs. Are they condemned ? 

R. B. 



[" The picture alluded to was painted from 
the " Cotter's Saturday Night :" it displays at 
once the talent and want of taste of the inge- 
nious artist. The scene is a solemn one : but 
the serenity of the moment is disturbed by what 
some esteem as a beauty, namely, the attempt 
to cut the top of the cat's tail, by the little 
merry urchin, seated on the floor. The unity 
of the sentiment is destroyed : it jars with the 
harmony of the rest of the picture as much as 
a snail does in crawling in the bosom of a new 
opened rose. This sense of propriety is re- 
quired in such compositions : Burns was a great 
master in it : he introduced true love, domestic 
gladness, and love of country along with devo- 
tion in his noble poem of " The Cotter's Satur- 
day Night," but he never dreamed of throwing 
in any of his ludicrous or humorous touches — 
all is as much in keeping as in the best conceived 
picture." — Cunningham.] 

Yet Burns seems to have enjoyed the humor- 
ous touch of the Painter exceedingly, and I 
question whether he, for one moment, thought it 
out of " keeping." — J. C. 



No. LXXVIII. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

13^ May, 1795. 

It gives me great pleasure to find that you 
are all so well satisfied with Mr. Allan's pro- 
duction. The chance resemblance of your little 
fellow, whose promising disposition appeared 
so very early, and suggested whom he should 
be named after, is curious enough. I am ac- 
quainted with that person, who is a prodigy of 
learning and genius, and a pleasant fellow, 
though no saint. 

You really make me blush when you tell me 
you have not merited the drawing from me. I 
do not think I can ever repay you, or suffi- 
ciently esteem and respect you, for the liberal 
and kind manner in which you have entered 
into the spirit of my undertaking, which could 
not have been perfected without you. So I beg 
you would not make a fool of me again, by 
speaking of obligation. 

I like your two last songs very much, and 
am happy to find you are in such a high fit of 
poetizing. Long may it last ! Clarke has 
made a fine pathetic air to Mallet's superlative 
ballad of " William and Margaret," and is to 
give it to me, to be enrolled among the elect. 

G. T. 



No. LXX1X. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

In " Whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad," 
the iteration of that line is tiresome to my ear. 
Here goes what I think is an improvement :— 



500 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



O whistle, and I'll come to ye., my lad. 

O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad ; 

Tho' father, and mother, and a' should gae mad, 

Thy Jeanny will venture wi' ye, my lad. 

[See Letter xxxv.] 

In fact, a fair dame, at whose shrine I, the 
Priest of the Nine, offer up the incense of Par- 
nassus ; a dame whom the Graces have attired 
in witchcraft, and whom the Loves have armed 
with lightning ; a fair one, herself the heroine 
of the song, insists on the amendment, and dis- 
pute hercommands if you dare ! 

Cfyte te no mv am 3Lass'tc.* 



Tune — This is no my ain House. 



I see a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place ; 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 

O this is no my am lassie, 
Fair tho'the lassie be ; 

O weel ken I my ain lassie, 
Kind love is in her e'e. 



She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall, 
And king has had my heart in thrall ; 
And aye it charms my very saul, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 



A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; 
But gleg as light are lovers' een, 
When kind love is in the e'e. 



It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 

O this is no my ain lassie, 

Fair tho' the lassie be ; 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 

Kind love is in her e'e.f 

Do you know that you have roused the tor- 
pidity of Clarke at last ? He has requested me 



* [There is an old song to this tune in Ramsay's Miscel- 
lany, beginning : — 

" This is no mine ain house, 
I ken by the rigging o't ; 
Since with my love I've changed vows, 
I dinna like the bigging o't."] 

f [This is one of the happiest of the Poet's productions. 
He was acquainted with all the mysteries of love-making, 



to write three or four songs for him, which he 
is to set to music himself. The enclosed sheet 
contains two songs for him, which please to 
present to my valued friend, Cunningham. 

I enclose the sheet open, both for your in- 
spection, and that you may copy the song " O 
bonnie was yon rosy brier." I do not know 
whether I am right; but that song pleases me, 
and, as it is extremely probable that Clarke's 
newly-roused celestial spark will be soon smo- 
thered in the fogs of indolence, if you like the 
song, it may go as Scottish verses to the air of 
" I wish my love was in a mire ;" and poor 
Erskine's English lines may follow. 

I enclose you, a " For a' that and a' that," 
which was never in print : it is a much supe- 
rior song to mine. I have been told that it was 
composed by a lady. — 

R. B. 



TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 
|2ofo spring Ijag clati tije <&vobt in %vttn. 



A SCOTTISH SONG. 



Now spring has clad the grove in green, 

And strew' d the lea wi' flowers : 
The furrow 'd, waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers ; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ? 



The trout within yon wimpling burn 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was ance that careless stream, 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorch'd my fountains dry. 



The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 
In yonder cliff that grows, 

Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, 
Nae ruder visit knows, 

Was mine ; till love has o'er me past, 
And blighted a' my bloom, 



and familiar with all the romance of trystings in lonely 
places, and meetings at forbidden hours, when age and cir« 
cumspection were asleep. What can be finer or truer than 
these lines : — 

" A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink by a' unseen, 
But gleg as light are lovers' e'en^ 
When kind love is in the e'e."] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



507 



And now beneath the with'ring blast 
My youth and joy consume. 



The waken' d lav'rock warbling springs, 

And climbs the early sky, 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye : 
As little reckt I sorrow's power, 

Until the flow'ry snare 
O' witching love, in luckless hour, 

Made me the thrall o' care. 



O had my fate been Greenland snows, 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, u hope nae mair, 

What tongue his woes can tell ! 
Within whase bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell.* 



2Sfjrmj> bay gmt M.o£i) %mx. 



O bonny was yon rosy brier, 

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man ; 
And bonnie she, and ah, how dear ! 

It shaded frae the e'enin sun. 



Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, 

How pure amang the leaves sae green ; 

But purer was the lover's vow 
They witness' d in their shade yestreen. 



All in its rude and prickly bower, 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair ! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

IV. 

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn, 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the 
last edition of my poems, presented to the lady 
whom, in so many fictitious reveries of passion, 
but with the most ardent sentiments of real 
friendship, I have so often sung under the name 
of Chloris : — 



* [This song has some beautiful imagery ; he prescribed it 
as a sort of poetic medicine for the he irt of his friend Alex- 
ander Cunningham, which had suffered from the bright eyes 
and scornful tongue of an Edinburgh dame. I* is no easy 



€o £l)tevi£. 

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms,) 

To join the friendly few. 

Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lour ; 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 

Did nip a fairer flower.) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, 

Still much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self-approving glow 

On conscious honour's part ; 
And — dearest gift of heaven below — 

Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refln'd of sense and taste, 

With every Muse to rove : 
And doubly were the poet blest 

These joys could he improve. 

Tine bagatelle de Vamitie. — Coila. 



No. LXXX. 



G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Edinburgh, 3rd August, 1795. 

My dear Sir : 

This will be delivered to you by a Dr. Bri- 
anton, who bras read your works, and pants for 
the honour of your acquaintance. I do not 
know the gentleman ; but his friend, who ap- 
plied to me for this introduction, being an ex- 
cellent young man, I have no doubt he is 
worthy of all acceptation. 

My eyes have just been gladdened, and my 
mind feasted, with your last packet — full of 
pleasant things indeed. What an imagination 
is yours ! it is superfluous to tell you that I am 
delighted with all the three songs, as well as 
with your elegant and tender verses to Chloris. 

I am sorry you should be induced to alter 
"O whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad," to 
the prosaic line, " Thy Jeanie will venture wi' 
ye, my lad." I must be permitted to say that 
I do not think the latter either reads or sings so 



matter for a poet to load himself with another man's woes, 
and sing them with a natural and deep emotion. — For some 
interesting particulars respecting this lady, see note at thf 
end of this Correspondence, page 517. 



508 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



well as the former. I wish, therefore, you 
would, in my name, petition the charming 
Jeanie, whoever she be, to let the line remain 
unaltered. 

I should be happy to see Mr. Clarke pro- 
duce a few airs to be joined to your verses. — 
Every body regrets his writing so very little, as 
every body acknowledges his ability to write 
well. Pray was the resolution formed coolly 
before dinner, or was it a midnight vow, made 
over a bowl of punch with the bard ? 

I shall not fail to give Mr. Cunningham 
what you have sent him. 

P. S. — The lady's "For a' that, and a' that," 
is sensible enough, but no more to be compared 
to yours than I to Hercules. 

G. T. 



[Currie says that he has heard the heroine of 

" Whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad," 

sing it in the very spirit of arch simplicity that 
it required, and the line, 

" Thy Jeanie will venture wi' ye, my lad," 

came gracefully from her lips. He therefore 
thinks Mr. Thomson's petition unreasonable. 
" There is no doubt that Currie alludes to Mrs. 

! Riddel ; but the heroine was one of a lower de- 
gree than her of Woodlee-Park, nor had she 

| any talent for verse nor perhaps taste in poetry. 
But she was aware of the light which the ge- 
nius of Burns shed on all to whom he was par- 
tial : and, moreover, it gave her a sort of 
distinction or pre-eminence among the rustic 
damsels of the vale." — Cunningham.] 

No. LXXXI. 

BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

dFovIoni mi) 3lobe, no Comfort near.* 



Tune — Let me in this ae Night. 



Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 
Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 



* ["The complaint of a lover of the coldness or the ab- 
sence of his mistress is a favourite theme with lyric poets. 
But the bards of the olden and the bards of these our latter 
times sung with a difference. Modern minstrels keep a poor 
lover enduring the rain or the snow of a stormy night, while 
his inexorable mistress looks out at her window as cold as 
the northern star, and reproaches him with evil intentions 
and reprehensible thoughts. The eldern minstrels did not 
make their ladies of icicles ; a little maidenly bashfulness 
was exhibited, but at last pity influenced the dame ; the doors 
were opened softly ; green rushes were strewed on the floor 
and stair, to hinder the lover's steps to be heard ; and he was 
conducted — past, perhaps, a mother's bed-side — or, more pe- 
rilous still, a maiden aunt's — to a secret chamber, into which 
we shall not attempt to force our way. An old song, to the 
same air to which this song is written, gives a rude picture of 
such interviews : — 



Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 
O wert thou, love, but near me ; 
But near, near, near me ; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, 
And mingle sighs with mine, love ! 

II. 

Around me scowls a wintry sky, 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 

in. 

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, 

To poison fortune's ruthless dart — 

Let me not break thy faithful heart, 

And say that fate is mine, love. 

IV. 

But dreary tho' the moments fleet, 
O let me think we yet shall meet ! 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
O wert thou, love, but near me ; 
But near, near, near me ; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, 
And mingle sighs with mine, love. 

How do you like the foregoing ? I have 
written it within this hour : so much for the 
speed of my Pegasus ; but what say you to his 
bottom ? 

R. B. 



No. LXXXII. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 
Ea3t ffla% a firafo TOcoer. 



Tune — The Lothian Lassie. 



Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; 

I said there was naething I hated like men, 
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe, believe me, 
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me ! 



' O I'll come stealing saftly in, 

And cannilie make little din ; 

To keep me heie wad be a sin, 

Amang the wintry rain, jo. 

Cast off the shoon frae aff yere feet. 

Cast back the door unto the weet ; 

Syne to my chamber craftily creep, 

But ne'er come back again, jo. 

O in he crept so cannilie, 
O in he slaw sae privilie ; 
Nane save my sel' could hear or see — 
Then he was a' my ain, jo.' 

We cannot follow the old poet faither."— Cunningham.]! 






WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



509 



Fie spak o ? the darts in my bonnie black een, 
And vow'd for my love he was dying ; 

I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, 
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, 
The Lord forgie me for lying ! 



A weel-stocked mailen — himsel' for the laird — 
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers : 

I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or card, 
Bat thought I might hae waur offers, waur 
Bat thought I might hae waur offers, [offers, 



But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less — 
The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! 

lie up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess,* 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, 

could bear her, 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. 

v. 

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, 
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, 



* [In the original copy of this song sent to Thomson, this 
line runs thus : — 

" He up the Gateslack to my black cousin Bess." 

To Gateslack, as well as to Dalgarnock in the next verse, 
Thomson objected ; they were not sufficiently soft and suita- 
ble for the voice. To which Burns replied, " Gateslack is 
the name of a particular place — a kind of passage up among 
the Lowther hills on the confines of this country. Dalgar- 
nock is also the name of a romantic spot near the Nith, where 
are still a ruined church and a burial ground. However, let 
the first line run 

' He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess.' " 

"It is always a pity," says Currie, "to throw out any- 
thing that gives locality to our Poet's verses." In this case, 
to have expelled Dalgarnock would have been an injury. It 
is the very place where Old Mortality is represented by Scott 
repairing cherubs' heads and defaced inscriptions on the 
grave-stones of the Cameionian worthies. It is one of the 
lovelie-t spots too on Nithside. The kirk and kirk-yard be- 
longed to the old parish of Dalgarnock when it was incorpo- 
rated with Closeburn ; the affections of the people linger 
about the spot where their fathers' ashes lie, and it is still used 
as place of interment.] 

t The reader will observe the nature of the alterations 
which Burns thought this song required, by comparing the 
first version c-.mmunicated to the Mmeum, with that sent to 
Thomson : — 

Air. — The Lothian Lassie. 

Ae day a braw wooer came down the lang glen, 

And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; 
But I said there was naething I hated like men, 

The deuce gae wi' him to believe me, believe me, 

The deuce gae wi' him to believe me. 

A weel stocket mailen, himself o't the laird, 
An' bridal aff hand was the proffer ; 

I never loot on that I kenn'd or I car'd, 
But I thought I might get a waur offer, waur offer, 
But I thought 1 might get a waur offer, 

He spake o' the darts o' my bonnie black een, 
J And O for my love he was dien' ; 

But I said he might die when he likit for Jean, 
The Gude forgie' me for lien', for lien', 
The Gude forgie' me for lien'. 



And wha but my fine fickle lover was there ! 
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 



But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, 
Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 

My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 



I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, 
Gin she had recover'd her hearin', 

And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet, 
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin', a 

swearin', 
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin' ! 

VIII. 

He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his wife, 
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; 

Sae, e'en to preserve the poor body his life, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-mor- 
row, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow. f 



But what do ye think ! in a fortnight or less — 
The deil's in his taste to gae near her ! 

He's down to the castle to black cousin Bess, 
Think how, the jade ! I could endure her, endure her, 
Think how, the jade ! I could endure her. 

An' a' the niest week, as I fretted wi' care, 
I gade to the tryste o' Dalgarlock, 

And wha but my braw fickle wooer was there, 

Wha glower'd as if he'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 
Wha glower'd as if he'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gied him a blink, 
Lest neighbours should think I was saucy ; 

My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, 
And vow'd that I was a dear lassie, dear lassie, 
And vow'd that I was a dear lassie. 

I spier'd for my cousin fou couthie an' sweet, 

An' if she'd recover'd her hearin', 
An' how my auld shoon suited her shauchled feet, 

Gude safe us ! how he fell a swearin', a swearin' 

Gude safe us 1 how he fell a swearin' ! 

He begged me for Gudesake that I'd be his wife, 

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; 
And, just to preserve the poor body in life, 

I think I will wed him to morrow, to-morrow, 

I think I will wed him to-morrow. 

["This is, in some respects, a better version of the song 
than the copy sent to Thomson. The third line in the seventh 
verse of the latter is altogether wrong, and cannot surely be 
as Burns wrote it. It is nonsense to ask 

'And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet ?' 

The satiric allusion is preserved in Johnson's version ; — 

' And how my auld shoon suited her shauchled feet.' 

'Auld shoon,' in the language of rustic wooing, repre- 
sent a discarded lover. Thus, in the old song, — 

' Ye may tell the coof that gets her 
That he gets but my auld shoon.' 

It wa3 this — and well it might — which made the wooer fall 
' a swearin' ;' — the transposition too of the verses lets us 
a little into the character of the lady; she puts that sarcastic 
question after bestowing the blink ' owre her left shouther :' 
— she was desirous of showing her lover that the conquest 
was not quite achieved.'' — Cunningham.] 



510 



SON Go, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



dfragmcnt. — Cljlorisi. 



Tune— Caledonian Hunt's Delight. 



Why, wliy tell thy lover, 
Bliss he never must enjoy ? 

Why, why undeceive him, 
And give all his hopes the lie ? 



why, while fancy, raptur'd, slumbers, 
Chloris, Chloris all the theme, 

Why, why wouldst thou, cruel, 
Wake thy lover from his dream ? 

Such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this 
air that I find it impossible to make another 
stanza to suit it. 

1 am at present quite occupied with the charm- 
ing sensations of the tooth-ache, so have not a 
word to spare. 

R. B. 



No. LXXXIII. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 



3rd June, 1795. 



My dear Sir : 



Your English verses to " Let me in this ae 
night," are tender and beautiful ; and your 
ballad to the " Lothian Lassie" is a master- 
piece for its humour and naivete. The frag- 
ment of the " Caledonian Hunt" is quite suited 
to the original measure of the air, and, as it 
plagues you so, the fragment must content it. 
I would rather, as I said before, have had Bac- 
chanalian words, had it so pleased the Poet ; 
but, nevertheless, for what we have received, 
Lord, make us thankful ! 

G. T. 



[It was not without reason that Thomson 
wrote in this gentle and conciliatory strain : the 
Poet was suffering from ill health and depressed 
fortune, and that slow consuming illness which 
arrested him in his bright career was more than 
beginning to manifest itself.] 



* [" Burns had made a pause in his correspondence from 
June.. 1/95, to February, 1796 ; and Thomson, feeling alarm, 
as much for the Poet's sake as for the ' dozen of Scotch and 
Irish airs' which he wished ' wedded to immortal verse,' wrote 
to make inquiries. Something in the tone of the letter, and 
the circumstance of pressing a sick man to write songs, seem 
to indicate that Thomson did not imagine that Burns was in 
a dangerous state. Nor is this surprising : — he was wildly 
2iay or gloomily downcast by fits and starts : Professor Wal- 
ker, who had an interview with him in the latter end of the 



No. LXXXIV. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

5f/i Feb. 1796. 

O Robby Burns, are ye sleeping yet ? 
Or are ye wauking, I would wit '! 

The pause you have made, my dear Sir, is 
awful! Am I never to hear from you again? 
I know and I lament how much you have been 
afflicted of late, but I trust that returning health 
and spirits will now enable you to resume the 
pen, and delight us with your musings. I have 
still about a dozen Scotch and Irish airs that I 
wish " married to immortal verse." We have 
several true-born Irishmen on the Scottish list ; 
but they are now naturalized and reckoned our 
own good subjects : indeed, we have none better. 
I believe I before told yv»\\ that I had been much 
urged by some friends to publish a collection of 
all our favourite airs and songs in octavo, em- 
bellished with a number of etchings by our 
ingenious friend Allan : what is your opinion 
of this?* 

G. T. 



No. LXXXV. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

February 17, 1796. 

Many thanks, my dear Sir, for your hand- 
some, elegant present to Mrs. Burns, and for; 
my remaining volume of Peter Pindar. — Peter; 
is a delightful fellow, and a first favourite of 
mine. I am much pleased with your idea of 
publishing a collection of our songs in octavo, 
with etchings. I am extremely willing to lend 
every assistance in my power. The Irish airs I 
shall cheerfully undertake the task of finding 
verses for. 

I have, already, you know, equipt three with 
words, and the other day I strung up a kind of 
rhapsody to another Hibernian melody, which 
I admire much : — 

?§t£ for a £a£te im' a Codjer. 



Tune — Balinamona Ora. 



Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty y ou grasp in your arms . 



year, failed (o perceive in his fierce tone of conversation, and 
the almost convulsive resolution to aLlde by the wine, the 
presence of that twofold sickness of mind and body which 
was soon to carry him to the grave. He was, nevertheless, 
to use the words of a Scottish song, 

' Fading in his place ;' 

and his wearing away was observed by all who took any 
interest in his fortunes." — Cunningham.] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



0, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ; 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, 
The nice yellow guineas for me. 



Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that 

blows, 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green 

knowes, [yowes. 

Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white 



And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest ; 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie im- 
prest, 
The langeryehae them— the mair they're carest. 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ; 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, 
The nice yellow guineas for me. 

If this will do, you have now four of my 
Irish engagement. In my by-past songs, I dis- 
like one thing ; the name Chloris — I meant it as 
the fictitious name of a certain lady ; but, on 
second thoughts, it is a high incongruity to have 
a Greek appellation to a Scottish pastoral bal- 
lad. Of this, and some things else, in my 
next : I have more amendments to propose. — 
What you once mentioned of "flaxen locks" 
is just : they cannot enter into an elegant de- 
scription of beauty. — Of this also again — God 
bless you ! * 

R. B. 



No. LXXXVI. 

G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Youe, " Hey for a lass wi' a tocher," is a 
most excellent song, and with you the subject is 



* ["Burns, it is believed, not only determined to remove 
Chloris with the flaxen tresses, and Anna with the golden 
locks, from his songs, but to eschew their allurements and 
avoid their company. He began, when it was too late, to 
perceive that, in erring against domestic ties and forsaking 
his household gods, he was sinning not only against his own 
fame, but furnishing his heart with matter for future repen- 
tance and remorse. In the complete revisal which he desired 
to give his songs, he had no wish to abate the humour or les- 
sen even the occasional levities of expression in which he in- 
lulged. His aim appears to have been to change foreign 
lames for native ones, and rely upon the Jeans, the Marys, 
:he Phemies, the Ediths, and the Berthas of his own isle for 
exercising influence over the hearts of men. Whatever his 
resolutions were respecting his songs or himself, he lived not 
to fulfil them." — Cunningham.] 

f [" Like the Boar's Head iri Eastcheap, and the Mermaid 
in Fridav-street, London, immortalized as these have been by 



something new indeed. It is the first time I 
have seen you debasing the god of soft desire 
into an amateur of acres and guineas. 

I am happy to find you approve of my pro- 
posed octavo edition. Allan has designed and 
etched about twenty plates, and I am to have 
my choice of them for that work. Indepen- 
dently of the Hogarthian humour with which 
they abound, they exhibit the character and 
costume of the Scottish peasantry with inimi- 
table felicity. In this respect, he himself says, 
they will far exceed the aquatinta plates he did 
for the Gentle Shepherd, because in the etching 
he sees clearly what he is doing, but not so with 
the aquatinta., which he could not manage to 
his mind. 

The Dutch boors of Ostade are scarcely more 
characteristic and natural than the Scottish 
figures in those etchings. 

G. T. 



No. LXXXVII. 

BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

April, 1796. 

Alas ! my dear Thomson, I fear it will be 
some time ere I tune my lyre again ! " By 
Babel streams I have sat and wept," almost ever 
since I wrote you last: I have only known ex- 
istence by the pressure of the heavy hand 01 
sickness ; and have counted time by the reper- 
cussions of pain ! Rheumatism, cold ? and 
fever, have formed to me a terrible combination. 
I close my eyes in misery, and open them with- 
out hope. I look on the vernal day, and sav 
with poor Fergusson — 

"Say, wherefore has an all-indulgent Heaven 
Light to the comfortless ami wretched given?" 

This will be delivered to you by a Mrs. Hys- 
lop, landlady of the Globe Tavern here, which 
for these many years has been my howff, and 
where our friend Clarke and I have had many 
a merry squeeze. f I am highly delighted with 



the genius and wit of Shakspeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, and 
Ben Jonson, and many other of the prime spirits of their 
age, so the Globe Tavern in Dumfries, the favourite haunt of 
our Poet, while resident in that town, appears to be destined 
to a similar acceptation in the eyes of posterity. 

"The 'howff' of which Burns speaks was a small, com- 
fortable tavern, situated in the mouth of the Globe close, and 
it held at that time the rank as third among the houses of 
public accommodation in Dumfries. The excellence of the 
drink and the attentions of the proprietor were not, however, 
all its attractions. 'Anna with the gowden locks' was one of 
the ministering damsels of the establishment ; customers 
loved to be served by one who was not only cheerful, but 
whose charms were celebrated by the Bard of Kyle. On one 
of the last visits paid by the Poet, the wine of the ' howff ' 
was more than commonly strong— or, served by Anna, it went 
more glibly over than usual ; and when he rose to be gone, he 
found he could do no more than keep his balance. The 



512 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



Mr. Allan's etchings. " Woo'd and married 
an' a'," is admirable ; The grouping is beyond 
all praise. The expression of the figures, con- 
formable to the story in the ballad, is absolutely 
faultless perfection. I next admire, "Turnim- 
spike." What I like least is, " Jenny said to 
Jocky." Besides the female being in her ap- 
pearance * * * * * if you take her stoop- 
ing into the account, she is at least two inches 
taller than her lover. Poor Cleghorn ! I sin- 
cerely sympathize with him ! Happy I am to 
think that he yet has a well-grounded hope of 
health and enjoyment in this world. As for me 
— but that is a sad subject i 

R. B. 
— *. 

No. LXXXVIII. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Wi May, 1796. 

I need not tell you, my good Sir, what con- 
cern the receipt of your last gave me, and how 
much I sympathise in your sufferings. But do 
not, I beseech you, give yourself up to despon- 
denc} r , nor speak the language of despair. The 
vigour of your constitution, I trust, will soon 
set you on your feet again ; and then, it is to be 
hoped, you will see the wisdom and the neces- 
sity of taking due care of a life so valuable to 
your family, to your friends, and to the world. 

Trusting that your next will bring agreeable 
accounts of your convalescence and returning 
good spirits, I remain, with sincere regard, 
yours. 

G. T. 

P. S. — Mrs. Hyslop, I doubt not, delivered 
the gold seal to you in good condition. 



[On this gold seal the Poet caused his coat of 
arms to be engraven, viz., a small bush ; a bird 
singing; the legend "wood-notes wild," with 
the motto " better hae a wee bush than nae 
bield." This precious relic is now in the pro- 
per keeping of the Poet's brother - in - law, 
Robert Armour, of Old 'Change, London.] 



No. LXXXIX. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

My dear Sir, 
I once mentioned to you an air which I have 
long admired, " Here's a health to them that's 

night was frosty and the hour late ; the Poet sat down on the 
steps of a door between the tavern and his own house, fell 
asleep, and did not awaken till he was almost dead v.ith cold. 
To this exposure his illness has been imputed ; and no doubt 
it contributed, with disappointed hope and insulted pride, to 
bring him to an early grave." — Cunningham. 

On the panes of glass in the Globe, Burns was frequently 
in the habit of writing many of his witty jeux d' esprit, as well 
as fragmentary portions of his most celebrated songs. We 
fear these precious relics have now been wholly abstracted by 



awa, hiney," but I forget if you took any no- 
tice of it. I have just been trying to suit it 
with verses ; and I beg leave to recommend the 
air to your attention once more. 1 have only 
begun it : — 

Tune— Here's a Health to them that's awa. 



Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! [meet, 
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ! 



Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing 

Than aught in the world beside — Jessy ! 



I mourn through the gay, gaudy day, 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms ; 

But welcome the dream 0' sweet slumber, 
For then I am lock't in thy arms — Jessy ! 



I guess by the dear angel smile, 

I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; 
But why urge the tender confession, 

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree ! — Jessy ! 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! [meet, 
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ! 



[" In the letter to Thomson," says Currie, 
" the first three stanzas only are given, and it 
was supposed that the Poet had gone no farther ; 
among his manuscripts, however, the fourth 
stanza was found, which completes this exquisite 
song, the last finished offspring of his muse." 
The heroine is Jessie Lewars, now Mrs. Thom- 
son of Dumfries: her tender attentions soothed 
the last days of the departing Poet ; and, if im- 
mortality in song can be considered a recom- 
pence, she has been rewarded. — 



the lovers and collectors of literary rarities. John Speirs, Esq.i 
of Elderslie, has in his possession one of these panes of glass, 
upon which is written in Burns' autograph, the following 
verse of ' Sae flaxen were her ringlets,' given in Letter lvii. 
of this Correspondence : — 

Hers are the willing chains of love, 

By conquering Beauty's sovereign Iawj 

But still my Chloris' dearest charm, 
She says she lo'es me best of a' !] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



51S 



No. XC. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

This will be delivered by a Mr. Lewars, a 
young fellow of uncommon inerit. As he will 
be a day or two in town, you will have leisure, 
if you chuse, to write me by him ; and if you 
have a spare half hour to spend with him, I 
6hall place your kindness to my account. I 
have no copies of the songs I have sent you, — 
and I have taken a fancy to review them all, 
and possibly may mend some of them ; so, 
when you have complete leisure, I will thank 
you for either the originals or copies.* I had 
rather be the author of five well- written songs 
than of ten otherwise. I have great hopes 
that the genial influence of the approaching 
summer will set me to rights, but as yet I can- 
not boast of returning health. I have now 
reason to believe that my complaint is a flying 
gout : a sad business ! 

Do let me know how Cleghorn is, and re- 
member me to him. 

This should have been delivered to you a 
month ago. I am still very poorly, but should 
like much to hear from you. 



No. XCI. 
BURNS TO G. THOMSON. 

Brow, on the Solwuy -frith, 12th July, 1/96. 

After all my boasted independence, curst 
necessity compels me to implore you for five 
pounds. A cruel wretch of a haberdasher, 
to whom I owe an account, taking it into his 
head that I am dying, has commenced a pro- 
cess, and will infallibly put me into 'jail. Do, 
for God's sake, send me that sum, and that by 
return of post. Forgive me this earnestness, 
but the horrors of a jail have made me half dis- 
tracted. I do not ask all this gratuitously ; 
for, upon returning health, I hereby promise, 
and engage to furnish you with five pounds' 
worth of the neatest song-genius you have 
seen. I tried my hand on " Rothemurche," 
this morning. The measure is so difficult that 
it is impossible to infuse much genius into the 
lines ; they are on the other side. Forgive, for- 
give me ! 

dfatrast fi&axti on iBeuon banfcg. 

Tune — Rothemurche. 



Fairest maid on Devon banks, 

Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 
Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 

And smile as thou wert wont to do ? 
Full well thou know'st I love thee dear ! 
Could'st. thou to malice lend an ear ? 



* [It is almost unnecessary to say that this revisal Burns 
did not live to perform.] 



O ! did not love exclaim " Forbear, 
Nor use a faithful lover so." 
ii. 
Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 
Those wonted smiles, O let me share ; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear 

No love but thine my heart shall know. 
Fairest maid on Devon banks, 

Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 
Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 

And smile as thou were wont to do ? 



[" These verses," says Currie, " and the let- 
ter enclosing them, are written in a character 
that marks the feeble state of B urns' s bodily 
strength. Mr. Syme is of opinion that he 
could not have been in any danger of a jail at 
Dumfries, where certainly he had many firm 
friends, nor under any such necessity of im- 
ploring aid from Edinburgh. But about this 
time (nine days before his death), his reason 
began at times to be unsettled, and the horrors 
of a jail perpetually haunted his imagination. 
He died on the 21st of this month." 

" I have in the Life of the Poet asserted that 
he was in great poverty before he died, and 
that sometimes, in the course of the spring of 
1796, his family were all but wanting bread. 
Those who say he had good friends around him 
seem not to know that he had a soul too proud 
to solicit help, and to forget that there are 
hearts in the world ready to burst before they 
beg. The five pounds for which he solicited 
Thomson were to meet the demands of David 
Williamson, to whom he owed the price of the 
cloth of his volunteer regimentals — the money 
should have been paid in April : and the ten 
pounds which he requested, and by return of 
post obtained, from his cousin, James Burness, 
grandfather of Lieutenant Burness the Eastern 
Traveller, was for his wife, then about to be 
confined in child-bed. It is not known that he 
applied to any one else, and he would not have 
applied to either his cousin or to Thomson, had 
he not been sorely pressed : the fact of his be- 
ing in want was known to all his neighbours, 
and admitted by himself. 

" In this song — the last he was to measure in 
this world — his thoughts wandered to Charlotte 
Hamilton, and the banks of the Devon." — 
Allan Cunningham.] 



No. XCII. 
G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 

Uth July, 1790. 

My dear Sir : 
Ever since I received your melancholy let- 
ters by Mrs. Hyslop, I have been ruminating 
in Avhat manner I could endeavour to alleviate 
your sufferings. Again and again I thought of 
a pecuniary offer, but the recollection of one of 
your letters on this subject, and the fear of of- 



514 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



fending your independent spirit, checked my 
resolution. I thank you heartily, therefore, 
for the frankness of your letter of the 12th, and, 
with great pleasure, inclose a draft for the very 
sum I proposed sending.* Would I were Chan- 
cellor of the Excheauer but for one day, for 
your sake ! 

Pray, my good Sir, is it not possible for you 
to muster a volume of poetry ? If too much 
trouble to you, in the present state of your 
health, some literary friend might be found 
here, who would select and arrange from your 
manuscripts, and take upon him the task of 
editor. In the mean time it could be adver- 
tised to be published by subscription. Do not 
shun this mode of obtaining the value of your 
labour : remember Pope published the Iliad by 
subscription. Think of this, my dear Burns, 
and do not reckon me intrusive with my advice. 
You are too well convinced of the respect and 
friendship I bear you, to impute any thing I 
say to an unworthy motive. Yours, faithfully, 

G. T. 

The verses to " Rothernurche," will answer 
finely, I am happy to see you can still tune 
your lyre. 



[" The pecuniary circumstances attending 
Mr. Thomson's connection with Burns appear 
liable, at the present day, to much misappre- 
hension. This gentleman, whose work has ulti- 
mately met with a good sale, seems to be re- 
garded by some as an enriched man who mea- 
sured a stinted reward to a poor one, looking 
for a greater recompense ; and several writers 
have on this ground spoken of him in a very 
ungracious manner. When we go back to the 
time of the correspondence between the two 
men, and consider their respective circumstances, 
and the relation in which they came to stand 
towards each other, the conduct of Mr. Thom- 
son assumes quite a different aspect. He and 
Burns were enthusiasts, the one in music, 
the other in poetry ; they were both of them 
servants of the government, on limited salaries, 
with rising families. Mr. Thomson, with 
little prospect of profit, engaged in the pre- 
paration of a work, which was designed to 
set forth the music of his native land to 
every possible advantage, and of which the 
paper and print alone were likely to exhaust his 
very moderate resources. For literary aid, in 
this labour of love, he applied to the great 
Scottish Poet, who had already gratuitously as- 
sisted Johnson in his Scottish Musical Museum. 
Mr. Thomson offered reasonable remuneration ; 
but the Poet scorned the idea of recompense, 



* [" The dying Poet wrote entreatingly for five pounds, 
and Thomson sent the exact sum which he requested, from 
inability to send more ; or, as he avers, from a dread of giving 
offence to the sensitive mind of Burns. It would have been 
as well had the sum been larger; but one cannot well see how 



and declared he would write only because it 
gave him pleasure. Nevertheless, Mr. Thom- 
son, in the course of their correspondence, ven- 
tured to send a pecuniary present, which, al-J 
though not forming an adequate recompense for 
Burns' s services, was still one which such men ! 
might be apt, at that period, to offer and accept 
from each other. This Burns, with hesitation, 
accepted ; but sternly forbade any further remit- 
tance, protesting that it would put a period to] 
their correspondence. Yet Mr. Thomson, from! 
time to time, expressed his sense of obligation j 
by presents of a different nature, and these the! 
Poet accepted. Burns ultimately, on an emer- 
gency, requested a renewal of the former remit- 
tance, using such terms on the occasion as 
showed that his former scorn of all pecuniary^ 
remuneration was still a predominant feeling inj 
his mind. Mr. Thomson, therefore, sent the very 
sum asked, believing, if he presumed to send? 
more, that he would run a greater risk of offend- 
ing than of gratifying the Poet in the then irri- 
table state of his feelings. In all this we hum- 
bly conceive that no unprejudiced person at the 
time would have seen grounds for any charge: 
against Mr. Thomson. 

u It may further be remarked that, at the time 
of the Poet's death, though many songs had 
been written, only six had been published, 
namely, those in the first half volume, so that, 
during the life of the Poet, the publisher had 
realised nothing by the songs, and must have 
still been greatly doubtful if he should ever re-j 
cover what he had already expended on the 
work. Before many more of the songs had ap- 
peared in connection with his music, the friends 
of the Poet's family had resolved to collect his 
works for publication ; upon which Mr. Thom- 
son thought it a duty incumbent on him to give 
up the manuscripts of the whole of the songs, 
together with the Poet's and his own letters, 
to Dr. Currie, that they might form part of 
the edition of Burns's works. The full benefit 
of them, as literary compositions, was thus 
realised for the Poet's family, Mr. Thorn 
son only retaining an exclusive right toj 
publish them afterwards in connection with the 
music. And hence, after all, the debtor side of] 
his account with Burns is not so great as it is] 
apt to appear. No further debate could arise] 
on this subject, if it were to be regarded in the] 
light in which the parties chiefly interested havej 
regarded it. We see that Burns himself mani-i 
fests no trace of a suspicion that his correspon-j 
dent was a selfish or niggardly man ; and it is 
equally certain that his surviving family always 
looked on that gentleman as one of the Poet's: 
and their own kindest friends. 



Thomson deserves censure for doing that, and no more, 
which his correspondent requested him to do. Professor! 
Walker, a man little inclined to irony, says that, on thial 
subject, the delicate mind of Mr. Thomson is at peace witfl 
itself." — Cunningham.] 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



515 



" It is a curious fact, not hitherto known to the 
public, nor even to Mr. Thomson himself, that 
the five pounds sent by him to Burns, as well 
as the larger sum which the Poet borrowed 
about the same time from his cousin, Mr. 
Burness of Montrose, were not made use of on the 
occasion, but that the bank orders for both sums 
remained in Burns's house at the time of his 
death. This is proved by the following docu- 
ment, for which we are indebted to Mr. Alex- 
ander Macdonald, of the General Register 
House, Edinburgh : — 

" ' The testament dative, and inventory of the 
debts and sums of money which were justly ow- 
ing to the late Robert Burns, officer of excise 
in Dumfries, at the time of his decease, viz., 
the 21st day of July last, faithfully made out 
and given up by Jean Armour, widow of the 
said defunct, and executrix qua relict decerned 
to him by decreet dative of the Commissary of 
Dumfries, dated 16th September last. 

" 'There was justly owing to the said defunct, 
' at the time of his decease aforesaid, the principal 
i sum of five pounds sterling, contained in a pro- 
missory note, dated the 14th July last, granted 
by Sir William Forbes and Co., bankers in 
Edinburgh, to George Thomson, payable on 
demand ; which note is by the said George 
i Thomson indorsed, payable to the defunct : 
' Item, the principal sum of ten pounds sterling, 
contained in a draft dated the 15th July last, 
drawn by Robert Christie upon the manager for 
the British Linen Co. in Edinburgh, in favour 
of James Burness or order ; which draft is by 
the said James Burness indorsed payable to the 
defunct. 

Sum of the debts owing to the defunct, £\5 sterling. 

"'Thomas Goldie of Craigmuie, commissary 
of the commissariat of Dumfries specially consti- 
tuted for confirmation of testaments within the 
bounds of the said commissariat — understand- 
ing that, after due summoning and lawful 
warning, made by public form of edict of the 
executors, testamentary spouse, bairns, if any 
were, and intromitters with the goods and gear 
of the said Robert Burns, and all others having 
or pretending to have interest in the matter 
underwritten, &c. &c, I decerned therein, &c, 
and in His Majesty's name, constitute, ordain, 
and confirm the said Jean Armour, executrix 
qua relict to the said defunct, and in and. to 
the debt and sums of money above written. — 
At Dumfries, 6th Oct. 1796.' " — Chambers.] 

[" Mr. Thomson has been very much abused 
about this transaction, and, I confess, I do not 
know well what to say about it ; but it must 
ever be regretted that George Thomson did not 
contrive to send him more at this dismal period 
than just the bare five pounds, when he could 
not but perceive the gloomy and altered state 
of the Poet's mind. After Burns' letter of 
July, 1793, I exculpate Mr. Thomson from 



making any attempts at remuneration, previous 
to the receiving this letter from Brow. But, 
all things considered, I wish to God he had 
sent him at least ten or twenty pounds, for his 
own honour, and that of the literary and mu- 
sical character. I am quite aware that Mr. 
Thomson, at that period, could not have made 
any money from Burns' songs, but that, on the 
contrary, he must have been much money out of 
pocket, considering the efficient and costly way 
he took of bringing out the work. But then 
the songs were his, and poor Burns had toiled 
for him, while at the same time the speculation 
was certain and sure. Upon the whole, I can- 
not account for Mr. Thomson's parsimony here ; 
for I know him well, and he is any thing but a 
close-fisted niggardly gentleman. In fact, he 
is quite the reverse, a kind open-hearted fellow, 
who entertains literary and musical people most 
liberally, as many of my acquaintance can wit- 
ness. I have written a good many songs for 
him myself, and it was not foi want of remu- 
neration that I did not write far more : but then 
he is the most troublesome devil to write song-s 
for that ever was created, for he is always eithc 
bothering one with alterations, or else popping 
them in himself. But, as to niggardliness in 
remuneration, I can bear testimony that he ra- 
ther errs on the other side ; and, as an instance, 
I was once out of pure shame obliged to return 
him a violin, which I was told was valued at 
£35, on pretence that I had a better one, and 
could not be plagued with another. Both Mrs. 
Hogg and I had previously got presents of 
sterling value. George Thomson is a pragma- 
tical but real good man, What was done can- 
not be recalled ; but it has been compensated 
since by every kindness in his pow r er to bestow." 
— Hogg.] 

["Thus terminated the correspondence of 
Burns with Thomson, in a manner as melan- 
choly as it commenced joyously, — it ended in 
the death of one who was, and, we believe, ever 
will be, considered the first lyrist of his native 
land. On the willows of the winding Devon, 
the dying Bard suspended the harp of Coila, 
and long we fear is it destined to remain mute ; 
for what master-hand can again touch its strings 
with such exquisite simplicity, skill, pathos, 
passion, and truth ? 

"In closing this portion of Burns' works, we 
can scarely trust ourself to the expression of 
our own individual feelings. Men differently 
constituted feel and think differently; and 
hence, were we on this occasion to say what, on 
a review of the correspondence now before us, 
we both feel and think, our sentiments perhaps 
would merely represent our own peculiar idio- 
syncracies, instead of reflecting the sentiments 
and emotions of the greater bulk of mankind. 
Still it is a deeply affecting sight to behold a 
fellow-being of exalted genius, of a proud and 
peculiarly sensitive spirit, and a truly generous 



516 



SONGS, AND CORRESPONDENCE 



heart, in the very prime of his days smitten 
with disease, slighted or shunned in a great 
measure by former friends, or those he deemed 
such, involved in misfortunes, and, by causes 
which need not be enumerated, steeped compa- 
ratively to the lips in poverty, stretched upon 
the bed of sickness, of suffering, and death, in 
circumstances so hapless and forlorn, so totally 
cheerless and desolate, as almost to leave no 
tender regret in his bosom at parting with all he 
once held dear or esteemed lovely on earth ; 
or, using his own emphatic words, to sing, 
broken in spirit, and withered at heart, 

' Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, 
Now gay with the bright setting sun ; 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, 
Our race of existence is run.' 

" We attach blame to no one and to no party ; 
but we cannot conceal from ourself the mourn- 
ful fact, knowing, as we almost fancy we do, 
the writhings and workings of such a mind as 
Burns was endowed with, that he literally died 
of a broken heart. 

"With our friend the Shepherd, we must ever 
regret that Mr. Thomson was so exactly mer- 
cantile as to inclose to the dying poet precisely 
the sum which he sought the loan of, and, what 
is still more curious, the precise sum which he, 
Mr. Thomson, " proposed sending," apparently 
before, as may be inferred from his own words, 
he was aware of Burns' peculiarly embarrassed 
pecuniary circumstances, and almost hopeless 
state of health." — Motherwell.] 

[Alluding to this subject, Mr. Lockhart, in 
his admirable Life of the Poet, says, and we 
agree with him in opinion : " Why Burns, who 
was of opinion, when he wrote his letter to 
Mr. Carfrae, that ' no profits are more honour- 
able than those of the labours of a man of 
genius,' and whose own notions of independ- 
ence had sustained no shock on the receipt of 
hundreds of pounds from Creech, should have 
spurned the suggestion of pecuniary recompense 
from Mr. Thomson, it is no easy matter to ex- 
plain : nor do I profess to understand why Mr. 
Thomson took so little pains to argue the mat- 
ter in limine with the poet, and convince him 
that the time which he himself considered as 
fairly entitled to be paid for by a common 
bookseller ought of right to be valued and ac- 
knowledged on similar terms by the editor and 
proprietor of a book containing both songs and 
music."] 

"Burns," says Professor Walker, "had all 
the unmanageable pride of Samuel Johnson, 
and, if the latter threw away with indignation 
the new shoes which had been placed at his 
chamber-door, secretly and collectively by his 
companions, the former would have been still 
more ready to resent any pecuniary donation 
with which a single individual, after his peremp- 
tory prohibition, should avowedly have dared 



to insult him. He would instantly have con- 
strued such conduct into a virtual assertion 
that his prohibition was insincere, and his in- 
dependence affected ; and the more artfully the 
transaction had been disguised, the more rage 
it would have excited, as implying the same as- 
sertion with the additional charge, that if se- 
cretly made it would not be denied." But on 
this subject the public have an opportunity of 
hearing Mr. Thomson himself, who expresses 
himself thus : — 

" Upon my publishing the first twenty-five 
melodies with Pleyel's symphonies and accom- 
paniments, and songs by different authors, six 
of Burns' songs being of the number, (and 
those six were all I published in his life-time), 
I, of course, sent a copy of this half volume to 
the Poet : and as a mark of my gratitude for 
his excessive kindness, I ventured, with all 
possible delicacy, to send him a small pecuniary 
present, notwithstanding what he had said on 
the subject. He retained it after much hesita- 
tion, but wrote me (Letter 28) that, if I pre- 
sumed to repeat it, he would, on the least mo- 
tion of it, indignantly spurn what was past, and 
commence entire stranger to me. 

" Who that reads the letter above referred to, 
and the first one which the Poet sent me, can 
think I have deserved the abuse which anony- 
mous scribblers have poured upon me, for not 
endeavouring to remunerate the Poet? If III 
had dared to go farther than 1 did, in sending ! 
him money, is it not perfectly clear that he ! I 
would have deemed it an insult, and ceased to 
write another song for me ? 

" Had I been a selfish or avaricious man, I j 
had a fair opportunity, upon the death of the | [ 
Poet, to put money in my pocket; for I might 
then have published, for my own behoof, all the 
beautiful lyrics he had written for me, the ori- 
ginal manuscripts of which were in my posses- 
sion. But instead of doing this, I was no 
sooner informed that the friends of the Poet's 
family had come to a resolution to collect his 
works, and to publish them for the benefit of 
the family, and that they thought it of import- 
ance to include my MSS., as being likely, from 
their number, their novelty, and beauty, to 
prove an attraction to subscribers, than I felt i 
at once my duty to put them in possession of 
all the songs and of the correspondence between 
the Poet and myself, and accordingly, through 
Mr. John Syme, of Ryedale, I transmitted the 
whole to Dr. Currie, who had been prevailed 
on, immensely for the advantage of Mrs. Burns 
and her children, to take on himself the task 
of editor. 

' ' For thus surrendering the manuscripts, I 
received both verbally, and in writing, the 
warm thanks of the Trustees for the family, 
Mr. John Syme, and Mr. Gilbert Burns ; whoa 
considered what I had done as a fair return for 
the Poet's generosity of conduct to me. 



WITH GEORGE THOMSON. 



517 



" If any thing more were wanting to set 
me right, with respect to the anonymous ca- 
lumnies circulated to my prejudice, in regard to 
the Poet, I have it in my power to refer to a 
most respectable testimonial which, to my very 
agreeable surprise, was sent me by Professor 
Josiah Walker, one of the Poet's Biographers : 
and, had I not been reluctant to obtrude myself 
on the public, I should long since have given 
it publicity. The Professor Avrote me as 
follows : — 

Perth, 14th April, 1811. 

" ' Dear Sir : 
" ( Before I left Edinburgh, I sent a copy of 
my account of Burns to Lord Woodhouselee ; 
and since my return I have had a letter from his 
Lordship, which among other passages, contains 
one that I cannot withhold from you ! He 
writes thus : — I am glad that you have em- 
braced the occasion which lay in your way, of 
doing full justice to Mr. George Thomson, who, 
I agree with you in thinking, was most harshly 
and illiberally treated by an anonymous dull 
calumniator. I have always regarded Mr. 
Thomson as a man of great worth and most 
respectable character: and I have every reason 
tt believe that poor Burns felt himself as much 
indebted to his good counsels and active friend- 
ship as a man, as the public is sensible he was to 
his good taste and judgment as a critic !' 

Of the unbiassed opinion of such a highly 
respectable gentleman and accomplished scholar 
as Lord Woodhouselee, I certainly feel not a little 
proud : it is of itself more than sufficient to silence 



the calumnies by which I have been assailed, 
first, anonymously, and afterwards, to my great 
surprise, by some writers who might have been 
expected to possess sufficient judgment to see the 
matter in its true light." 

G. T. 

"To this letter of my excellent friend Mr. 
Thomson/' says Chambers, " little can be added. 
His work, the labour of his life-time, has long 
been held the classical depository of Scottish 
melody and song, and is extensively known. 
His own character, in the city where he has 
spent so many years, has ever stood high. It 
was scarcely necessary that Mr. Thomson 
should enter into a defence of himself, against 
the inconsiderate charges which have been 
brought against him. 

"When Burns refused remuneration from one 
whom he knew to be, like himself, of the gene- 
ration of Apollo, rather than of Plutus, and 
while his musical friend was only entering upon 
a task, the results of which no one could tell, 
how can Mr. Thomson be fairly blamed ? 

" If a moderate success ultimately crowned his 
enterprise and toil, and the success has probably 
been much more moderate than Mr. Thomson's 
assailants suppose — long after the poor bard Avas I 
beyond the reach of money, and all superior 
consolations, — who can envy it, or who can say 
that it offers any offence to the manes of the 
unhappy poet? The charge was indeed never 
preferred but in ignorance, and would be totally 
unworthy of notice, if ignorant parties were 
still apt to be imposed upon by it." 



ALEXANDER CUNNINGHAM AND HIS FAITHLESS FAIR ONE. 



The story of Cunningham's unfaithful mistress, which is 
alluded to in the song, " Now Spring has clad the grove in 
green," p. 506 ; as well as in the songs, " She's fair and 
fause," p. 417, and " Had I a Cave on some wild distant 
shore," p. 467, made a great sensation at the time, and has 
been kept in remembrance by the verses of the Poet. " One 
evening, a very few years ago," says Mr. Chambers, in 1838, 
" a friend of mine, visiting a musical family who resided op- 
posite St. John's Chapel, in Prince's-street, chanced to re- 
quest one of the young ladies to sing "Had I a Cave," &c. 
She was about to comply, when it was recollected that the 
heroine of the lay lived below, an aged widow, and might 
overhear it ; for which reason the intention of singing the 
song was laid aside." 

The " fair and fause " Peggy in question, aft.-r "plighting 
her troth" with Cunningham, married the late Dr. Dewar, 
of Princes' Street, Edinburgh. At his death he left three 
daughters and a son, who were all well provided for — the 
latter became an Advocate at the Scottish Bar, but to the 
great mortification and disappointment of his widow, he left 
her only one hundred pounds per ann., which made her in 
a great measure dependant on her son, having been accus- 
tomed for many years to live in the first style. Here was 
something like retributive justice ! — Her second daughter was 
the celebrated Jessie Dewar, the loveliest girl that at one pe- 
riod adorned the Scottish metropolis. A young Clerk in the 

Royal Bank, of the name of L , went almost out of his 

wits regarding her, and annoyed her exceedingly. Kay, the 
celebrated Caricaturist, published an admirable likeness of 
the fair girl, with her tormentor following her, and vocife- 
rating, " If it were not for these d — d blankets, I would have 
got her '" alluding to his mother having for many years been 
a retailer of Flannels in the High Street, Edinburgh, This 
created a good deal of merriment at the time, and the lovely 



young Jessie was no longer tormented by his addresses. She 
afterwards married the Hon. and Rev. Mr. Tourner, and is 
now settled in London. 

The lady whom Burns has immortalized in these three 
songs, above alluded to, was the prototype of her lovely 
daughter. Every thing had bet-n arranged for her marriage 
with Cunningham, who was devotedly attached to her ; in- 
deed, for a time it appears to have been reciprocated : — 

" But woman is but warld's gear." 

Dr. Dewar, who had been paying her professional and 
friendly visits at the same time, made her many handsome 
presents; and, although her senior for many years, and not 
to be compared to his rival in personal appearance, or talents, 
he persuaded her to break off the match. Cunningham at 
that time not being in affluent circumstances, and the lady 
knowing that the Doctor had "wrouth o' gear," she con- 
sented to marry him. This was a shock which poor Cun- 
ningham never got the better of, 

" Till grief his eyes did close, 
Ne'er to weep more." 
Such was the strength of his affection for the object of his 
blighted love that, long after she had jilted him, he has been 
seen stealthily for many an evening in the gloaming, to tra- 
verse for hours the opposite side of the street where she re- 
sided — pause for a moment opposite her windows, and when 
he had caught a glimpse of her, burst into tears — ihen wend 
his way slowly home by the most lonely path — his handker- 
chief over his eyes, completely absorbed in grief. Time mol- 
lified hia hopeless passion ; and his friends, knowing his 
extreme susceptibility, always avoided the slightest allusion 
to the circumstance. He died a few years' since, beloved and 
respected by all who had the happiness of his acquaintance. 



REMARKS 



SCOTTISH SONGS AND BALLADS, 

ANCIENT AND MODERN; 

WITH 

ANECDOTES OF THEIR AUTHORS. 



ROBERT BURNS. 



"There needs na' be so great a phrase, 
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays, 
I wad na gi'e our ain Strathspeys 

For half a hundred score o' 'em ; 
They're douff and dowie at the best, 
Douff and dowie, douff and <;lowie ; 
They're douff and dowie at the best, 

Wi' a' their variorum : 
They're douff and dowie at the best, 
Their Allegroes, and a' the rest, 
They cannot please a Scottish taste, 

Compar'd wi' Tullochgorum." 

Rev. John Skinner, 



["The following Remarks on Scottish Song 
exist in the hand writing of Burns, in an inter- 
leaved copy of the first four volumes of John- 
son's Musical Museum, which the Poet pre- 
sented to Captain Riddel, of Friar's Carse. 
On the death of Mrs. Riddel, these precious 
volumes passed into the hands of her niece, 
Eliza Bay ley, of Manchester, who kindly per- 
mitted Mr. Cromek to transcribe and publish 
them in his volume of the Reliques of Burns. 

These remarks now form an integral part in 
all modern editions of the Poet's works. 

Respecting the songs which form the subject 
of these remarks, Dr. Currie says : — " In the 
changes of language these songs may no doubt 
suffer change ; but the associated strain of sen- 
timent and of music will perhaps survive, while 
the clear stream sweeps down the vale of Yar- 
row, or the yellow broom waves on the Cowden- 
knowes."] 

■ ♦ 

€i)t fligfjlanft <fhmtn. 

The Highland Queen, music and poetry, 
was composed by Mr. M 'Vicar, purser of the 
Solebay man of war. — This I had from Dr. 

Blacklock. 



[The Highland King, intended as a parody 
on the former, was the production of a young 
lady, the friend of Charles Wilson, of Edin- 
burgh, who edited a collection of Songs, en- 
titled " Cecilia," which appeared in 1779. 
The following are specimens of these songs: — 

THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 

How blest that youth whom gentle fate 
Has destin'd for so fair a mate ! 
Has all these wond'ring gifts in store, 
And each returning day brings more ; 
No youth so happy can be seen. 
Possessing thee, my Highland Queen. 

THE HIGHLAND KING. 

Jamie, the pride of a' the green, 
Is just my age, e'en gay fifteen : 
When first I saw him, 'twas the day 
That ushers in the sprightly May ; 
Then first I felt love's powerful sting, 
And sigh'd for my dear Highland King. 

THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 

No sordid wish, nor trifling joy, 
Her settled calm of mind destroy ; 
Strict honour fills her spotless soul, 
And adds a lustre to the whole : 



BESS THE GAWKIE. — LORD GREGORY. 



519 



A matchless shape, a graceful mien, 
All centre in my Highland Queen. 

THE HIGHLAND KING. 

Would once the dearest boy but say 
J Tis you I love ; come, come away 
Unto the Kirk, my love, let's hie — 
Oh me ! in rapture, I comply : 
And I should then have cause to sing 
The praises of my Highland King.] 



33e£2i tljc (Sabfetc. 

This song shews that the Scottish Muses did 
not all leave us when we lost Ramsay and 
Oswald ; * as I have good reason to believe that 
the verses and music are both posterior to the 
days of these two gentlemen. It is a beautiful 
song, and in the genuine Scots taste. We have 
few pastoral compositions, I mean the pastoral 
of nature, that are equal to this. 



[The Author of this song was the Rev. James 
Morehead, the minister of Urr, in Galloway : 
he was a maker of verses, and, falling under the 
lash of Burns, avenged himself by some satiric 
lines which have much ill nature but no wit. 
He died in 1808. The song of Bess the Gawkie 
gives a lively image of the northern manners. 

— RlTSON.] 

Blythe young Bess to Jean did sa}^ 
Will ye gang to yon sunny brae, 
Where flocks do feed and herds do stray 

And sport awhile wi' Jamie ? 
Ah na, lass, I'll no gang there, 
Nor about Jamie tak nae care, 
Nor about Jamie tak nae care, 

For he's taen up wi' Maggy ! 

For hark, and I will tell you, lass, 
Did I not see your Jamie pass, 
Wi' meikle gladness in his face, 

Out o'er the muir to Maggy ? 
I wat he gae her mony a kiss, 
And Maggy took them ne'er amiss ; 
'Tween ilka smack, pleas'd her with this, 

That Bess was but a gawkie. 

But whisht ! — nae mair of this we'll speak, 
For yonder Jamie does us meet ; 
Instead of Meg he kiss'd sae sweet, 
I trow he likes the gawkie. 



* Oswald was a music-seller in London, where he pub- 
lished a collection of Scottish tunes, called " The Caledonian's 
Pocket Companion;" Tytler, in his treatise on music, ob- 
serves that his genius in composition was sound, and his taste 
in the performar.ee of Scottish music was natural and 
pathetic. 

f [In this sweeping assertion Burns is somewhat mistaken ; 
"Johnnie Faa, or the Gipsy Laddie," "The Lowlands of 
Holland," "Lord James Douglas," "The Western Tragedy, 



dear Bess, I hardly knew, 

When I came by, your gown's sae new, 

1 think you've got it wet wi' dew ; 
Quoth she, that's like a gawkie. 

The lasses fast frae him they flew, 
And left poor Jamie sair to rue 
That ever Maggy's face he knew, 

Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie. 
As they went o'er the muir they sang, 
The hills and dales with echoes rang, 
The nills and dales with echoes rang, 

Gang o'er the muir to Maggy. 



<©!), open ti)t IDoor, ilotti #recj;oq>. 

It is somewhat singular that in Lanark, 
Renfrew, Ayr, Wigton, Kirkcudbright, and 
Dumfries-shires, there is scarcely an old song 
or tune which, from the title, &c, can be 
guessed to belong to, or be the production of, 
these counties. This, I conjecture, is one of 
these very few ; as the ballad, which is a long 
one, is called, both by tradition and in printed 
collections, "The Lass of Lochroyan," which 
I take to be Lochroyan in Galloway.f 

[This is a very ancient Gallowegian melody. 
The two verses adapted to the air, in the Mu- 
seum, were compiled from the fine old ballad 
entitled " The Lass of Lochroyan," which was 
first published in a perfect state by Sir Walter 
Scott in his Minstrelsy of the Border. They 
are as follow : — 

Oh, open the door, Lord Gregory, 

Oh, open and let me in ; 
The wind blows thro' my yellow hair, 

The dew draps o'er my chin. 
If you are the lass that I lov'd once, 

As I trow you are not she, 
Come gi'e me some of the tokens 

That pass'd 'tween you and me. 

Ah, wae be to you, Gregory ! 

An ill death may you die ; 
You will not be the death of one, 

But you'll be the death of three. 
Oh, don't you mind, Lord Gregory ? 

'Twas down at yonder bum side 
We chang'd the ring off our fingers, 

And I put mine on thine.] 



or the False Sir John," otherwise called "May Collean," 
"The Young Laird Ochiltrie," "Johnnie Armstrong," 
"Lady Bothwell's Lament," "O Bothwell bank, thou 
bloomest fair," with many other old traditionary ballads, are 
all locally identified with one or other of these proscribed j 
counties. Burns is right in his supposition of tho^allad now | 
mentioned referring to Loch Ryan in Galloway, ihe idea of 
Burns s " Lord Gregory" is obviously taken from this fine 
old ballad. — Motherwell.] 



-© 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



Cfje ffiarik* of tljc Clutch. 

This song is one of the many attempts that 
English composers have made to imitate the 
Scottish manner, and which I shall, in these 
strictures, beg leave to distinguish by the ap- 
pellation of Anglo- Scottish productions. The 
music is pretty good, but the verses are just 
above contempt. 

[The song has the form of a pastoral drama : 
a shepherdess sings of the object of her love : 
the swain hears, and is enraptured : — the strain 
concludes with the following verse : — 

For to visit my ewes, and to see my lambs play, 
By the banks of the Tweed and the groves I 

did stray ; [sigh'd, 

But my Jenny, dear Jenny, how oft have I 
A nd have vow'd endless love if you would be 

my bride. 

To the altar of Hymen, my fair one, repair, 
Where a knot of affection shall tie the fond pair, 
To the pipe's sprightly notes the gay dance will 
we lead, [the Tweed. 

And will bless the dear grove by the banks of 



The air was very popular at one time in Scot- 
land ; and Johnson, at the request of several of 
his subscribers, was induced to give it an early 
place in his work. The greater part of the first 
volume of the Museum was engraved before 
Burns and Johnson became acquainted.] 



CI;e Beta of Sfoeet ^oSeS. 

This song, as far as I know, for the first time 
appears here in print. — When I was a boy, it 
was a very popular song in Ayr-shire. I remem- 
ber to have heard those fanatics, the Buchanites, 
sing some of their nonsensical rhymes, which 
they dignify with the name of hymns, to this 
air.* 



[" With the Buchanites, tradition avers that 
Burns was more than well acquainted. A cer- 
tain western damsel, with a light foot and an 
ensnaring eye, was captivated by the pictures of 
primitive enjoyment which " our lady " (so her 
followers called Mrs. Buchan) painted, and, 



* [Shakspeare, in his "Winter's Tale," alludes to a Puritan 
who sings psalms to hornpipes.] 

t [Richard Hewit, Ritson observes, was taken when a boy, 
curing the residence of Dr. Blacklock in Cumberland, to 
lead him. — He addressed a copy of verses to the Doctor on 
quitting his service. Among the verses are the following 
lines : 

" How oft these plains I've thoughtless prest ; 
Whistled or sung some fair distrest, 
When fate would steal a tear." 



leaving Kyle, united herself to the household of 
that singular fanatic. The Poet, it is said, spent 
a whole day and night in an attempt to persuade 
the fair enthusiast to return : she preferred the 
multitude, and Burns returned to his plough and 
his poetry." — Cunningham.] 

The song of "The Beds of Sweet Roses" is 
as follows : — 

As I was a walking one morning in May, 
The little birds were singing delightful and gay ; 
The little birds were singing delightful and gay ; 
When I and my true love did often sport and 
P^y, 

Down among the beds of sweet roses, [play, 
Where I and my true love did often sport and 

Down among the beds of sweet roses." 

My daddy and my mammy I oft have heard 

them say, 
That I was a naughty boy, and did often sport 

and play ; [was shy, 

But I never liked in all my life a maiden that 
Down among the beds of sweet roses.] 



Iftos'lux Castle. 

These beautiful verses were the production 
of a Richard Hewit, a young man that Dr. 
Blacklock (to whom I am indebted for the 
anecdote) kept for some years as an amanuensis. + 
I do not know who is the author of the second 
song to the same tune. Tytler, in his amusing 
history of Scottish music, gives the air to Os- 
wald ; but in Oswald's own collection of Scots 
tunes, when he affixes an asterisk to those he 
himself composed, he does not make the least 
claim to the tune. 

[Oswald was not the composer of the air of 3 
Roslin Castle. The same tune, note for note, 
appears in a prior publication — M' Gibbon's 
collection of Scots tunes, under the title of 
"House of Glams." The words of both the | 
songs to this air appeared in Herd's Collection, 
printed in 1776. We subjoin them both : — 

ROSLIN CASTLE, 

; Twas in that season of the year, 
When all tilings gay and sweet appear, 
That Colin, with the morning ray, 
Arose and sung his rural lay. 



" Alluding," as it said in a note, " to a sort of narrative 
songs, which make no inconsiderable part of the innocent 
amusements with which the country people pass the wintry 
nights, and of which the author of the present piece was a 
faithful rehearser." 

Henry Mackenzie, in his edition of Blacklock's Poems, 
Edinburgh, 1793, informs us that Hewit subsequently be-, 
came Secretary to Lord Milton (then Lord Justice Glerk, and 
Sub- Minister for Scotland, under the Duke of Argyle) ; but 
that the fatigue of that station hurt his health, and he died 
in 1794.] 



ROSLIN CASTLE, ETC. 



521 



Of Nanny's charms the shepherd sung, 
The hills and dales with Nanny rung j 
While Roslin Castle heard the swain, 
And echo'd back the cheerful strain. 

Awake, sweet Muse ! the breathing spring 
With rapture warms ; awake and sing! 
Awake and join the vocal throng 
Who hail the morning with a song ; 
To Nanny raise the cheerful lay, 
O ! bid her haste and come away ; 
In sweetest smiles herself adorn, 
And add new graces to the morn ! 

O, hark, my love ! on ev'ry spray 
Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay ; 
; Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng, 
And love inspires the melting song : 
Then let my raptur'd notes arise, 
For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes ; 
And love my rising bosom warms, 
And fills my soul with sweet alarms."] 



SECOND VERSION. 

From Roslin Castle's echoing walls, 
Resound my shepherd's ardent calls ; 
My Colin bids me come away, 
And love demands I should obey. 
His melting strain, and tuneful lay, 
So much the charms of love display, 
I yield — nor longer can refrain, 
To own my love, and bless my swain 

No longer can my heart conceal 

The painful-pleasing flame I feel : 

My soul retorts the am'rous strain ; 

And echoes back in love again. 

Where lurks my songster ? from what grove 

Does Colin pour his notes of love ? 

O bring me to the happy bower, 

Where mutual love my bliss secure ! 

Ye vocal hills, that catch the song, 
Repeating as it flies along, 
To Colin's ears my strain convey, 
And say, I haste to come away. 
Ye zephyrs soft, that fan the gale, 
Waft to my love the soothing tale : 
In whispers all my soul express, 
And tell I haste his arms to bless ! 

O ! come, my love ! thy Colin's lay 

With rapture calls, O come away ! 

Come while the muse this wreath shall twine 

Around that modest brow of thine ; 

O ! hither haste, and with thee bring 

That beauty blooming like the spring ; 

Those graces that divinely shine, 

And charm this ravish'd breast of mine ! 



J^aiu w Stagnate cummin ? quo* £*)*. 

This song, for genuine humour in the verses, 
and lively originality in the air, is unparalleled. 
I take it to be very old. 

[This observation had been hastily made, for 
the air, either when played or sung slowly, as 
it ought to be, is exceedingly pathetic, not 
lively. Burns afterwards became sensible of 
this, for in his letter to Thomson (No. XLII.) 
he says, " I enclose you Fraser's set of this 
tune ; when he plays it slow, in fact, he makes 
it the language of despair. Were it possible in 
singing, to give it half the pathos which Fraser 
gives it in playing, it would make an admirable 
pathetic song." Mr. Thomas Fraser, to whom 
Burns alludes, was an intimate acquaintance 
of the Poet, and an excellent musician. In 
1820, he was the principal oboe concerto player 
in Edinburgh, of which city he was a native. 
His style of playing the melodies of Scotland 
was peculiarly chaste and masterly. He died 
in 1825. The song in the Museum is as fol- 
lows : — 

" Saw ye Johnnie cummin ? quo' she, 
Saw ye Johnnie cummin, 

saw ye Johnnie cummin, quo', she ; 
Saw ye Johnnie cummin, 

Wi' his blue bonnet on his head, 
And his doggie runnin', quo' she ; 
And his doggie runnin ? 

Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she ; 

Fee him, father, fee him : 
For he is a gallant lad, 

And a weel doin' ; 
And a' the wark about the house 

Gaes wi' me when I see him, quo' she ; 

Wi' me when I see him. 

What will I do wi' him, hussy ? 

What will I do wi' him ? 
He's ne'er a sark upon his back, 

And I hae nane to gie him. 

1 hae twa sarks into my kist, 
And ane 0' them I'll gie him, 

And for a mark of mair fee, 
Dinna stand wi' him, quo' she ; 
'Dinna stand wi' him. 

For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she : 

Weel do I lo'e him : 
O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she ; 

Fee him, father, fee him : 
He'll haud the pleugh, thrash i' the barn, 

And lie wi' me at e'en, quo' she ; 

Lie wi' me at e'en."] 



Clout tjje Caltfnm. 

A tradition is mentioned in the " Bee/ 
that the second Bishop Chisholm, of Dunblane. 



522 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



used to say that, if he were going to be hanged, 
nothing would soothe his mind so much by the 
way as to hear " Clout the Caldron" played. 

I have met with another tradition, that the 
old song to this tune, 

" Hae ye ony pots or pans, 
Or onie broken chanlers," 

was composed on one of the Kenmure family 
in the cavalier times ; and alluded to an amour 
he had, while under hiding, in the disguise of 
an itinerant tinker. The air is also known by 
the name of 

" The Blacksmith and his Apron," 

which, from the rhythm, seems to have been a 
line of some old song to the tune 



[The song of " Clout the Caldron" is fami- 
liar to all who love native humour : it is still 
sung over the punch-bowl, and continues to 
exercise its old influence when sung with true 
simplicity and pawkie naivete : 



u Hae ye ony pots or pans, 

Or ony broken chanlers ? 
For I'm a tinker to my trade, 

And newly come frae Flanders, 
As scant o' siller as o' grace, 

Disbanded, we've a bad run ; 
Gang tell the lady o' the place, 

I'm come to clout her caldron 



Madam, if ye hae wark for me, 

I'll do't to your contentment, 
And dinna care a single flie 

For ony man's resentment : 
For, lady fair, though I appear 

To every ane a tinker, 
Yet to yoursel I'm bauld to tell 

I am a gentle jinker. 

in. 
Love, Jupiter into a swan 

Turn'd for his lovely Leda ; 
He like a bull o'er meadows ran, 

To carry off Europa. 
Then may not I, as well as he, 

To cheat your Argus blinker, 
And win your love, like mighty Jove, 

Thus hide me in a tinker ?" 

IV. 

" Sir, ye appear a cunning man, 

But this fine plot ye'll fail in, 
For there is neither pot nor pan 

Of mine ye'll drive a nail in. 
Then bind your budget on your back, 

And nails up in your apron, 
For I've a tinker under tack 

That's us'd to clout my caldron."] 



Hah) j)t nae im> IBeggD ? 

This charming song is much older, and in- i 
deed superior to Ramsay's verses, "The Toast," 
as he calls them. There is another set of the j 
words, much older still, and which I take to be ; 
the original one, but though it has a very great 
deal of merit, it is not quite ladies' reading. 

The original words, for they can scarcely be 
called verses, seem to be as follows ; a song fa- 
miliar from the cradle to every Scottish ear. 

" Saw ye my Maggie, 
Saw ye my Maggie, 
Saw ye my Maggie 
Linkin o'er the lea ? 

High kilted was she, 
High kilted was she, 
High kilted was she, 

Her coat aboon her knee. 

What mark has your Maggie, 
What mark has your Maggie, 
What mark has your Maggie, 

That ane may ken her be ? (by.)"* 

Though it by no means follows that the sil- 
liest verses to an air must, for that reason, be 
the original song ; yet I take this ballad, oi 
which I have quoted part, to be the old verses. 
The two songs in Ramsay, one of them evi- 
dently his own, are never to be met with in the 
fire-side circle of our peasantry ; while that 
which I take to be the old song, is in every 
shepherd's mouth. Ramsay, I suppose, had 
thought the old verses unworthy of a place in 
his collection. 

[" Saw ye nae my Peggy, 
Saw ye nae my Peggy, 
Saw ye nae my Peggy, 

Coming o'er the lea ? 
Sure a finer creature 
Ne'er was form'd by nature, 
So complete each feature, 

So divine is she. 

O ! how Peggy charms me ! 
Every look still warms me ; 
Every thought alarms me : 

Lest she love nae me. 
Peggy doth discover 
Nought but charms all over ; 
Nature bids me love her, 

That's a law to me. 



* The following verse was added by the Ettrick Shep* 
herd : — 

" Maggy's a lovely woman, 
She proves true to no man, 
She proves true to no man, 
An' has proven false to me." 



THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH. 



523 



Who would leave a lover, 
To become a rover ? 
No, I'll ne'er give over, 

Till I happy be ! 
For since love inspires me, 
As her beauty fires me, 
And her absence tires me, 

Nought can please but she. 

When I hope to gain her, 
Fate seems to detain her, 
Could I but obtain her, 

Happy would I be ! 
I'll lie down before her, 
Bless, sigh, and adore her, 
With faint look implore her, 

Till she pity me!] 

. ^ . 

This song is one of the many effusions of 
Scots Jacobitism.* The title "Flowers of Eclin- 



* [The grounds our poet had for conjecturing that this 
song was a Jacobite effusion, do not appear to be sufficiently 
plain. No such song as the one alluded to is known to exist. 
Subsequent to the year 17^5, indeed, there was a Jacobite 
ballad, which was frequently sung to this air, beginning : — 

To your arms, to your arms, my bonnie Highland lads ! 
To your arms, to your arms, at the touk o' the drum ! 
The battle-trumpet sounds, put on your white cockades, 
For Charlie, the great Prince Regent, is come. 

But this ballad, which appears in Hogg's Jacobite Reliques, 
has no allusion whatever to The Flowers of Edinburgh. It 
seems more likely that the composer had given it the name 
in compliment to the young ladies of the Scottish metropolis, 
who were then attending the dancing schools. Burns further 
remarks, that " it is singular enough that the Scottish muses 
were all Jacobites." But there are many songs composed in 
Scotland, at the time, directly opposed to Jacobitism. The 
following loyal song, composed for the use of the Revolution 
Club, part of which was afterwards printed at Edinburgh, by 
Donaldson and Reid, in l/6l, may not be unacceptable to 
the reader :— 

HIGHLAND LADDIE. 



When you came over first frae France, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
You swore to lead our King a dance, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie ; 
And promis'd, on your royal word, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
To mak' the Duke dance o'er the sword, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 



When he to you began to play, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
You quat the green and ran away, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie; 
The dance thus turn'd into a chase, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
It must be own'd you wan the race, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 
in. 
Your partners that came o'er frae France, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
They understood not a Scots dance, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie; 
Therefore, their complaisance to shew, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
Unto our Duke they bow'd right low, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 



burgh," has no manner of connexion with the 
present verses, so I suspect there has been an 
older set of words, of which the title is all that 
remains. 

By the bye, it is singular enough that the 
Scottish Muses were all Jacobites. I have paid 
more attention to every description of Scots 
songs than perhaps any body living has done, 
and I do not recollect one single stanza, or even 
the title of the most trifling Scots air, which has 
the least panegyrical reference to the families of 
Nassau or Brunswick ; while there are hun- 
dreds satirizing them. This may be thought no 
panegyric on the Scots Poets, but I mean it as 
such. For myself, I would always take it as a 
compliment to have it said that my heart ran 
before my head ; f and surely the gallant though 
unfortunate house of Stuart, the kings of our 
fathers for so many heroic ages, is a theme much 
more interesting than * * 

[Some one passed a pen through the remain- 



If e'er you come to dance again, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
New dancers you must bring frae Spain, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie ; 
And, that all things may be secure, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
See that your dancers be not poor, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 
v. 
I think insurance you should make, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
Lest dancing you should break your neck, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 
For he that dances on a rope, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
Should not trust all unto the Pope, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 

VI. 

For dancing you were never made, 
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie ; 

Then, while 'tis time, leave off the trade, 
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie ; 

Be thankful for your last escape, 
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 

And, like your brother,* take a Cap, 
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.] 
t [•' Poor Burns !—• Thy heart indeed ran always before thy 
head ; but never didst thou fail to carry thy reader's heart 
along with thee. — Instead of kindling at the indignities 
offered to thy native land, hadst thou been a wise and a pru- 
dent poet, thou wouldst ha-/ e tuned thy lyre to the praise of 
some powerful family, and carefullv abstained from drawing 
on thy head the resentment of the' guilty great, or their de- 
scendants. Thou mightest then have roiled in affluence, and 
ceased to struggle under the insulting taunts of every little 
upstirt in office. Thou mightest have flourished in thy day, 
and left behind thee an offspring securely treading the path 
of honours and preferment, instead of leaving thy wife and 
children poor and pennyless, at the mercy of the world. — 
All this thou mightest have done ; but then thou wouldst not 
have been a poet. — I do not mean to say that poetry and pru- 
dence are altogether incompatible ; but that prudence which 
would stifle the feelings which should glow in every manly 
bosom, can never exist with true and genuine poetry. The 
prudence that would suppress the indignant strain of a 
Campbell at the horrors of Warsaw, or see unmoved the 
smoking villages and unhallowed butchery which followed in 
the train of Culloden, the unsophisticated muse will ever 
disdain. He can never be a poet who does not feel as a 
man."— Cromek.] 



* Cardinal York, brother of Charles, and second son of 
James, denominated the " Pretender." 



524 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



ing words of the sentence, and the Poet's eulo- 
gium on our native race of princes must remain 
imperfect. We subjoin a few verses of — 

&i)c dflohm'S oi <£tlivfouvg$. 

My love was once a bonnie lad ; 

He was the flow'r of a' his kin ; 
The absence of his bonnie face 

Has rent my tender heart in twain. 
I day nor night find no delight — 

In silent tears I still complain ; 
And exclaim 'gainst those, my rival foes. 

That hae taen frae me my darling swain. 

Despair and anguish fill my breast 

Since I have lost my blooming rose : 
I sigh and moan while others rest ; 

His absence yields me no repose. 
To seek my love I'll range and rove 

Thro' every grove and distant plain ; 
Thus I'll never cease, but spend my days 

T' hear tidings from my darling swain. 

There 's nothing strange in nature's change, 

Since parents shew such cruelty ; 
They caus'd my love from me to range, 

And know not to what destiny. 
The pretty kids and tender lambs 

May cease to sport upon the plain ; 
But I'll mourn and lament, in deep discontent, 

For the absence of my darling swain i J 



$amu ^ap. 



Jamie Gay is another and * 
Scottish piece. 



tolerable Anglo- 



[Of Jamie Gay it will be enough to quote 
the first line : 

" As Jamie Gay gang'd blythe his way." 

A Scottish bard would have written : 

"As Jamie Gay gaed blytbe his way." 

The song was originally entitled " The happy 
Meeting," and was frequently sung at Rane- 
lagh with great applause.] 



Pig ftcav ^oclup. 
Another Anglo-Scottish production. 



[The melody is uncommonly pretty. We 
subjoin the first two verses of the lady's lament. 

" My laddie is gane far away o'er the plain, 
While in sorrow behind I am forc'd to remain ; 



Tho' blue bells and violets the hedges adorn, 
Tho' trees are in blossom and sweet blows the 

thorn, 
No pleasure they give me, in vain they look 

gay ; ' [away ; 

There's nothing can please me now Jockey's 
Forlorn I sit singing, and this is my strain, 
' Haste, haste, my dear Jockey, to me back 

again.' 

When lads and their lasses are on the green 
met, [and they chat ; 

They dance and they sing, and they laugh 
Contented and happy, with hearts full of glee, 
I can't, without envy, their merriment see : 
Those pleasures offend me, my shepherd's not 

there ! 
No pleasure I relish that Jockey don't share; 
It makes me to sigh, I from tears scarce refrain, 
I wish my dear Jockey return'd back again."] 



df|>*, gae vufc i)tx o'zt im' Jr>trat. 

It is self-evident that the first four lines of 
this song are part of a song more ancient than 
Ramsay's beautiful verses which are annexed 
to them. As music is the language of nature ; 
and poetry, particularly songs, are always less 
or more localized (if I may be allowed the 
verb) by some of the modifications of time and 
place, this is the reason why so many of our 
Scots airs have outlived their original, and per- 
haps many subsequent sets of verses ; except a 
single name, or phrase, or sometimes one or 
two lines, simply to distinguish the tunes by. 

To this day, among people, who know nothing 
of Ramsay's verses, the following is the song, 
and all the song that ever I heard : 

" Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie, 

Gie her a kiss and let her gae ; 
But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. 

Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae : 

And gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae." 



[" Ramsay's spirited imitation," says Cromek, 
" of the ' Vides ut alta stet nive candidwn, 
Socrate,' of Horace, is considered as one of the 
happiest efforts of the author's genius. — For a 
very elegant critique on the poem, and a com- 
parison of its merits with those of the original, 
the reader is referred to Lord Woodhouselee's 
' Remarks on the Writings of Ramsay. : 

" Look up to Pentland's tow'ring tap, 

Bury'd beneath great wreaths of snaw, 
O'er ilka cleugh, ilk scar, and slap, 
As high as ony Roman wa'. 



THE LASS O' LIVINGSTON. 



525 



Driving their baws f'rae whins or tee, 
There are nae gowfers to be seen ; 

Nor dousser fowk wysing a-jee 

The byass-bouls on Tainson's Green. 

Then fling on coals, and ripe the ribs, 
And beek the house baith but and ben ; 

That mutchkin stowp it hauds but dribs, 
Then let's get in the tappit hen. 

Good claret best keeps out the cauld, 
And drives away the winter soon ; 

It makes a man baith gash and bauld, 
And heaves his soul beyond the moon. 

Let next day come as it thinks fit, 
The present minute's only ours, 

On pleasure let's employ our wit, 
And laugh at Fortune's fickle pow'rs 

JJe sure ye dinna quit the grip 
Of ilka joy, when ye are young, 

Before auld age your vitals nip, 
And lay ye twafald o'er a rung. 

Now r to her heaving bosom cling, 

And sweetly tastie for a kiss ; 
Frae her fair finger whoop a ring, 

As token of a future bliss. 

These benisons, I'm very sure, 

Are of the Gods' indulgent grant ; 

Then, surly Carles, whisht, forbear, 
To plague us wi' your whining cant. 

Sweet youth's a blyth and heartsome time ; 

Then, lads and lasses, while 'tis May, 
Gae pu' the gowan in its prime, 

Before it wither and decay. 

Watch the saft minutes of delyte, 

When Jenny speaks beneath her breath, 

And kisses, laying a' the wyte 
On you, if she kepp ony skaith, 

1 Haith, ye're ill-bred/ she'll smiling say ; 

' Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rook ;' 
Syne frae your arms she'll rin away, 

And hide hersel in some dark nook. 

Her laugh will lead you to the place 
Where lies the happiness you want, 

And plainly tells you, to your face, 
Nineteen nay-says are ha'f a grant." 



The song of " Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae" 
is composed of the first four lines mentioned by 
Burns, and the seven concluding verses of 
Ramsay's spirited and elegant Scottish version 
of Horace's ninth Ode, given above.] 



€f)e £a£3 of Htbtntrsiton. 

The old song, in three eight line stanzas, is 
well known, and has merit as to wit and hu- 
mour ; but it is rather unfit for insertion. — It 
begins, 

"The bonnie lass o' Livingston, 

Her name ye ken, her name ye ken, 
And she has written in her contract, 
To lie her lane, to lie her lane." 
&c. &c. &c. 



[The modern version by Allan Ramsay is as 
follows : — 

" Paiin'd Avith her slighting Jamie's love, 

Bell dropt a tear, Bell dropt a tear ; 
The gods descended from above, 

Well pleas'd to Lear, well pleas'd to hear. 
They heard tlv praises of the youth 

From her own tongue, from her own tongue, 
Who now converted was to truth, 

And thus she sung, and thus she sung : 

Bless'd days, when our ingenious sex, 

More frank and kind — more frank & kind, 
Did net their lov'd adorers vex, 

But spoke their mind — but spoke their mind, 
Repenting now, she promis'd fair, 

Would he return — would he return, 
She ne'er again wou'd give him care, 

Or cause to mourn, or cause to mourn. 

Why lov'd I the deserving swain, [shame, 

Yet still thought shame — yet still thought 
When he my yielding heart did gain, 

To own my flame — to own my flame. 
Why took I pleasure to torment, 

And seem too coy — and seem too coy, 
Which makes me now, alas ! lament 

My slighted joy — my slighted joy ! 

Ye Fair, while beauty's in its spring, 

Own your desire — own your desire, 
While love's young pow'r, with his soft wing, 

Fans up the fire — fans up the fire ', 
O do not with a silly pride, 

Or low design — or low design, 
Refuse to be a happy bride, 

But answer plain — but answer plain. 

Thus the fair mourner 'wail'd her crime, 

With flowing eyes — with flowing eyes, 
Glad Jamie heard her all the time 

With sweet surprise — with sweet surprise. 
Some god had led him to the grove, 

His mind unchang'd — his mind unchang'dj 
Flew to her arms, and cried, my love, 

I ajn reveng'd — I am reveng'd."] 



626 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



Cije tot Ctme )} cmm a'tv tlje JMoor. 

Ramsay found the first line of this song, 
which had been preserved as the title of the 
charming air, and then composed the rest of the 
verses to suit that line. This has always a finer 
effect than composing English words, or words 
with an idea foreign to the spirit of the old 
title. Where old titles of songs convey any 
idea at all, it will generally be found to be quite 
in the spirit of the air. 



[" There are," says Allan Cunningham, 
"some fine verses in this song, though some 
fastidious critics pronounce them over warm : — 

The last time I came o'er the moor, 

I left my love behind me ; 
Ye powers, what pain do I endure, 

When soft ideas mind me. 
Soon as the ruddy morn display'd 

The beaming day ensuing, 
I met betimes my lovely maid 

In fit retreats for wooing. 

Beneath the cooling shade we lay, 

Gazing and chastely sporting ; 
We kiss'd and promis'd time away, 

Till night spread her black curtain. 
I pitied all beneath the skies, 

Ev'n kings, when she was nigh me ; 
In rapture I beheld her eyes, 

Which could but ill deny me. 

Should I be call'd where cannons roar, 

Where mortal steel may wound me ; 
Or cast upon some foreign shore, 

Where danger may surround me ; 
Yet hopes again to see my love, 

And feast on glowing kisses, 
Shall make my cares at distance move, 

In prospect of such blisses. 

In all my soul there's not one place 

To let a rival enter ; 
Since she excels in ev'ry grace, 

In her my love shall centre : 
Sooner the seas shall cease to flow, 

Their waves the Alps shall cover, 
On Greenland ice shall roses grow, 

Before I cease to love her. 

The next time I go o'er the moor, 

She shall a lover find me ; 
And that my faith is firm and pure, 

Tho' I left her behind me : 
Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain 

My heart to her fair bosom ; 
There, while my being does remain, 

My love more fresh shall blossom."] 



Though this has certainly every evidence of 
being a Scottish air, yet there is a well-known 
tune and song in the North of Ireland, called 
"The Weaver and his Shuttle, O," which, 
though sung much quicker, is every note the 
very tune. 



[Burns, when a lad, wrote verses to the 
same tune, beginning, " My father was a Far- 
mer upon the Carrick border." The older set 
of verses, which Johnson, from an unaccountable 
fastidiousness, had rejected, are not destitute of 
merit. These artless strains are still sung in 
Scotland, at every country fire-side, and it now 
becomes a matter of justice to restore them : — 

When I was in my se'enteenth year, 

I was baith blythe and bonnie, O ; 
The lads lo'ed me baith far and near, 

But I lo'ed none but Johnnie, O. 
He gain'd my heart in twa three weeks, 

He spak sae blythe and kindly, O 5 
And I made him new grey breeks, 

That fitted him maist finely, O. 

He was a handsome fellow ; 

His humour was baith frank and free ; 
His bonny locks sae yellow, 

Like gowd they glitter' d in my ee ; 
His dimpl'd chin and rosy cheeks, 

And face sae fair and ruddy, O 5 
And then a-day his grey breeks, 

Were neither auld nor duddy, O. 

But now they are threadbare worn, 

They're wider than they wont to be ; 
They're a' tash'd-like, and unco torn, 

And clouted sair on ilka knee. 
But gin I had a simmer's day, 

As I hae had right mony, O, 
I'd make a web 0' new grey, 

To be breeks to my Johnnie, O. 

For he's weel worthy 0' them, 

And better than I hae to gie ; 
But I'll take pains upo' them, 

And strive frae fau'ts to keep them free. 
To deed him weel shall be my care, 

And please him a' my study, O ; 
But he maun wear the auld pair, 

A wee, tho' they be duddy, O.] 



Clje'ljappg #Earriage. 

Another, but very pretty, Anglo-Scottish 
piece. 

We subjoin the whole of this charming lyric. 



THE HAPPY MARRIAGE, ETC. 



527 



How blest has my time been, what joys have I 
known, [own ; 

Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessy my 
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain, 
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain. 

Thro' walks grown with woodbines, as often we 

stray, 
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play : 
How pleasing their sport is ! the wanton ones 

see, 
And borrow their looks from my Jessy and me. 

To try her sweet temper, oft-times am I seen, 
In revels all day with the nymphs on the green ; 
Though painful my absence, my doubts she be- 
guiles, [smiles. 
And meets me at night with complaisance and 

What tho' on her cheeks the rose loses its hue, 
Her wit and her humour bloom all the year 

thro' ; 
Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth, 
And gives to her mind what he steals from her 

youth. 

Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, 
And cheat with false vows the too credulous 

fair, 
In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam ! 
To hold it for life, you must find it at home. 



[The above elegant song was written by Ed- 
ward Moore, author of" Fables for the Female 
Sex," &c. In it the author exhibits not only a 
charming picture of real domestic happiness, but 
has likewise paid a delicate compliment to the 
amiable virtues of his wife, This lady, whose 
maiden name was Janet Hamilton, had a great 
turn for poetry, and assisted her husband in 
writing his tragedy of " The Gamester." One 
specimen of her poetry was handed about be- 
fore their marriage, and afterwards appeared in 
"The Gentleman's Magazine" for 1749. It 
was addressed to a daughter of the famous 
Stephen Duck, and begins with the following 
stanza: — 

You will think it, my Duck, for the fault I must 

own, 
Your Jessy, at last, is quite covetous grown ; 
Though millions, if fortune should lavishly pour, 
I still should be wretched, if I had not More. 

After playing on his name, with great deli- 
cacy and ingenuity, through half-a-dozen stan- 
zas, she thus concludes : 

You will wonder, my girl, who this dear one 

can be, 
Whose merit can boast such a conquest as me ; 
But you sha'n't know his name, though I told 

you before 
it begins with an M ; but I dare not say More.] 



Clje £a** oi Patted Plill. 

In Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, 
this song is localized (a verb I must use for want 
of another to express my idea) somewhere in the 
north of Scotland, and likewise is claimed by 
Ayr-shire. The following anecdote I had from 
the present Sir William Cunningham of Robert- 
land, who had it from the last John Earl of 
Loudon. The then Earl of Loudon, and father 
to Earl John before-mentioned, had Ramsay at 
Loudon, and one day walking together by the 
banks of Irvine water, near New Mills, at a 
place called Patie's Mill, they were struck with 
the appearance of a beautiful country girl. 
His lordship observed that she would be a 
fine theme for a song. Allan lagged behind in 
returning to Loudon Castle, and at dinner 
produced this identical song. 



["The ' Lass of Patie's Mill' is one of the 
happiest of all Ramsay's songs. The poet said 
in his preface to the ' Tea-Table Miscellany,' 
that he had omitted in his collection all songs 
liable to raise a blush on the cheek of beauty : 
this fine lyric has been pointed out as likely to do 
what he desired to shun, but with how little 
reason, these verses will prove." — Cunning- 
ham. 

The lass of Patie's mill, 

So bonny, blyth, and gay 
In spite of all my skill, 

Hath stole my heart away. 
When tedding of the hay, 

Bare-headed on the green, 
Love midst her locks did play, 

And wanton' d in her een. 

Her arms white, round, and smooth, 

Breasts rising in their dawn, 
To age it would give youth, 

To press them with his hand : 
Thro' all my spirits ran 

An ecstacy of bliss, 
When I such sweetness fand, 

Wrapt in a balmy kiss. 

Without the help of art, 

Like flow'rs which grace the wild, 
She did her sweets impart, 

Whene'er she spoke or smil'cl. 
Her looks they were so mild, 

Free from affected pride, 
She me to love beguil'd : 

I wish'd her for my bride 

O ! had I all that wealth 

Hopetoun's high mountains fill, 

Insur'd long life and health, 
And pleasure at my will, 



528 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



I'd promise and fulfil, 
That none but bonny she, 

The lass o' Patie's Mill, 

Should share the same wi' me. 



The heroine of this fine song was the only 
daughter of John Anderson, Esq., of Patie's 
Mill, in the parish of Keith-Hall, and county 
of Aberdeen.] 



€l)t CurmmSpt&e.* 

There is a stanza of this excellent song for 
local humour, omitted in this set, — where I 
have placed the asterims. 

" They tak te horse then by te head, 
And tere tey mak her stan', man ; 
Me tell tem, me hae seen te day 
Tey no had sic comman', man." 



[A highlander laments, in a half-serious and 
half-comic way, the privations which the act of 
parliament anent kilts has made him endure, 
and the miseries which turnpike roads and toll- 
bars have brought upon his country : — 

" Hersell pe highland shentleman, 
Pe auld as Pothwell Prig, man ; 
And mony alterations seen 

Amang te lawland whig, man. 

First when her to the lawlands came, 
Nainsell was driving cows, man ; 

There was nae laws about him's nerse, 
About the preeks or trews, man. 

Nainsell did wear the philabeg, 
The plaid prick' t on her shoulder ; 

The guid claymore hung pe her pelt, 
De pistol sharg'd wi' pouder. 

But for whereas these cursed preeks, 
Wherewith her nerse be lockit, 

O hon ! that e'er she saw the day ! 
For a' her houghs be prokit. 

Every ting in de highlands now 

Pe turn'd to alteration ; 
The sodger dwall at our door-sheek, 

And tat's te great vexation. 



* [Burns says nothing about the authorship of this hu- 
morous song ; but we may mention that it, and its counter- 
part, "John Hielandman's remarks on Glasgow," are from 
the pen of Dougald Graham, Bellman in Glasgow, and author 
of the facetious histories of "Lothian Tam," " Leper the 
Tailor," "Simple John and his Twelve Misfortunes," "Jocky 
and Maggy's Courtship," " John Cheap the Chapman," "Th -. 
Comical sayings of Paddy from Cork with his Coat buttoned 
behind," "John Falkirk's Carritches," "Janet Clinker's 
Orations in the Society of Clashin' Wives," and a "Metri- 
cal History of the Rebellion in 1745," in which he had a per- 
sonal share, &c. His works, in the form of Penny Histories, 
have long formed staple articles in the hawker's basket ; and, 
■while the classic presses of Paisley, Stirling, and Falkirk, 



Scotland be turn't a Ningland now, 
An' laws pring on de cadger ; 

Nainsell wad durk him for his deeds, 
But oh ! she fear te sodger. 

Anither law came after that, 
Me never saw te like, man ; 

They mak a lang road on te crund, 
And ca' him Turnimspike, man. 

An' wow ! she pe a pouny road, 
Like louden corn-rigs, man ; 

Where twa carts may gang on her, 
An' no preak ithers' legs, man. 

They sharge a penny for ilka horse, 
In troth she'll no be sheaper, 

For nought put gaen upo' the ground, 
An' they gi'e me a paper. 

Nae doubts, himsell maun tra her purse, 
And pay them what hims like, man ; 

I'll see a shugement on his toor ; 
That filthy Turnimspike, man. 

But I'll awa to te Highland hills, 
Where te'il a ane dare turn her, 

And no come near your Turnimspike, 
Unless it pe to purn her."] 



$Hg?)lantf Eattote. 

As this was a favourite theme with our later 
Scottish muses, there are several airs and songs 
of that name. That which I take to be the 
oldest is to be found in the '' Musical Mu- 
seum," beginning " I hae been at Crookie- 
den." One reason for my thinking so is that 
Oswald has it in his collection by the name of 
" The auld Highland Laddie." It is also 
known by the name of " Jinglan Johnnie," 
which is a well-known song of four or five 
stanzas, and seems to be an earlier song than 
Jacobite times. As a proof of this, it is little 
known to the peasantry by the name of " High- 
land Laddie;" while every body knows "Jing- 
lan Johnnie." The song begins 

" Jinglan John, the meickle man 

He met wi' a lass was blythe and bonnie." 



have groaned with them, the sides of the Scottish lieges have 
been convulsed with them, for the greater part of a century. 

— MOTHEEWELL. 

Graham was born about 1724, and died in the year 1779* 
His " History of the Rebellion," 1745, was a favourite work 
of Sir Walter Scott, and was first printed under the follow- 
ing quaint title : — 

A full, particular, and true account of the Rebellion in 1745-6. 

Composed by the Poet, D. Graham. 

In Stirling-shirc he lives at hame. 

To the tune of The gallant Grahams, &c, Glasgow, 1746. J 



THE FAIREST OF THE FAIR, ETC. 



529 



Another " Highland Laddie" is also in the 
" Museum," vol. v., which I take to be Ram- 
say's original, as he has borrowed the chorus — 
" O my bonnie Highland lad," &c. It consists 
of three stanzas, besides the chorus ; and has 
humour in its composition — it is an excellent 
but somewhat licentious * song. — It begins 

" As I cam o'er Cairn ey-Mount, 

And down amang the blooming heather, 
[Kindly stood the milking-shiel, 
To shelter frae the stormy weather. 

O my bonnie Highland lad, 

My winsome, weel-far'd Highland laddie ; 
Wha wad mind the wind and rain, 

Sae weel row'd in his tartan plaidie ? 

Now Phoebus blinkit on the bent, [ing ; 

And o'er the knowes the lambs were bleat- 
But he wan my heart's consent 

To be his ain at the neist meeting. 

my bonnie Highland lad, 

My winsome, weel-far'd Highland laddie ; 
Wha wad mind the wind and rain, 

Sae weel row'd in his tartan plaidie ?"] 

This air, and the common " Highland Lad- 
die," seem only to be different sets. 

Another "Highland Laddie," also in the 
" Museum," vol. v., is the tune of several Ja- 
cobite fragments. One of these old songs to 
it only exists, as far as I know, in these four 
lines : — 

11 Whare hae ye been a' day, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ? 
Down the back o' Bell's brae, 

Courtin' Maggie, courtin' Maggie." 

Another of this name is Dr. Arne's beautiful 
air, called the new " Highland Laddie." 



[The following morgeau was found in a me- 
morandum-book belonging to Burns : 

the Highlander's prayer, at 
sherriff-muir. 

" O Lord, be thou with us ; but, if thou be 
not with us, be not against us ; but leave it be- 
tween the red coats and us /"] 



€I)e <&mt\z i^foam. 

To sing such a beautiful air to such execrable 
verses is downright prostitution of common 
sense ! The Scots verses indeed are tolerable. 



* [Burns is here too fastidious. We cannot, for the life of 
us, see any thing licentious in this sweet song, and we have 
accordingly given the whole of it.] 



[The Scottish Version was written by Mr. 
Mayne, who likewise composed some beautiful 
vc?ses to the tune of " Logan Water." It 
commences thus : — 



Jeanny's heart was frank and free, 

And wooers she had mony yet, 
Her sang was aye I fa' I see 

Commend me to my Johnnie yet. 
For air and late, he has sic a gate 

To mak a body cheery, that 
I wish to be, before I die, 

His ain kind dearie yet.] 



?£?e tftole ttu) tender Heart afoaj). 

This is an Anglo-Scottish production, but 
by no means a bad one. 



[The following is a specimen : — ■ 

" The fields were green, the hills were gay, 
And birds were singing on each spray, 
When Colin met me in the grove, 
And told me tender tales of love. 
Was ever swain so blythe as he, 
So kind, so faithful, and so free ? 
In spito of all my friends could say, 
Young Colin stole my heart away."] 



$mz&t of t\)t affair. 

It is too barefaced to take Dr. Percy's charm- 
ing song, and, by means of transposing a few 
English words into Scots, to offer to pass it for 
a Scots song. — I was not acquainted with the 
Editor until the first volume was nearly finished, 
else, had I known in time, I would have pre- 
vented such an impudent absurdity. 



[The verses of Percy are very beautiful- 
following is a complete copy : — 



" O Nancy, wilt thou go with me, 

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town ? 
Can silent glens have charms for thee, 

The lowly cot and russet gown ? 
No longer drest in silken sheen, 

No longer deck'd with jewels rare. 
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene, 

Where thou wcrt fairest of the fair ? 



-the 



530 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



Nancy, when thou'rt far away, 

Wilt thou not cast a wish behind ? 
Say, canst thou face the parching ray, 

Nor shrink before the wintry wind ? 
O can that soft and gentle mien 

Extremes of hardship learn to bear ; 
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene, 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair? 



O Nancy ! canst thou love so true, 

Through perils keen with me to go, 
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue, 

To share with him the pang of woe ? 
Say, should disease or pain befal, 

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, 
Nor wistful those gay scenes recal 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 



And when at last thy love shall die, 

Wilt thou receive his parting breath ? 
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, 

And cheer with smiles the bed of death ? 
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay 

Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear, 
Nor then regret those scenes so gay 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 



This very lovely song is the composition of 
Bishop Percy, the well-known Editor of the 
Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, a man 
who has done more for English Literature than 
any other half-dozen antiquaries, and one who 
had the finest taste and the truest feeling for 
poetry. "This," writes Burns, "is perhaps 
the most beautiful ballad in the English lan- 
guage."] 



J 



Qll)t Btattfjrte o't* 

The following is a set of this song, which 
was the earliest song I remember to have got 
by heart. When a child, an old woman sung 
it to me, and I picked it up, every word, at 
(irst hearing. 

e Willy, weel I mind, I lent you my hand 
To sing you a song which you did me com- 
mand ; 
But my memory 's so bad, I had almost forgot 
That you call'd it the gear and the blaithrie o't. 



* [" Shame fall the gear and the blaithry o't," is the tune 
of an old Scottish song, spoken when a young handsome girl 
marries an old man, upon the account of his wealth. — Kelly's 
Scots Proverbs, p. 296.] 

t [Menzie.— Retinue— Followers.] 



I'll not sing about confusion, delusion, nor pride, 
I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride ; 
For virtue is an ornament that time will never 

rot, 
And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't. — 

Tho' my lassie hae nae scarlets nor silks to put on, 
We envy not the greatest that sits upon the 

throne ; [smock, 

I wad rather hae my lassie, tho' she cam in her 
Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie 

o't— 

Tho' we hae nae horses nor menzie f at com 
mand, [hand ; 

We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' our 

And when wearied without rest, we'll find it 
sweet in any spot, 

And we'll value not the gear & the blaithrie o't 

If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as lent ; 
Hae we less, hae we mair, we will aye be con- 
tent ; [but a groat 
For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins 
Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't. 

I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs o' the kirk or the 
queen ; [let them swim ; 

They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink, 

On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold 
it still remote, 

Sae tak this for the gear and the blaithrie o't." 



JUaj) (£be, or Hate of gHm$ecn. 

" Kate of Aberdeen" is, I believe, the work 
of poor Cunningham the player ; of whom the 
following anecdote, though told before, deserves 
a recital. A fat dignitary of the church com- 
ing past Cunningham one Sunday, as the poor 
poet was busy plying a fishing-rod in some 
stream near Durham, his native country, his 
reverence reprimanded Cunningham very se- 
verely for such an occupation on such a day. 
The poor poet, with that inoffensive gentleness 
of manners which was his peculiar character- 
istic, replied, that he hoped God and his reve- 
rence would forgive his seeming profanity of 
that sacred day, "as he had no dinner to eat, 
but what lay at the bottom of that pool!" 
This, Mr. Woods, the player, who knew Cun- 
ningham well, and esteemed him much, assured 
me was true. 



["Cunningham was a native of Dublin ; an 
indifferent actor, a very pretty poet, and r. ir ery 
worthy man. He was unaffected in his man- 
ners, and quite a simpleton, as the following 
anecdote will shew. His volume of poems was 



KATE OF ABERDEEN, ETC. 



531 



dedicated to Garrick, whom in his admiration 
of theatrical talent he naturally esteemed the 
first man that ever existed. He trudged up to 
the metropolis to present his volume to this ce- 
lebrated character. He saw him ; and, accord- 
ing to his own phrase, he was treated by him 
in the most humiliating and scurvy manner 
imaginable. Garrick assumed a cold and 
stately air • insulted Cunningham by behaving 
to him as to a common beggar, and gave him 
a couple of guineas, accompanied with this 
speech : — ' Players, Sir, as well as Poets, are 
always poor.' 

" The blow was too severe for the poet. He 
was so confused at the time that he had not the 
use of his faculties, and indeed never recol- 
lected that he ought to have spurned the offer 
with contempt, till his best friend, Mrs. Slack, 
of Newcastle, reminded him of it by giving 
him a sound box on the ear." — Allan Cun- 



ningham. 

His fine song of ' 
follows : — 



Kate of Aberdeen" is as 



' The silver moon's enamour'd beam 

Steals softly through the night, 
To wanton with the winding stream, 

And kiss reflected light. 
To beds of state go balmy sleep, 

Where you've so seldom been, 
Whilst I May's wakeful vigils keep 

With Kate of Aberdeen ! 

The nymphs and swains, expectant, wait, 

In primrose chaplets gay, 
Till morn unbars her golden gate, 

And gives the promis'd May. 
The nymphs and swains shall all declare 

The promis'd May, when seen, 
Not half so fragrant, half so fair, 

As Kate of Aberdeen ! 

I'll tune my pipe to playful notes, 

And rouse yon nodding grove ; 
Till new-wak'd birds distend their throats, 

And hail the maid I love. 
At her approach, the lark mistakes, 

And quits the new -dress' d green : 
Fond bird ! 'tis not the morning breaks; 

Tis Kate of Aberdeen ! 



* [If the reader refers to the note to the Flower of Yarrow, 
he will there find that Sir Walter Scott states this song to 
have been written in honour of another lady, a Miss Mary 
Lilias Scott. In a copy of Cromek's Reliques of Burns there 
is the following note on this passage in Sir Walter Scott's 
hand- writing : " Miss Mary Lilias Scott was the eldest 
daughter of John Scott, of Harden, and well known, in the 
'"ashionable world, by the nick-name of Cadie Scott, I be- 
•ieve, because she went to a masqued ball in such a disguise. 
I remember her, an old lady, distinguished for elegant man- 
ners and high spirit, though struggling under the disadvan- 
tages of a narrow income, as her father's estate, being entailed 
on heirs male, went to another branch of the Harden family, 
then called the High Chester family. I have heard an hun- 
dred times, from those who lived at the period, that Tweed- 
side, and the song called Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow, 



Now blithesome o'er the dewy mead, 

Where elves disportive play ; 
The festal dance young shepherds lead, 

Or sing their love-tun'd lay. 
Till May, in morning robe, draws nigh, 

And claims a Virgin Queen ; 
The nymphs and swains, exulting, cry, 

Here's Kate of Aberdeen !"] 



In Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, he tells 
us that about thirty of the songs in that publi- 
cation were the works of some young gentle- 
men of his acquaintance ; which songs are 
marked with the letters D. C. &c— Old Mr. 
Tytler, of Woodhouselee, the worthy and able 
defender of the beauteous Queen of Scots, told 
me that the songs marked C, in the Tea-table, 
were the composition of a Mr. Crawford, of the 
house of Achnames, who was afterwards un- 
fortunately drowned coming from France. — As 
Tytler was most intimately acquainted with 
Allan Ramsay, I think the anecdote may be 
depended on. Of consequence, the beautiful 
Song of Tweed Side is Mr. Crawford's, and 
indeed does great honour to his poetical talents. 
He was a Robert Crawford ; the Mary he cele- 
brates was a Mary Stewart, of the Castle-Milk 
family,* afterwards married to a Mr. John 
Ritchie. 

I have seen a song, calling itself the ori- 
ginal Tweed Side, and said to have been com- 
posed by a Lord Yester. It consisted of two 
stanzas, of which I still recollect the first — 

" When Maggy and I was acquaint, 

I carried my noddle fu' high ; 
Nae lintwhite on a' the green plain, 

Nor gowdspink, sae happy as me : 
But I saw her sae fair, and I lo'ed : 

I woo'd, but I cam nae great speed ; 
So now I maun wander abroad, 

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. \ 



[Crawford's song is still popular, as well it 
deserves to be : — 



were both written upon this much admired lady, and could 
add much proof on the subject, did space permit." — Waltke 
Scott.] 
t [The following is the other stanza : — 

To Maggy my love I did tell, 

Saut tears did my passion express ; 
Alas ! for I lo'ed her o'er well, 

And the women lo'e sic a man less. 
Her heart it was frozen and cauld, 

Her pride had my ruin decreed ; 
Therefore I will wander abroad, 

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. 

John, Lord Yester, second Marquis of Tweeddale, died ir 
1713. He possessed considerable poetic abilities ] 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



What beauties doth Flora disclose ! 

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed ! 
Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those, 

Both nature and fancy exceed. 
Nor daisy, nor sweet blushing rose, 

Nor all the gay flowers of the field, 
Nor Tweed gliding gently through those, 

Such beauty and pleasure do yield. 



The warblers are heard in the grove, 

The linnet, the lark, and the thrush, 
The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove, 

With music enchant every bush. 
Come, let us go forth to the mead, 

Let us see how the primroses spring, 
We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, 

And love while the feather'd folks sing 



How does my love pass the long day 1 

Does Mary not 'tend a few sheep ? 
Do they never carelessly stray, 

While happily she lies asleep ? 
Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest, 

Kind nature indulging my bliss, 
To ease the soft pains of my breast, 

I'd steal an ambrosial kiss. 



; Tis she does the virgin excel, 

No beauty with her may compare ; 
Love's graces around her do dwell, 

She's fairest, where thousands are fair. 
Say, charmer, where do thy flock stray ? 

Oh ! tell me at noon where they feed j 
Is it on the sweet wending Tay, 

Or pleasanter banks of the Tweed ?] 



* [We have already stated that Oswald was not the com- 
poser of Roslin Castle.] 

t [May. — Maid — Young Woman.] 

+ ["Lowe was born at Kenmore in Galloway, in the year 
1750. He was the eldest of a numerous family, and, after 
receiving the education common to the Scottish peasantry, 
was appointed to the occupation of a weaver. He however 
found means afterwards to obtain a regular education, in the 
course of prosecuting which he was employed as tutor in the 
family of Mr. M'Ghie of Airds. A young gentleman of the 
name of Miller, who had been engaged to Mary, one of Mr. 
M'Ghie's daughters, was at this period unfortunately lost at 
sea, which called forth Mr. Lowe's powers in that beautiful 
song, ' Mary, weep no more for me,' which alone makes his 
history an object of interest to the public. 

" His views were directed to the church ; but seeing no pro- 
spect of a living, lie determined to try his fortune in America, 
and for that country he embarked, in the year 1773, being 
invited as tutor to the family of a brother of General Wash- 
ington. From this circumstance, he seems to have cherished 
hi'pes which were never realized. He kept for some time an 
academy for young gentlemen, in Fredericksburg, Virginia, 
and at length took orders in the Episcopal Church, obtained 
a living, and became eminently respectable for his talents, 
his learning, and his sociable and pleasant manners. An 
event, however, soon took place, which clouded the meridian 
of his life, and blasted his happiness for ever. 

" While in the family of Airds he had become engaged to a 



It appears evident to me that Oswald com- 
posed his Roslin Castle on the modulation ol 
this air.* — In the second part of Oswald's, in 
the three first bars, he has either hit on a won- 
derful similarity to, or else he has entirely bor- 
rowed, the three first bars of the old air 5 and 
the close of both tunes is almost exactly the 
same. The old verses to which it was sung, 
when I took down the notes from a country 
girl's voice, had no great merit. — The following 
is a specimen : — 

There was a pretty May, f and a milkin' she 

went ; [hair ; 

Wi' her red rosy cheeks, and her coal black 

And she has met a young man a comin o'er the 

bent, 

With a double and adieu to thee, fair May. 

O where are ye goin', my ain pretty May, 
Wi' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal black 
hair ? 

Unto the yowes a milkin', kind sir, she says, 
With a double and adieu to thee, fair May. 

What if I gang alang wi' thee, my ain pretty 

May, [hair ; 

Wi' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal black 

Wad I be aught the warse 0' that, kind sir, 

she says, 

With a double and adieu to thee 5 fair May. 



The Mary here alluded to is generally sup- 
posed to be Miss Mary Macghie, daughter to 
the Laird of Airds, in Galloway. The Poet was 
a Mr. John Lowe,]; who likewise wrote ano- 



sister of Mary, whom he has immortalized by his song, and, 
after he had been two years in America, he wrote to her in 
the most impassioned strains. He soon afterwards, however, 
became enamoured of a beautiful Virginian lady, and forgot 
hi* first love on the banks of the Ken. The lady, however, 
wus deaf to all his addresses, and he had the mortification to 
see her bestowed on a more fortunate and deserving lover. 
At the same time, a sister of this lady became passionately 
fond of him ; and, in a moment of silly chagrin, he allowed 
himself to be united to her, merely, he said, from a principle 
of gratitude. Every propitious planet hid its head at the hour 
that made them one. She proved every thing that was bad : 
and Lowe soon saw in his wife an abandoned wocan, totally 
regardless of his happiness, and unfaithfu even to his bed. 
Overwhelmed with disappointment and shame, he had re- 
course to the miserable expedient of dissipating, or attempt- 
ing to dhsipate, at the bottle, the cares and chagrin that 
preyed upon his heart. Habits of intemperance were thus 
formed, which, with their usual attendants, poverty and dis- 
ease, brought him to an untimely grave, in the 4Sth year of 
his age. 

''The circumstances attending his death, as described by 
one of his friends, were truly distressing. " Perceiving his 
end drawing near, and wishing to die in peace, away from his 
own wretched walls, he mounted a sorry palfrey, and rode 
some distance to the house of a friend. So much was he 
debilitated that scarcely could he alight in the court and 
walk into the house. Afterwards he revived a little, and en- 



■ 



THE MAID THAT TENDS THE GOATS, ETC. 



/,33 



flier beautiful song, called Pompey's Ghost. — 
I have seen a poetic epistle from him in North 
America, where he now is, or lately was, to a 
lady in Scotland. — By the strain of the verses, 
it appeared that they allude to some love affair. 

[Lowe's exquisite song of Mary's dream will 
do for his name what neither the Epistle, nor 
Pompey's Ghost, would of themselves accom- 
plish. The following is a faithful transcript: — 

" The moon had climb'd the highest hill, 

Which rises o'er the source of Dee, 
And from the eastern summit shed 

Her silver light on tow'r and tree . 
When Mary laid her down to sleep, 

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea ; 
When soft and low a voice was heard, 

Saying, ' Mary, Aveep no more for me !' 

She from her pillow gently rais'd 

Her head, to ask who there might be ; 
She saw young Sandy shivering stand, 

With visage pale and hollow e'e : 
O, Mary dear ! cold is my clay, 

It lies beneath a stormy sea ; 
Far, far from thee, I sleep in death, — 

So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 

Three stormy nights and stormy days 

We toss'd upon the raging main, 
And long we strove our bark to save, 

But all our striving was in vain. 
Even then, when horror chill' d my blood, 

My heart was fill'd with love for thee : 
The storm is past, and I at rest, 

So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 

O maiden dear, thyself prepare, 

We soon shall meet upon that shore 
Where love is free from doubt and care, 

And thou and I shall part no more. 
Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled, 

No more of Sandy could she see ; 
But soft the passing Spirit said, 

' Sweet Mary, weep no more for me V "] 



BY MR. DUDGEON. 

This Dudgeon is a respectable farmer's son 
in Berwick-shire. 



joyed some hours of that vivacity which was peculiar to him. 
But this was but the last faint gleam of a setting sun : on 
the third day after his arrival at the house of his friend he 
breathed his last. He now lies buried near Fredericksburg, 
Virginia, under the shade of two palm trees, but not a stone 
is there on which to write ' Mary, weep no more for me.' " 

The abandoned woman, to whom he had so foolishly linked 
his fortune, made no inquiry after him for more than a 
month, when she sent for his horse, which had been previ- 
ously sold to defray the expenses of his funeral. 

Lowe was in his person very handsome. His figure was 



[The song has an original air about it, which 
is very pleasing : — 



Up amang yon cliffy rocks, 
Sweetly rings the rising echo, 
To the maid that tends the goats, 
Lilting o'er her native notes. 
Hark, she sings, Young Sandie's kind, 
And he's promis'd ay 7 to lo'e me, 
Here's a brooch, I ne'er shall tine, 
Till he's fairly marri'd to me. 
Drive away, ye drone time, 
And bring about our bridal day. 



Sandy herds a flock o' sheep, 
Aften does he blaw the whistle, 
In a strain sae vastly sweet, 
Lam'ies list'ning dare na bleat, 
He's as fleet 's the mountain roe, 
Hardy as the highland heather, 
Wading through the winter snow, 
Keeping aye his flock together ; 

But wi' plaid, and bare houghs. 

He braves the bleakest northern blast. 



Brawly he can dance and sing, 
Canty glee or Highland cronach : 
Nane can ever match his fling, 
At a reel, or round a ring ; 
Wightly can he wield a rung, 
In a brawl he's aye the baughter; 
A' his praise can ne'er be sung 
By the langest winded sangster. 

Sangs that sing o' Sandy, 

Seem short, tho' they were e'er sae lang.J 



$ foutf) ttij> %obt it>n*e in a Pltre, 

I never heard more of the words of this 
old song than the title. 



[The old song commenced with these charac- 
teristic words : — 

" I wish my love were in a mire, 
That I might pu' her out again." 

The verses in the Museum are in a different 



active, well proportioned, and rather above the middle size. 
His hair was auburn, his eyes blue, and penetrating, his nose 
aquiline, and the whole expression of his countenance open 
and benevolent. These qualities, united to a lively and in- 
sinuating manner, made him a favourite with the fair sex. 
He was, however, in love, ' more susceptible than constant ; 
and one act of infidelity will, by some, be supposed to have been 
sufficiently punished by the subsequent misfortunes of his life.' 
N.B. His first love on the banks of the Ken was, after his 
death, married to a respectable country gentleman, and was 
alive in 1810."] 



534 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



strain : they are a translation from Sappho, by 
Ambrose Phillips : — 

" Blest as the immortal gods is he, 
The youth who fondly sits by thee ; 
And hears and sees thee all the while, 
So softly speak, and sweetly smile. 

'Twas this bereav'd my soul of rest, 
And rais'd such tumults in my breast, 
For while I gaz'd, in transport toss'd, 
My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 

My bosom glow'd, the subtle flame 
Ran quick thro' all my vital frame ; 
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung, 
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 

In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd ; 
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd ; 
My feeble pulse forgot to play : 
I fainted — sunk — and died away."] 



man OTater. 



This Allan Water, which the composer of 
the music has honoured with the name of the 
air, I have been told is Allan Water, in Strath- 
allan. 



[To Robert Crawford, of Auchnames, we are 
indebted for this beautiful song : — 

i. 
" What numbers shall the muse repeat, 

What verse be found to praise my Annie ; 
On her ten thousand graces wait, 

Each swain admires and owns she's bonnie. 
Since first she strode the happy plain, 

She set each youthful heart on fire ; 
Each nymph does to her swain complain, 

That Annie kindles new desire. 

II. 

This lovely, darling, dearest care, 

This new delight, this charming Annie, 
Like summer's dawn she's fresh and fair, 

When Flora's fragrant breezes fan ye. 
All day the am'rous youths convene, 

Joyous they sport and play before her ; 
All night, when she no more is seen, 

In joyful dreams they still adore her. 



Among the crowd Amyntor came, 

He look'd, he lov'd, he bow'd to Annie ; 
His rising sighs express his flame, 

His words were few, his wishes many. 
With smiles the lovely maid reply'd, 

Kind shepherd, why should I deceive ye? 
Alas ! your love must be deny'd, 

This destin'd breast can ne'er relieve ye. 



Young Damon came with Cupid's art, 

His wiles, his smiles, his charms beguiling ; 
He stole away my virgin heart; 

Cease, poor Amyntor ! cease bewailing. 
Some brighter beauty you may find ; 

On yonder plain the nymphs are many ; 
Then choose some heart that's unconfin'd, 

And leave to Damon his own Annie.] 



Cijere'jg nae Hudi afcoitt tyz ?lou3e. 

This is one of the most beautiful songs in 
the Scots, or any other, language.— The two 
lines, 

" And will I see his face again ! 
And will I hear him speak !" 

as well as the two preceding ones, are unequal- 
led almost by anything I ever heard or read ; 
and the lines, 

" The present moment is our ain, 
The neist we never saw,"— 

are worthy of the first poet. It is long poste- 
rior to Ramsay's days. About the year 1771, 
or 72, it came first on the streets as a ballad ; 
and I suppose the composition of the song was 
not much anterior to tbit period. 



[The author of this inimitable ballad was 
William Julius Mickle, Esq., a native of 
Langholm, and well known as the elegant trans- 
lator of the " Luciad, and other Poems." He 
was born in 1734, and died in 1788. As the first 
sketch of so beautiful a song is both curious 
and interesting, we subjoin a copy taken from 
the original MS. in the author's own hand- 
writing : — 

There's nae luck about the house, 

There's nae luck at a' ; 
There's little pleasure in the house, 

When our guidman's awa. 

And are you sure the news is true ; 

And do you say he 's weel ? 
Is this a time to speak of wark ? 

Ye jades, lay by your wheel ! 
Is this a time to spin a thread, 

When Colin's at the door ? 
Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay, 

And see him come ashore. 

And gie to me my bigonet, 

My bishop's satin gown , 
For I maun tell the baillie's wife 

That Colin's in the town. 
My turken slippers maun gae on, 

My stockings pearly blue ; 
'Tis a' to pleasure my guidman, 

For he's baith leal and true. 



TARRY WOO. — GRAMACHREE. 



535 



Rise, lass, and mak a clean fire-side, 

Put on the muckle pot ; 
Gie little Kate her button gown, 

And Jock his Sunday coat ; 
And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 

Their hose as white as snaw ; 
'Tis a' to pleasure my guidman, 

For he's been lang awa'. 

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop, 

Been fed this month and mair ; 
Mak haste and thraw their necks about, 

That Colin weel may fare ; 
And mak the table neat and trim ; 

Let every thing be braw ; 
For who kens how my Colin far'd 

When he was far awa'. 

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, 

His breath like caller air, 
His very foot hath music in't, 

As he comes up the stair. 
And shall I see his face again. 

And shall I hear him speak ? 
I'm downright giddy wi' the thought, 

In truth I'm like to greet. 

If Colin's weel, and weel content, 

I hae nae mair to crave ; 
And gin I live to mak him sae, 

I'm blest aboon the lave. 
And shall I see his face again, &c] 



[The song is indeed a fine one ; but one of 
the best verses was the work of Dr. Beattie. 

Sae true his words, sae smooth his speech, 

His breath like caller air, 
His very foot has music in't 

When he comes up the stair ; 
And Avill I see his face again ! 

And will I hear him speak ! 
I'm downright dizzy with the thought, 

In troth I'm like to greet. ] 



Carrg WLoo. 



This is a very pretty song ; but I fancy that 
the first half-stanza, as well as the tune itself, 
are much older than the rest of the words. 



[The first half stanza of the old version of 
Tarry Woo is as follows : — ■ 

O tarry woo is ill to spin, 
Card it weel e'er ye begin ; 
Card it weel and draw it sma', 
Tarry woo's the best of a'. 

Cromek remarks that the thought contained 
in these two lines ; — 



" Who'd be a king can ony tell, 
When a shepherd sings sae well?" 

Is an imitation of a verse in a fine old song, 
" The Miller," which serves to confirm the 
truth of Burns's observation on the age of 
" Tarry W'oo." We subjoin a couple of stanzas 
of the modern version : — 

Up, ye shepherds, dance and skip, 
O^r the hills and valleys trip, 
Sing up the praise of tarry woo', 
Sing the flocks that bear it too. 
Harmless creatures without blame, 
That deed the back, and cram the wame, 
Keep us warm and hearty fou ; 
Leese me on the tarry woo. 

How happy is the shepherd's life, 
Far frae courts, and free of strife, 
While the gimmers bleat and bae, 
And the lambkins answer " Mae ;" 
No such music to his ear ; 
Of thief or fox he has no fear : 
Sturdy Kent, and colly true, 
We'll defend the tarry woo.] 



^ramac^ree. 

The song of Gramachree was composed by 
Mr. Poe, a counsellor at law in Dublin. This 
anecdote I had from a gentleman who knew the 
lady, the " Molly," who is the subject of the 
song, and to whom Mr. Poe sent the first manu- 
script of his most beautiful verses. I do not 
remember any single line that has more true 
pathos than 

" How can she break the honest heart that wears her in its 
core !" 

But as the song is Irish, it had nothing to do 
in this collection. 



[The following are the words of this exquisite 
song, so eulogized by the Poet : — 

As down on Banna's banks I stray'd, 

One evening in May, 
The little birds in blithest notes 

Made vocal every spray : 
They sang their little notes of love ; 

They sang them o'er and o'er, 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

The daisy pied, and all the sweets 

The dawn of nature yields ; 
The primrose pale, the vi'let blue, 

Lay scatter'd o'er the fields ; 
Such fragrance in the bosom lies 

Of her whom I adore, 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 



536 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



I laid me down upon a bank, 

Bewailing my sad fate, 
That doonrd me thus the slave of love, 

And cruel Molly's hate. 
How can she break the honest heart 

That wears her in its core ! 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

You said you lov'd me, Molly dear ; 

Ah ! why did I believe ? 
Yes, who could think such tender words 

Were meant but to deceive ? 
That love was all I ask'd on earth, 

Nay Heav'n could give no more, 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore* 

Oh ! had I all the flocks that graze, 

On yonder yellow hill ; 
Or low'd for me the num'rous herds, 

That yon green pastures fill ; 
With her I love I'd gladly share 

My kine and fleecy store, 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

Two turtle doves above my head, 

Sat courting on a bough ; 
I envy'd them their happiness, 

To see them bill and coo ; 
Such fondness once for me she shew'd, 

But now, alas ! 'tis o'er ; 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

Then fare thee well, my Molly dear, 

Thy loss I still shall moan ; 
Whilst life remains in Strephon's heart, 

'Twill beat for thee alone. 
Tho' thou art false, may Heav'n on thee 

Its choicest blessings pour ! 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore.] 



Wi)t Collier's fconnw %a$$iz. 

The first half stanza is much older than the 
days of Ramsay. — The old words began thus : 

" The collier has a dochter, and, O, she's won- 
der bonnie ; [lands and money. 
A laird he was that sought her, rich baith in 
She wad nae hae a laird, nor wad she be a 
lady ; [daddie." — 
But she wad hae a collier, the colour o' her 



[The verses in Johnson's Museum are pretty ; 
Allan Ramsay's songs have always nature to 
recommend them : — 

i. 
" The Collier has a daughter, 
And O, she's wonder bonny ! 



A laird he was that sought her, 
Rich baith in land and money. 

The tutors Avatch'd the motion 
Of this young honest lover, 

But love is like the ocean ; 
Wha can its deeps discover ? 

ii. 
He had the heart to please ye 

And was by a' respected, 
His airs sat round him easy, 

Genteel, but unaffected. 
The Collier's bonnie lassie, 

Fan* as the new blown lillie, 
Aye sweet and never saucy, 

Secur'd the heart of Willie. 

hi. 

He lov'd, beyond expression, 

The charms that were about her, 
And panted for possession, 

His life was dull -without her. 
After mature resolving, 

Close to his breast he held her^ 
In saftest flames dissolving, 

He tenderly thus tell'd her — 

IV. 

' My bonnie Collier's daughter 

Let naething discompose ye, 
'Tis no your scanty tocher 

Shall ever gar me lose ye : 
For I have gear in plenty, 

And love says 'tis my duty 
To ware what heaven has lent me, 

Upon your wit and beauty.'"] 



•£&y am fctntJ IBtarte, <©. 

The old words of this song are omitted here, 
though much more beautiful than these in- 
serted ; which were mostly composed by poor 
Fergusson, in one of his merry humours. The 
old words began thus : 

" I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O, 
I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O, 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wat, 

And I were ne'er sae weary, O ; 
I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O. — " 



[The verses of Fergusson are as follow : — 

li Nae herds wi' kent, and collie there, 
Shall ever come to fear ye, O, 
But lav'rocks whistling in the air, 
Shall woo, like me, their dearie, ! 

While others herd their lambs and ewes, 
And toil for world's gear, my jo, 



MARY SCOTT. — DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE. 



537 



Upon the lee my pleasure grows, 
Wi' you, my kind dearie O ! 

Will ye gang o'er the lea rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O ! 
And cuddle there sae kindly wi' me, 

My kind dearie, O ! 

At thorny dike, and birkin tree, 
We'll daff, and ne'er be weary, O ! 

They'll sing ill e'en frae you and me, 
Mine ain kind dearie, O ! 



JMari) §cott, tlje J^Iobn* oi ^aiTOiu.* 

Mr. Robertson, in his statistical account of 
the parish of Selkirk, says, that Marj Scott, 
the Flower of Yarrow, Avas descended from the 
Dryhope, and married into the Harden, family. 
Her daughter was married to a predecessor of 
the present Sir Francis Elliot, of Stobbs, and 
of the late Lord Heathfield. 

There is a circumstance in their contract of 
marriage that merits attention, and it strongly 
marks the predatory spirit of the times. The 
father-in-law agrees to keep his daughter for 
some time after the marriage ; for which the 
son-in-law binds himself to give him the profits 
of the first Michaelmas moon.f 

Allan Ramsay's version is as follows : — 

I. 

Happy's the love which meets return, 
When in soft flame souls equal bum \ 
But words are wanting to discover 
The torments of a hapless lover. 
Ye registers of heaven, relate, 
If looking o'er the rolls of fate, 
Did you there see me mark'd to marrow, 
Mary Scott, the flow'r of Yarrow ? 

ii. 

Ah, no ! her form's too heav'nly fair, 
Her love the gods alone must share ; 
While mortals with despair explore her, 
And at a distance due adore her. 
O, lovely maid ! my doubts beguile, 
Revive and bless me with a smile : 
Alas, if not, you'll soon debar a' 
Sighing swain on the banks of Yarrow. 

in. 
Be hush, ye fears, I'll not despair, 
My Mary's tender as she's fair ; 



* MARY SCOTT. 

Traditionary Set. 

Mary's red and Mary's white, 

And Mary she's the king's delight, 

The king's delight and the prince's marrow, 

Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow. 

When I look east my heart grows sair, 
But when I look west it's mair and mair, 



Then I'll go tell her all mine anguish, 
She is too good to let me languish ; 
With success crown'd, I'll not envy 
The folks who dwell above the sky ; 
When Mary Scott's become my marrow, 
We'll make a paradise of Yarrow. 



["Near the lower extremity of St. Mary's 
Lake (a beautiful sheet of water, forming the 
reservoir from which the Yarrow takes its 
source), are the ruins of Dryhope tower, the 
birth-place of Mary Scott, daughter of Philip 
Scott of Dryhope, and famous by the tradi- 
tional name of the Flower of Yarrow. She was 
married to Walter Scott, of Harden, no less 
renowned for his depredations, than his bride 
for her beauty. Her romantic appellation 
was, in latter days, with equal justice, confer- 
red on Miss Maiy Lilias Scott, the last of the 
elder branch of the Harden family. I well 
remember the talent and spirit of the latter 
Flower of Yarrow, though age had then injured 
the charms which procured her the name : and 
that the words usually sung to the air of 
' Tweed-Side,' beginning, 

'What beauties doth Flora disclose,' 

were composed in her honour." — Sir Walter 
Scott — Notes to Marmion — Second Canto. 

In the copy of ' Cromek's Reliques,' previously 
referred to, is the following note by Sir Walter 
Scott : — " I may add, for the satisfaction of the 
ingenious and pains-taking illustrator, that the 
facts could not but be well-known to me as 
living in the closest intimacy with the Harden 
family, and being descended from their eldest 
cadet, Scott of Raeburn."] 



©oimx tlje 23unt, ^abte. 

I have been informed that the tune of 
" Down the Burn, Davie," was the compo- 
sition of David Maigh, keeper of the blood 
slough hounds, belonging to the Laird of Rid- 
del, in Tweeddale. 



[Honest David has made us his debtor for a 
very pretty air : the words are by William 
Crawford. Burns tried, but very unsuccess- 
fully, to diminish the warmth of this tender 
song. 



And when I look to the banks o' Yarrow, 
I mind me o' my winsome marrow. 

Now she's gone to Edinbro' town 

To buy braw ribbons to tie her gown, 

She's bought them braid and laid them narrow, 

Mary Scott 's the flower o' Yarrow. 

t [The time when the moss-troopers and cattle-drivers on 
the borders began of yore their nightly depredations.] 



538 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



" When trees did bud, and fields were green, 

And broom bloom'd fair to see ; 
When Mary was complete fifteen, 

And love laugh' d in her e'e ; 
Blythe Davie's blinks her heart did move, 

To speak her mind thus free, 
' Gang down the burn, Davie, love, 

And I shall follow thee.' 

Now Davie did each lad surpass 

That dvvalt on yon burn side, 
And Mary was the bonniest lass, 

Just meet to be a bride ; 
Her cheeks were rosy, red and white, 

Her een were bonnie blue ; 
Her looks were like Aurora bright, 

Her lips like dropping dew. 

As down the burn they took their way, 

What tender tales they said ! 
His cheek to hers he aft did lay, 

And with her bosom play'd ; 
Till baith at length impatient grown, 

To be mair fully blest, 
In yonder vale they lean'd them down — 

Love only saw the rest. 

What pass'd, I guess, was harmless play, 

And naething sure unmeet ; 
For ganging hame, I heard them say, 

They lik'd a walk sae sweet ; 
And that they aften should return 

Sic pleasure to renew. 
Quoth Mary, ' Love, I like the burn, 

And aye shall follow you.' "] 



The old words, all that I remember, are, — 
" Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 
It is a cauld winter night ; 
It rains, it hails, it thunders, 
The moon she gies nae light : 



* [The old set of the words are these : 



In summer I mawed my meadow, 
In hairst I shure the corn, 

In winter I married a widow, 
I wish she were dead the morn. 

CHORUS. 

Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 
Blink over the burn to me ; 

I would gie a' I had in the warld 
But to be a widow for thee. 



The youth he was wamplin' and wandy, 
The lassie was quite fu' o' glee ; 

And aye, as she cried to the laddie, 
Come down bonny Tweed-side to me. 



Come meet me again ne'er to sever, 
Come meet me where naebody can see, 

I canna think ye' re a deceiver, 
And mean but to lichtlie me. 



It's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty, 
That ever I tint my way ; 

Sweet, let me lie beyond thee 
Until it be break o' day. — 

O, Betty will bake my bread, 

And Betty will brew my ale, 
And Betty will be my love, 

When I come over the dale ; 
Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 

Blink over the burn to me, 
And while I hac life, dear lassie, 

My ain sweet Betty thou's be." 



€fy Miti)t$omt JSrfoal. 

I find the " Blithesome Bridal " in James 
Watson's collection of Scots Poems printed at 
Edinburgh, in 1706. This collection, the pub- 
lisher says, is the first of its nature which has 
been published in our own native Scots dialect 
— it is now extremely scarce. f 



[The inimitable " Blithesome Bridal" is ra- 
ther too long for quotation ; and who would 
venture to describe it ? There is singular ease 
of expression and great force of graphic delinea- 
tion. The witty catalogue of guests, and the 
humorous list of dinner dishes, are only equal- 
led by Smollett's entertainment in the manner 
of the ancients. There is a maritime savour 
about the feast, which inclines one to think that 
it was spread somewhere on the sea -coast. For 
the guests take the following verses : — 

Come, fye, let us a' to the wedding, 

For there will be lilting there, 
For Jock will be married to Maggie, 

The lass wi' the gowden hair. 
And there will be lang kail and castocks, 

And bannocks o' barley-meal ; 



" Come o'er the bourn, Betty, to me ; 
Her boat hath a leak, 
And she must not speak, 
Why she dares not come over to thee." 
Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 

Blink over the burn to me ; 
I would gie a' I had in the warid, 
But to be a widov for thee. 
This must also have been an English song.— See Lear, 
Act 3, Scene vi.] 

t [" There is a tradition in our country that Sir William 
Scott, of Thirlstane, was the author of this inimitably droll 
song, and that he once sung it at an assembly in London. 
The English nobility were so tickled by it that they requested 
to hear it again ; but Scott, feeling that it would not bear 
explanations, respectfully declined complying. They sent a 
deputation of young ladies to him, who kneeled and begged 
to have the song over again ; but he was obliged to remain 
obstinate. I asked Lord" Napier if he knew this song to be 
his predecessor's ? He doubted it, and thought that a copy 
of it having been found inserted among some of that knight's 
own compositions had given rise to the tradition." — Thb 
Ettrick Shepherd. 

" The author was Francis Sempill of Beltrees."— Mother- 

WELL.] 



THE BLITHSOME BRIDAL, ETC. 



539 



And there will be guid saut herring, 
To relish a cog o' guid ale. 

And there will be Sandy the sutor, 

And Will wi ; the meikle mou, 
And there will be Tam the blutter, 

With Andrew the tinkler, I trow ; 
And there will be bow-legg'd Robie, 

With thumbless Katie's gudeman, 
And there will be blue cheek'd Dobbie, 

And Laurie, the laird of the land. 

And there will be sow-libber Patie, 

And plookie-fac'd Wat i' the mill ; 
Capper-nos'd Francis and Gibbie, 

That wons i' the howe o' the hill ; 
And there will be Alister Sibbie, 

Wha in wi' black Bessie did mool, 
With snivelling Lilie and Tibbie, 

The lass that stands aft on the stool. 

The dishes were not unworthy of the bridal 
party— 

And there will be fadges and brochan, 

Wi' routh o' gude gabbocks o' skate ; 
Powsowdie and drammock and crowdie, 

And caller nowt feet on a plate ; 
And there will be partans and buckies, 

And whitings and speldings anew ; 
With singed sheep heads and a haggis, 

And scadlips to sup till ye spew. 

And there will be lapper'd milk kebbuck, 

And sowens, and carles, and laps ; 
With swats and well-scraped paunches, 

And brandy in stoups and in caps ; 
And there will be meal-kail and porrage, 

Wi' skirk to sup till ye reve, 
And roasts to roast on a brander, 

Of flewks that were taken alive. 

Scrapt haddocks, wilks, dulse, and tangle, 

And a mill o' guid snishing to prie, 
When weary wi' eating and drinking, 

We'll rise up and dance till we die ; 
Then fie let 's a' to the bridal, 

For there will be lilting there, 
For Jock '11 be married to Maggie, 

The lass wi' the gowden hair. 



* [" James Tytler was the son of a country clergyman in the 
presbytery of Brechin, and brother to Dr. Tytler, the trans- 
lator of Callimachus. He was instructed by his father in 
classical learning and school divinity, and attained an accu- 
rate knowledge of the Latin and Greek languages, and an 
extensive acquaintance with biblical literature and scholastic 
theology. Having discovered an early predilection for the 
medical profession, he was put apprentice to a surgeon in 
Forfar, and afterwards sent to attend the medical classes at 
Edinburgh. While a medical student, he cultivated experi- 
mental chemistry and controversial theology with equal as- 
siduity. Unfortunately his . religious opinions, not deemed 
orthodox, or Calvinistical, connected him with a society of 
Glassites, and involved him in a marriage with a member of 
that society, which terminated in a separation. He now 
settled in Leith, as an apothecary, depending on the patron- 
age of his religious connections ; but his separation from the 



The authorship of this hearty old Scottish 
song has been claimed by the noble family of 
Napier for an ancestor who lived upon the border. 

Lord Napier himself, in a letter to Mark 
Napier, dated Thirlestane, Dec. 15, 1831, says, 
" Sir William Scott was the author of that well 
known Scots song, l Fye, let us a' to the bridal ' 
— a better thing than Horace ever wrote. My 
authority ivas my father. Sir William Scott 
died in 1725.] 



^ol)ix flag's bmxute %a$$iz. 

John Hay's " Bonnie Lassie " was daugh- 
ter of John Hay, Earl or Marquis of Tweed- 
dale, and the late Countess Dowager of Rox- 
burgh. She died at Broomlands, near Kelso, 
some time between the years 1720 and 1740. 



[The heroine of the song had store of charms, 
if we may put faith in the Muse : 

" She's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora, 
When birds mount and sing, bidding day a 

good-morrow ; 
The sward o' the mead, enamelled wi' daisies, 
Look wither'd and dead when twinn'd of her 

graces. 
But if she appear where verdures invite her, 
The fountains run clear, and flow'rs smell the 

sweeter ; 
'Tis heaven to be by when her wit is a flowing, 
Her smiles and bright een set my spirits a 

glowing/' 

We may accept this as a picture of one of 
the noble beauties of the north a hundred years 
ago.] 



Clje hmxnit forudut Italic. 

The first two lines of this song are all of it 
that is old. The rest of the song, as well as 
those songs in the " Museum" marked T., are 
the works of an obscure, tippling, but extraor- 
dinary body of the name of Tytler, commonly 
known by the name of Balloon Tytler,* from 



society, which happened soon after, with an unsteadiness 
that was natural to him, disappointed his expectations. 
When he ceased to be a Glassite he ceased not to be a firm 
believer in the Christian revelation, and a zealous advocate of 
genuine Christianity ; but he never afterwards held commu- 
nion with any denomination of Christians. The neglect of 
his business was the unavoidable consequence of his attention 
to religious dissensions ; and having contracted debts to a 
considerable amount, he was obliged to remove to Berwick, 
and afterwards to Newcastle. In both places he was em- 
ployed in preparing chemical medicines for the druggists ; 
but the liberality of his employers being insufficient to pre- 
serve an increasing family from the evils of penury, he re- 
turned to Edinburgh, in the year 1/72, in extreme poverty, 
and took refuge from the molestation of his creditors within 
the precincts of the sanctuary of Holyrood House, where 
debtors are privileged from arrests. At this period his wife 



540 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



his having projected a balloon : a mortal, who, 
though he drudges about Edinburgh as a com- 
mon printer, with leaky shoes, a sky -lighted 
hat, and knee-buckles as unlike as George-by- 
the-grace-of-God, and Solomon-the-son-of-Da- 
vid ; yet that same unknown drunken mortal 
is author and compiler of three-fourths of El- 
liot's pompous Encyclopedia Britannica, which 
he composed at half-a-guinea a week ! 



[The following verses will enable the reader 
to judge of the merits of Balloon Tytler : — 

" The bonnie bracket lassie, 

She's blue beneath the e'en j 
She was the fairest lassie 

That danc'd on the green : 
A lad he lo'ed her dearly, 

She did his love return ; 
But he his vows has broken, 

And left her for to mourn. 

' My shape,' says she, ' was handsome, 
My face was fair and clean ; 



deserted him and their five children, the youngest only six 
months old, and returned to her relations. He solaced him- 
self for the privation of domestic happiness by composing a 
humorous ballad, entitled ' The Pleasures of the Abbey,' 
which was his first attempt in poetry. In a description of 
its inhabitants, the author himself is introduced in the l6th 
and 17th stanzas. In the avocation of an author by profes- 
sion, which he was now compelled to assume, he displayed a 
versatility of talent, and a facility in writing, unexampled in 
the transactions of the press. He commenced his literary 
career by a publication entitled ' Essays on the most import- 
ant Subjects of natural and revealed Religion,' which issued 
from the asylum of debtors under the peculiar circumstances 
of being composed, by himself, at the printing case, from his 
own conceptions, without a manuscript before him, and 
wrought off at a press of his own construction, by his own 
hands. He left this singular work, which was to be com- 
pleted in two volumes, 8vo., unfinished, and turned aside, to 
attack the opinions of anew religious sect, called the Bereans, 
in ' A Letter to Mr. John Barclay on the Doctrine of Assur- 
ance,' — in which he again performed the functions of author, 
compositor, and pressman. He next sent forth, with such as- 
sistance as he could find, a monthly publication, entitled 
'The Gentleman and Lady's Magazine,' which was soon 
abandoned for 'The Weekly Review,' — a literary miscellany 
which, in its turn, \/as discontinued in a very short time. 
These publications, unavoidably disfigured with many typo- 
graphical deformities, made him known to the booksellers ; 
and from them he afterwards found constant employment in 
compilations, abridgments, translations, and miscellaneous 
essays. He now ventured to leave the miserable apartments 
which he had long occupied in the sanctuary for debtors, for 
more comfortable lodgings, first at Restalrig, and afterwards 
in the city ; and, if his prudence and steadiness had been 
equal to his talents and industry, he might have earned by 
his labours a complete maintenance, which never fell to his 
lot. As he wrote for subsistence, not from the vanity of au- 
thorship, he was engaged in many works which were anony- 
mous, and in others-which appeared with the names of his 
employers. He is .editor, or author, of the following works : 
'The Weekly Mirror,' a periodical publication which began 
in 1780 ; ' A System of Geography,' in 8vo. ; 'A History of 
Edinburgh,' 12mo. ; 'A Geographical, Historical, and Com- 
mercial Grammar,' 2 vols., 8vo. ; ' A Review of Dritchken's 
Theory of Inflammation,' 12mo., with a practical dedication ; 
' Remarks on Mr. Pinkerton's Introduction to the History of 
Scotland,' 8vo. ; ' A Poetical Translation of Virgil's Eclogues,' 
4to. ; 'A general Index to the Scots Magazine ;' 'A System 
of Chemistry,' written at the expense of a gentleman who was 
to put his name to it, unpublished. He gave his assistance 
in preparing the System of Anatomy published by A. Bell, 
and was an occasional contributor to the ' Medical Oommen- 



But now I'm bonnie bracket, 
And blue beneath the een : 

My eyes were bright and sparkling, 
Before that they turn'd blue ; 

But now they're dull with weeping, 
And a', my love, for you. 

O could I live in darkness, 

Or hide me in the sea, 
Since my love is unfaithful, 

And has forsaken me. 
No other love I suffer'd 

Within my breast to dwell ; 
In nought have I offended, 

But loving him too well.' 

Her lover heard her mourning, 

As by he chane'd to pass ; 
And press'd unto his bosom 

The lovely bracket lass. 
' My dear,' said he, ' cease grieving, 

Since that your love is true, 
My bonny bracket lassie, 

I'll faithful prove to you."] 



taries,' and other periodical publications of the time. He was 
the principal editor of the 2nd edition of the ' Encyclopedia 
Britannica,' and finished, with incredible labour, a large pro- 
portion of the more considerable scientific treatises and histo- 
ries, and almost all the minor articles. He had an apartment 
assigned him in the printing-house, where he performed the 
offices of compiler and corrector of the press at a salary of 
sixteen shillings a week ! When the third edition was under- 
taken, he was engaged as a stated contributor, upon more 
liberal terms, and wrote a larger share in the early volumes 
than is ascribed to him in the general preface. It was his 
misfortune to be continually drawn aside from the business 
of his employers by the delight he took in prosecuting expe- 
riments in chemistry, electricity, and mechanics, which con- 
sumed a large portion of his time and money. He conducted 
for some time, with success, a manufacturing process, of which 
he was the inventor ; but after he had disclosed his secret to 
the gentleman at whose expense it was carried on, he was 
dismissed, without obtaining either a share in the business, 
or a suitable compensation for his services. He was the first 
in Scotland who adventured in a fire-balloon, constructed 
upon the plan of Montgolfier. He ascended from Comely 
Garden, Edinburgh, amidst the acclamations of an immense 
multitude, and descended at a distance of a quarter of a mile, 
owing to some unforeseen defect in the machinery. The 
failure of this adventure deprived him of the public favour 
and applause, and increased his pecuniary difficulties. He 
again had recourse to his pen for subsistence, and, amidst 
the drudgery of writing, and the cares which pressed upon 
him daily, he exhilarated his spirits, at intervals, with a tune 
on the Irish Bagpipe, which he played with much sweetness, 
interposing occasionally a song of his own composition, sung 
with great animation. A solace of this kind was well suited 
to the simplicity of his manners, the modesty of his dispo- 
sition, and the integrity of his character, such as they were 
before he suffered his social propensities to violate the rules 
of sobriety. Forgetting his old friends, he associated with 
discontented persons, and entered into a deliberate exposition 
of the abuses of government in ' A Pamphlet on the Excise,' 
and more systematically in a periodical publication, entitled 
' The Historical Register,' which gratified malignity by per- 
sonal invective and intemperance of language. He was con- 
cerned in the wild irrational plans of the British convention, 
and published 'A Handbill addressed to the People,' written 
in so inflammatory a style as rendered him obnoxious to 
government. A warrant was issued to apprehend him, and 
he left his native country and crossed the Atlantic for Ame- 
rica, where he fixed his residence in the town of Salem in 
the state of Massachusetts, where he established a newspaper 
in connection with a printer, which he continued til'l his 
death, which happened in the year 1805, in the 58th year 
of his age." — Cromek.J 



THE BANKS OF FORTH, ETC. 



541 



Hae mcvrj) a£ foe Clua 1)a'c fettn. 

This song is beautiful. — The chorus in parti- 
cular is truly pathetic. I never could learn 
any thing of its author. 



' Sae merry as we twa ha'e been, 
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been 5 
My heart it is like for to break, 

When I think on the days we ha'e seen. ; 



[We owe this song to the industry of Herd : 
the first line of the chorus gave the name to 
the air two hundred years ago. 

" A lass that was laden with care 

Sat heavily under a thorn ; 
I listen'd awhile for to hear, 

When thus she began fbr to mourn : 
Whene'er my dear shepherd was there, 

The birds did melodiously sing, 
And cold nipping winter did wear 

A face that resembled the spring. 

Our flocks feeding close by his side, 

He gently pressing my hand, 
I view'd the wide world in its pride, 

And laugh'd at the pomp of command. 
' My dear/ he would oft to me say, 

* What makes you hard-hearted to me ? 
Oh ! why do you thus turn away 

From him who is dying for thee V 

But now he is far from my sight, 

Perhaps a deceiver may prove, 
Which makes me lament day and night, 

That ever I granted my love. 
At eve, when the rest of the folk 

Were merrily seated to spin, 
I set myself under an oak, 

And heavily sighed for hhn."] 



C$e Banks oi dfortl). 

This air is Oswald's. 



[" Here's anither — it's no a Scots tune, but 
it passes for ane — Oswald made it himsel, I 
reckon. He has cheated mony a ane, but he 
canna cheat Wandering Willie." — Sir Wal- 
ter Scott. 

The song in the Museum is a charming one : — 

Ye sylvan powers that rule the plain, 
When sweetly winding Fortha glides, 

Conduct me to those banks again, 
Since there my charming Mary bides. 



Those banks that breathe their vernal sweets, 
Where ev'ry smiling beauty meets ; 
Where Mary's charms adorn the plain, 
And cheer the heart of ev'ry swain. 

Oft in the thick embow'ring groves, 
Where birds their music chirp aloud, 

Alternately we sung our loves, 

And Fortha' s fair meanders view'd. 

The meadows wore a gen'ral smile, 
Love was our banquet all the while j 
The lovely prospect charm' d the eye, 
To where the ocean met the sky. 

Once on the grassy bank reclin'd 

Where Forth ran by in murmurs deep, 

It was my happy chance to find 
The charming Mary lull'd asleep ; 

My heart then leap'd with inward bliss, 
I softly stoop'd, and stole a kiss ; 
She wak'd, she blush'd, and gently blam'd, 
' Why, Damon ! are you not asham'd V 

Ye sylvan pow'rs, ye rural gods, 

To whom we swains our cares impart, 

Restore me to those blest abodes, 

And ease, oh ! ease my love-sick heart ! 

Those happy days again restore, 
When Mary and I shall part no more ; 
When she shall fill these longing arms, 
And crown my bliss with all her charms."] 



€$* 33tt$|) aboon Craquair. 

This is another beautiful song of Mr. Craw- 
ford's composition. In the neighbourhood of 
Traquair, tradition still shews the old " Bush ;" 
which, when I saw it in the year 1787, was 
composed of eight or nine ragged birches. The 
Earl of Traquair has planted a clump of trees 
near by, which he calls " The new Bush." 



[Crawford's songs were long and justly po- 
pular : " The Bush aboon Traquair" is still a 
favourite. 

" Hear me, ye nymphs, and every swain, 

I'll tell how Peggy grieves me ; 
Tho' thus I languish and complain, 

Alas ! she ne'er believes me. 
My vows and sighs, like silent air, 

Unheeded never move her ; 
The bonny bush aboon Traquair, 

Was where I first did love her. 

That day she smil'd and made me glad, 

No maid seem'd ever kinder ; 
I thought mysel' the luckiest lad, 

So sweetly there to find her. 



542 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONGr. 



I tri'd to sooth my am'rous flame 
In words that I thought tender ; 

If more there pass'd, I'm not to blame, 
I meant not to offend her." 

Yet now she scornful flees the plain, 

The fields we then frequented ; 
If e'er we meet, she shows disdain, 

She looks as ne'er acquainted. 
The bonny bush bloom' d fair in May, 

Its sweets I'll aye remember ; 
But now her frowns make it decay ; 

It fades as in December. 

Ye rural pow'rs, who hear my strains, 

Why thus should Peggy grieve me ? 
Oh ! make her partner in my pains ; 

Then let her smiles relieve me. 
If not, my love will turn despair, 

My passion no more tender ; 
I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair, 

To lonely wilds I'll wander. 

" The Bush aboon Traquair," " The Broom 
o' the Cowclen-knowes ;" "The Birks of Aber- 
feldy," and " The Birks of Invermay," con- 
tinue to supply the curious with snuff-boxes 
and drinking-cups.] 



Cromlet's %ilt. 

The following interesting account of this 
plaintive dirge was communicated to Mr. Rid- 
del by Alexander Fraser Tytler, Esq., of 
Woodhouselee. 

" In the latter end of the 16th century, the 
Chisholms were proprietors of the estate of 
Cromlecks (now possessed by the Drummonds). 
The eldest son of that family was very much 
attached to the daughter of Stirling of Xrdoch, 
commonly known by the name of Fair Helen 
of Ardoch. 

" At that time the opportunities of meeting 
between the sexes were more rare, consequently 
more sought after than now ; and the Scottish 
ladies, far from priding themselves on extensive 
literature, were thought sufficiently book- 
learned if they could make out the Scriptures 
in their mother tongue. Writing was entirely 
out of the line of female education. At that 
period the most of our young men of family 
sought a fortune, or found a grave in France. 
Cromleck, when he went abroad to the war, 
was obliged to leave the management of his 
correspondence with his mistress to a lay -brother 
of the monastery of Dumblain, in the imme- 
diate neighbourhood of Cromleck, and near 
Ardoch. This man, unfortunately, was deeply 
sensible of Helen's charms. He artfully pre- 
possessed her with stories to the disadvantage of 
Cromleck ; and, by misinterpreting or keeping 



up the letters and messages intrusted to his care, 
he entirely irritated both. All connexion was 
broken off betwixt them : Helen was incon- 
solable, and Cromleck has left behind him, in 
the ballad called ' Cromlet's Lilt/ a proof ol 
the elegance of his genius, as well as the steadi- 
ness of his love. 

" When the artful monk thought time had 
sufficiently softened Helen's sorrow, he pro- 
posed himself as a lover : Helen was obdurate ; 
but at last, overcome by the persuasions of her 
brother, with whom she lived, and who, having 
a family of thirty-one children, was probably 
very well pleased to get her off his hands — she 
submitted rather than consented to the ceremony ; 
but there her compliance ended ; and, when 
forcibly put into bed, she started quite frantic 
from it, screaming out, that after three gentle 
raps on the wainscot, at the bed - head, she 
heard Cromleck's voice, crying, ' O Helen, 
Helen, mind me !' Cromleck soon after com^ 
ing home, the treachery of the confident was 
discovered — her marriage annulled — and 
Helen became Lady Cromleck." 

N.B. Marg. Murray, mother to these thirty- 
one children, was daughter of Murray of Strewn, 
one of the seventeen sons of Tullybardine, and 
whose youngest son, commonly called the Tutor 
of Ardoch, died in the year 1715, aged 111 
years. 



[The proper name of this ancient Scottish 
song is " Cromleck's Lilt." 

The following is a complete copy of this 
affecting ballad, as given in the Museum : — 

CROMLECK'S LILT. 



1 Since all thy vows, false maid, 
Are blown to air 
And my poor heart betray'd 

To sad despair, 
Into some wilderness, 
My grief I will express, 
And thy hard-heartedness, 
O cruel fair ! 



Have I not graven our loves 

On even tree, 

In yonder spreading groves, 

Tho' false thou be : 
Was not a solemn oath 
Plighted betwixt us both — 
Thou thy faith, I my troth, 

Constant to be. 



Some gloomy place I'll find, 

Some doleful shade, 

Where neither sun nor wind 

E'er entrance had : 



MY DEARIE, IF THOU DIE, ETC. 



543 



Into that hollow cave, 
There will I sigh and rave, 
Because thou dost behave 

So faithlessly. 



Wild fruit shall be my meat, 

I'll drink the spring, 

Cold earth shall be my seat ; 
For covering, 

I'll have the starry sky 

My head to canopy, 

Until my soul on high 

Shall spread its wing. 



I'll have no funeral fire, 

Nor tears for me ; 
No grave do I desire 

Nor obsequie. 
The courteous red-breast he 
With leaves will cover me, 
And sing my elegy, 

With doleful voice 



And when a ghost I am 

I'll visit thee, 

O thou deceitful dame, 

Whose cruelty 

Has killed the fondest heart 

That e'er felt Cupid's dart, 

And never can desert 

From loving thee.] 



JHg Mtavit, it tfjou Ute. 

Another beautiful song of Crawford's. 



[Who the Peggy was of whose charms Craw- 
ford sung so sweetly, no one has told us. 

" Love never more shall give me pain, 

My fancy's fix'd on thee, 
Nor ever maid my heart shall gain, 

My Peggy, if thou die. 
Thy beauty doth such pleasure give, 

Thy love's so true to me, 
Without thee I can never live, 

My dearie, if thou die. 



* [These four lines evidently refer to the fine old hallad — 
"The Babes in the Wood," which must have been written 
in the time of James VI. The corresponding lines in the old 
ballad being : — 

No burial those pretty babes 

Of any man receives, 
But Robin red-breast painfully 
Did cover them with leaves.] 
t [Francis Sempill of Belltrees was the author of this song. 
He was a grandson of Sir James Sempill, the ambassador to 
Queen Elizabeth, in the reign of James VI. The Sempills 
were a poetical family for three generations.] 



If fate shall tear thee from my breast, 

How shall I lonely stray 1 
In dreary dreams the night I'll waste, 

In sighs, the silent day. 
I ne'er can so much virtue find, 

Nor such perfection see ; 
Then I'll renounce all woman-kind, 

My Peggy, after thee. 

No new-blown beauty fires my heart, 

With Cupid's raving rage ; 
But thine, which can such sweets impart, 

Must all the world engage. 
'Twas this that like the morning sun, 

Gave joy and life to me ; 
And when its destin'd day is done, 

With Peggy let me die. 

Ye pow'rs, that smile on virtuous love, 

And in such pleasure share ; 
You who its faithful flames approve, 

With pity view the fair : 
Restore my Peggy's wonted charms, 

Those charms so dear to me ! 
Oh ! never rob them from these arms ! 

I'm lost if Peggy die."] 



dfp xq$z aitft \tt m tn.f 

The old set of this song, which is still to be 
found in printed collections, is much prettier 
than this ; but somebody, I believe it was 
Ramsay, % took it into his head to clear it of 
some seeming indelicacies, and made it at once 
more chaste and more dull. 



[The version in the Museum is as follows : — 

" The night her silent sables wore 

And gloomy were the skies, 
Of glittering stars appear'd no more 

Than those in Nelly's eyes. 
When to her father's door I came, 

Where I had often been, 
I begg'd my fair, my lovely dame ; 

To rise and let me in. 

But she, with accents all divine, 

Did my fond suit reprove, 
And while she chid my rash design, 

She but inflam'd my love. 



["This is an English song of great merit, and has bee» 
Scotified by the Scots themselves." — Ritson.] 

% [No, no ; it was not Ramsay. The song still remains in 
his Tea-Table Miscellany, and the Orpheus Caledonius, and 
even in Herd's Collection, in its primitive state of indelicacy. 
The verses in the Museum were re-touched by an able and 
masterly hand, who has thus presented us with a song at 
once chaste and elegant, in which all the energetic force and 
beauty of the original are preserved, without a single idea to 
crimson the cheek of modesty, or to cause one pang to the 
innocent and feeling heart. — Stenhouse." 1 



644 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



Her beauty oft had pleas'd before, 
While her bright eyes did roll ; 

But virtue only had the pow'r 
To charm niy very soul. 

These who would cruelly deceive, 

Or from such beauty part ! 
I lov'd her so, I could not leave 

The charmer of my heart. 
My eager fondness I obey'd, 

R^solv'd she should be mine, 
Till Hymen to my arms convey'd 

My treasure so divine. 

Now happy in my Nelly's love, 

Transporting is my joy, 
No greater blessing can I prove, 

So blest a man am I. 
For beauty may a while retain, 

The conquer'd flatt'ring mart, 
But virtue only is the chain 

Holds, never to depart. 



The following verses, after the first stanza, 
ire given by Allan Cunningham : — 

" Fast lock'd within my close embrace, 

She, trembling, stood asham'd — 
Her swelling breast, and glowing face, 

And every touch inflam'd, 
With look and accents all divine 

She did my warmth reprove, — 
The more she spoke, the more she look'd, 

The warmer wax'd my love. 

Then, then, beyond expressing, 

Transporting was the joy ! 
I knew no greater blessing, 

So blest a man was I. 
And she, all ravish' d with delight, 

Bid me oft come again, 
And kindly vow'd that every night 

She'd rise and let me in. 

Fu' soon, soon I return'd again 

When stars were streaming free : 
Oh ! slowly, slowly came she down 

And stood and gaz'd on me : 
Her lovely eyes with tears ran o'er, 

Repenting her rash sin — 
And aye she mourn'd the fatal hour 

She rose and loot me in. 

But who could cruelly deceive, 

Or from such beauty part? 
I lov'd her so, I could not leave 

The charmer of my heart : 
We wedded, and I thought me blest, 

Such loveliness to win ; 
And now she thanks the happy hour 

She rose to loot me in."] 



mill m go to tl)t 3£fo^33us!)t$,* 
ixTarton ? 

I am not sure if this old and charming air be 
of the South, as is commonly said, or of the 
North of Scotland. There is a song apparently 
as ancient as " Ewe-bughts, Marion," which 
sings to the same time, and is evidently of the 
North — it begins thus : — 

The Lord o' Gordon had three dochters, 

Mary, Marget, and Jean, 
They wad na stay at bonnie Castle Gordon, 

But awa to Aberdeen. 



[The lover begins his courtship in a way very 
simple and effective. 

Will ye go to the ewe-bughts, Marion, 
And wear in the sheep wi' me ? 

The sun shines sweet, my Marion, 
But nae half sae sweet as thee. 

O Marion's a bonnie lass, 

And the blyth blinks in her e'e ; 

And fain wad I marry Marion, 
Gin Marion wad marry me.] 



%tb)i$ <&nrttou. 



This air is a proof how one of our Scots 
tunes comes to be composed out of another. I 
have one of the earliest copies of the song, and 
it has prefixed, — 

" Tune of Tarry Woo—" 

of which tune a different set has insensibly 
varied into a different air. — To a Scots critic, 
the pathos of the line, 

" Tho' his back be at the wa'," 

Must be very striking. It needs not a Jacob- 
ite prejudice to be affected with this song. 

The supposed author of "Lewis Gordon" 
was a Mr. Geddes, priest, at Shenval, in the 

Ainzie. 



Oh ! send Lewie Gordon hame, 
And the lad I maunna name ; 
Tho' his back be at the wa', 
Here's to him that's far awa' ! 

Oh lion ! my Highland man ! 

Oh, my bonny Highland man ; 

Weel would I my true-love ken, 

Amang ten thousand Highland men. 

* [Sheep-folds.] 






THE WAUKING O' THE FAULD, ETC. 



&U 



O ! to see his tartan trews, 
Bonnet blue, and laigh-heel'd shoes ; 
Philabeg aboon his knee ; 
That's the lad that I'll gang wi' ! 
Oh lion ! &c. 

The princely youth, that I do mean, 
Is fitted for to be king, 
On his breast he wears a star ; 
You'd take him for the god of war. 
Oh hon ! &c. 

O ! to see this princely one, 
Seated on a royal throne ! 
Disasters a' would disappear, 
Then begins the Jub'lee year ! 
Oh hon ! &c. 

Lord Lewis Gordon, younger brother to the 
Duke of Gordon, commanded a detachment for 
the Young Chevalier, in the affair of 1745-6, 
and acquitted himself with great gallantry and 
judgment. He died in 1754.] 



Ci)e OTauluug o' tljt dfaulfc. 

There are two stanzas still sung to this 
tune, which I take to be the original song 
whence Ramsay composed his beautiful song of 
that name in the Gentle Shepherd. It begins 

" O will ye speak at our town, 

As ye come frae the fauld, &c." 

I regret that, as in many of our old songs, 
the delicacy of this old fragment is not equal to 
its wit and humour.* 



3- 



[The version of Allan Ramsay is as follows : — 

My Peggie is a young thing, 

Just enter'd in her teens ; 
Fair as the day, and sweet as May, 
Fair as the day, and always gay. 
My Peggie is a young thing, 

And I'm not very auld ; 
Yet well I like to meet her at 

The wauking o' the fauld. 

My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, 

Whene'er we meet alane ; 
I wish nae mair to lay my care, 
I wish nae mair of a' that's rare. 



* [There is a far older set of this song than this which 
Burns speaks of; it is perfectly modest, though not very 
poetical. The first stanza runs thus : — 

Come all ye jolly shepherds 

That lo'e the tarry woo, 
Wha lo'e to wait upon the sheep : 

An' tak delight the lambs to keep, 
I'll tell ye how I met my love, 

Upon an e'ening cauld, 
When it was late, an' growing dark, 

As I drew nigh the fauld.] 



My Peggie speaks sae sweetly, 
To a' the lave I'm cauld ; 

But she gars a' my spirits glow, 
At wauking o' the fauld. 

My Peggie smiles sae kindly, 
Whene'er I whisper love, 

That I look down on a' the town, 

That I look down upon a crown. 

My Peggie smiles sae kindly, 
It makes me blythe and bauld ; 

And naething gies me sic delight 
As wauking o' the fauld. 

My Peggie sings sae saftly, 
When on my pipe I play ; 
By a' the rest it is confess' d, 
By a' the rest, that she sings best : 
My Peggy sings sae saftly, 

And in her sangs are tauld, 
With innocence, the wale o' sense, 
At wauking o' the fauld.] 



£Mj quo Cfjno.t 

Dr. Blacklock informed me that this song 
was composed on the infamous massacre of 
Glencoe.l 



[Oh ! was not I a weary wight ! 

Maid, wife, and widow, in one night ! 

When in my soft and yielding arms, 

O ! when most I thought him free from harms, 

Even at the dead time of the night, 

They broke my bower, and slew my knight. 

With ae lock of his jet black hair, 

I'll tye my heart for evermair ; 

Nae sly-tongu'd youth, nor flatt'ring swain, 

Shall e'er untie this knot again ; 

Thine still, dear youth, that heart shall be, 

Nor pant for aught, save heaven and thee.] 



Fll ntbtv leabe tfjce. 

This is another of Crawford's songs, but 1 
do not think in his happiest manner. What an 
absurdity to join such names as Adonis and 
Mary together ! 



f [A vitiated pronunciation of " Ochoin och rie," a Gaelic 
exclamation, generally expressive of deep sorrow and afflic- 
tion, similar to that of Oh ! my heart /] 

% [For a particular account of this atrocious butchery, see 
Smollett, and other historians. It happened in 1691. Thirty- 
eight innocent and unsuspecting persons, including the chief 
of the clan, were inhumanly massacred in their beds, by a 
military party under Campbell of Glenlyon. Neither age, 
youth, nor sex, were spared in the dreadful carnage, and 
many, who escaped instant death, afterwards perished in the 
mountains, from the inclemency of the weather, from hunger, 
and fatigue.] 

2 N 



546 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



[One day I heard Mary say 
How shall I leave thee, 

Stay, dearest Adonis, stay, 
Why wilt thou grieve me ?] 



€avxi#&igfi are bonnie. 

All the old words that ever I could meet to 
this air were the following, which seem to have 
been an old chorus : — 

O corn-rigs and rye-rigs, 

O corn-rigs are bonnie ; 
And where'er you meet a bonnie lass, 

Preen up her cockernony. 

[Ramsay wrote this song for the Gentle Shep- 
herd. 

My Patie is a lover gay, 

His mind is never muddy : 
His breath is sweeter than new hay, 

His face is fair and ruddy. 
His shape is handsome, middle size ; 

He's stately in his walking ; 
The shining o' his e'en surprise ; 

'Tis heaven to hear him talking. 

Last night I met him on the bawk, 

Where yellow corn was growing ; 
There mony a kindly word he spak, 

That set my heart a-glowing. 
He kiss'd, and vow'd he wad be mine, 

And lo'ed me best of ony ; 
That gars me like to sing sinsyne 

" O corn-rigs are bonnie !" 

Let maidens of a silly mind 

Refuse what maist they're wanting- 
Since we for yielding are design'd, 

We chastely should be granting : 
Then I'll comply, and marry Pate, 

And syne my cockernony, 
He's free to touzle, air or late, 

W T here corn-rigs are bonnie. 

Scraps of curious old song are scattered over 
all Scotland : here is a fragment concerning 
Corn-Rigs : — 

" There was a piper had a cow, 

An' he had nought to gie her ; 
He took his pipes and play'd a tune, 

And bade the cow consider. 
The cow consider'd very well, 

And gae the piper a penny 
To play the same tune owre again, 

Corn-rigs are bonnie/'] 



Clje fKuriuncj; o' ^corthVgi 33j>re. 

The chorus of this song is old ; the rest 
the work of Balloon Tytler. 



[The following copy of a more modern song 
to this air possesses great humour ; it was 
written by the late Rev. T. Nicol, Minister of 
Inverleithing, Peebles-shire : — 

Meg, muckin' at Geordie's byre, 

Wrought as gin her judgment was wrang ; 
Ilk daud o' the scartle strack fire, 

AVhile, loud as a lavrock she sang ! 
Her Geordie had promised to marrie, 

An' Meg, a sworn fae to despair, 
Not dreamin' the job could miscarrie, 

Already seern'd mistress an' mair ! 

My neebours, she sang, aften jeer me, 

And ca' me daft, halucket Meg, 
An' say, they expect soon to hear me 

I' the kirk, for my fun, get a fleg ! 
An' now 'bout my marriage they clatter, 

An' Geordie, poor fallow ! they ca' 
An auld doitit hav'rel ! — Nae matter, 

He'll keep me aye brankin an' braw ! 

I grant ye, his face is kenspeckle, 

That the white o' his e'e is turn'd out, 
That his black beard is rough as a heckle, 

That his mou' to his lug's rax'd about ; 
But they needna let on that he's crazie, 

His pike-staff wull ne'er let him fa' ; 
Nor that his hair's white as a daisie, 

For, fient a hair has he ava ! 

But a weel-plenish'd mailin' has Geordie, 

An' routh o' gude goud in his kist ; 
An' if siller comes at my wordie, 

His beau tie, I never wull miss't ! 
Daft gouks, wha catch fire like tinder, 

Think love-raptures ever wull burn ! 
But, wi' poortith, hearts het as a cinder 

Wull cauld as an iceshogle turn ! 

There'll just be ae bar to my pleasure, 

A bar that's aft fill'd me wi' fear. 
He's sic a hard, near-be-gawn miser, 

He likes his saul less than his gear ! 
But tho' I now flatter his failin', 

An' swear nought wi' goud can compare, 
Gude sooth ! it sail soon get a scailin' ! 

His bags sail be mouldy nae mair ! 

I dreamt that I rade in a chariot, 

A flunkie ahint me in green ; 
While Geordie cry'd out, he was harriet, 

An' the saut tear was blindin' his een ; 
But tho' 'gainst my spendin' he swear aye, 

I'll hae frae him what ser's my turn ; 
Let him slip awa whan he grows wearie. 

Shame fa' me gin lang I wad mourn ! 

But Geordie, while Meg was haranguing 
Was cloutin' his breeks i' the bauks, 

An' whan a' his failins she brang in, 
His Strang hazle pike-staff he take, — 



BIDE YE YET. 



547 



Designin' to rax her a lounder, 
He chanc'd on the ladder to shift, 

An' down frae the banks, flat's a flounder, 
Flew, like a shot-starn frae the lift ! 

But Meg wi' the sight was quite haster'd, 

An', nae doubt, was bannin' ill luck ; 
While the face o' poor Geordie was plaster'd, 

An' his mou' was fill'd fu' wi' the muck ! 
Confound ye, cryd Geordie, an' spat out 

The glaur that ad own his beard ran ; — 
Preserve us ! quo' Meg, as she gat out 

The door, — an' thus lost a gudeman !] 



There is a beautiful song to this tune, be- 
ginning, 

" Alas, my son, you little know — ," 

which is the composition of Miss Jenny Gra- 
ham, of Dumfries. 



[The song which Burns commended is as fol- 
lows : — 

" Alas ! my son, you little know 
The sorrows that from wedlock flow ; 
Farewell to every day of ease, 
When you have got a wife to please. 

Sae bide ye yet, and bide ye yet, 
Ye little ken what's to betide ye yet ; 
The half of that will gane ye yet, 
Gif a wayward wife obtain ye yet. 

Your hopes are high, your wisdom small, 
Woe has not had you in its thrall ; 
The black cow on your foot ne'er trod, 
Which gars you sing along the road. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Sometimes the rock, sometimes the reel, 
Or some piece of the spinning-wheel, 
She'll drive at you, my bonny chiel, 
And send you headlang to the de'il. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

When I, like you, was young and free, 
I valu'd not the proudest she ; 
Like you, my boast was bold and vain, 
That men alone were born to reign. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Great Hercules, and Sampson, too, 
Were stronger far than I or you ; 
Yet they were baffled by their dears, 
And felt the distaff and the shears. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 



Stout gates of brass, and well-built walls, 
Are proof 'gainst swords and cannon-balls : 
But nought is found, by sea or land. 
That can a wayward wife withstand. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

The authoress was a maiden lady ; she lived to 
a good old age, and died of an asthma, the pain 
of which she alleviated in composing humour- 
ous Scottish songs. She was a fine dancer in 
her youth ; a young nobleman was so much 
charmed with her graceful movements, and the 
music of her feet, that he enquired in what 
school she was taught. " In my mother's 
washing-tub," was the answer. — Cunning- 
ham. 

In the other pretty little ballad to this tune, 
there is as rich a vein of lively and innocent 
humour as is to be found in the whole compass 
of the Museum: — 

Gin I had a wee house, and a canty wee fire, 
A bonny wee wifie to praise and admire, 
A bonny wee yardie aside a wee burn, 
Fareweel to the bodies that yammer and mourn ! 
Sae bide ye yet, and bide yet, 
Ye little ken what may betide ye yet, 
Some bonny wee body may be my lot, 
And I'll aye be canty wi' thinking o't. 

When I gang afield, and come hame at e'en, 
I'll get my wee wifie fu' neat and fu' clean, 
And a bonnie wee bairnie up on her knee, 
That will cry papa, or daddy, to me. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

And if there should happen ever to be 
A diff'rence atween my wee wifie and me, 
In hearty good humour, altho' she be teaz'd, 
I'll kiss her and clap her until she be pleas'd. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c] 



Here the remarks on the first volume of the 
Musical Museum conclude : the second volume 
has the following preface from the pen of 
Burns : — 

" In the first volume of this work, two or 
three airs, not of Scots composition, have been 
inadvertently inserted ; which, whatever excel- 
lence they may have, was improper, as the collec- 
tion is solely to be the music of our own country. 
The songs contained in this volume, both music 
and poetry, are all of them the work of Scots- 
men. Wherever the old words could be re- 
covered, they have been preferred : both as 
suiting better the genius of the tunes, and to 
preserve the productions of those earlier sons of 
the Scottish muses, some of whose names de- 
served a better fate than has befallen them, — 
2 N 2 



®: 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



* Buried 'midst the wreck of things which 
were.' Of our more modern songs, the Editor 
has inserted the author's names as far as he can 
ascertain them 5 and, as that was neglected in 
the first volume, it is annexed here. If he 
have made any mistakes in this affair, which 
he possibly may, he will be very grateful at 
being set right. 

"Ignorance and prejudice may perhaps af- 
fect to sneer at the simplicity of the poetry or 
music of some of these poems ; but their having 
been for ages the favourites of nature's judges 
—the common people, — was to the Editor a 
sufficient test of their merit. Edinburgh, 
March 1, 1788."] 



€xamnUMuiv. 

" Tranent-Muir" was composed by a 
Mr. Skirving, a very worthy, respectable 
farmer near Haddington.* I have heard the 
anecdote often, that Lieut. Smith, whom he 
mentions in the ninth stanza, came to Hadding- 
ton after the publication of the song, and sent 
a challenge to Skirving to meet him at Had- 
dington, and answer for the unworthy manner 
in which he had noticed him in his song. 
" Gang away back," said the honest farmer, 
" and tell Mr. Smith that I hae nae leisure to 
come to Haddington ; but tell him to come 
here, and I'll tak a look o' him, and if he think 
I'm fit to fecht him, I'll fecht him ; and if no, 
I'll do as he did — I'll rin awa." — 

[Stanza ninth, as well as tenth, to which the 
anecdote refers, shews that the anger of the 
Lieutenant was any thing but unreasonable. 

" And Major Bowie, that worthy soul, 

Was brought down to the ground, man ; 
His horse being shot, it was his lot, 
' For to get mony a wound, man : 
Lieutenant Smith, of Irish birth, 

Frae whom he call'd for aid, man, 
Being full of dread, lap o'er his head, 
And wadna be gainsaid, man ! 

He made sic haste, sae spurr'd his baist, 

'Twas little there he saw, man : 
To Berwick rade, and falsely said, 

The Scots were rebels a', man ; 
But let that end, for well 'tis kenn'd, 

His use and wont to lie, man ; 
The teague is naught, he never faught, 

When he had room to flee, man." 

The song and the story of the challenge went 
iong hand in hand : the latter usually ushered 
in the former.] 



* [Mr. Skirving was tenant of East Garleton, about a mile 
md a half to the north of Haddington.] 



^olbavt on tije <&vttn. 

The author of " Polwart on the Green" is 
Capt. John Drummond M'Gregor, of the fa- 
mily of Bochaldie. 



[This is one of the songs of which Sir Wal- 
ter Scott says the authorship ascribed by Burns 
might be questioned. In the traditions of the 
muse, Scott will generally be found correct : 
his decisions were the result of many enquiries, 
and, as he had a memory which never deceived 
him, and a sagacity that rarely erred, he may 
be safely followed in all matters connected 
with song. Chalmers says, " Polwart on the 
Green" was written by Allan Ramsay : and in 
this he is followed by all authorities of any 
value, with the single exception of Burns. The 
internal evidence of the song is in favour of 
Ramsay. 

" At Polwart on the green, 

If you'll meet me the morn, 
Where lasses do conveen 

To dance about the thorn, 
A kindly welcome ye shall meet 

Frae her wha likes to view 
A lover and a lad complete — 

The lad and lover you. 

Let dorty dames say na, 

As lang as e'er they please, 
Seem caulder than the snaw, 

While inwardly they bleeze. 
But I will frankly shaw my mind, 

And yield my heart to thee ; 
Be ever to the captive kind 

That langs na to be free. 

At Polwart on the green, 

Amang the new-mown hay, 
With sangs and dancing keen, 

We'll pass the heartsome day. 
At night if beds be o'er thrang laid 

And thou be twin'd of thine, 
Thou shalt be welcome, my dear lad, 

To take a part of mine." 

Polwart is a pleasant village, situate near 
Dunse, in Berwick-shire. In the middle of the 
village stand two venerable thorns, round which 
the Polwart maidens, when they became brides, 
danced with their partners on the day of the 
bridal. — Cunningham.] 



The following account of this song I had 
from Dr. Blacklock : — 

The Strephon and Lydia mentioned in the 



MY JO, JANET, ETC, 



549 



song were perhaps the loveliest couple of their 
time. The gentleman was commonly known 
by the name of Beau Gibson. The lady was 
the " Gentle Jean," celebrated somewhere in 
Hamilton of Bangour's poems. — Having fre- 
quently met at public places, they had formed 
a reciprocal attachment, which their friends 
thought dangerous, as their resources were by 
no means adequate to their tastes and habits of 
life. To elude the bad consequences of such a 
connexion, Strephon was sent abroad with a 
commission, and perished in Admiral Vernon's 
expedition to Carthagena. 

The author of the song was William Wallace, 
Esq. of Cairnhill, in Ayr-shire. 



[" All lonely on the sultry beach, 

Expiring Strephon lay, 
No hand the cordial draught to reach, 

Nor cheer the gloomy way. 
Ill-fated youth ! no parent nigh, 

To catch thy fleeting breath, 
No bride to fix thy swimming eye, 

Or smooth the face of death ! 

Far distant from the mournful scene, 

Thy parents sit at ease, 
Thy Lydia rifles all the plain, 

And all the spring, to please. 
Ill-fated youth ! by fault of friend, 

Not force of foe, depress' d, 
Thou fall'st, alas ! thyself, thy kind, 

Thy country, unredress'd !"] 



ffiV Bo, faiut. 

[of the museum.] 

Johnson, the publisher, with a foolish deli- 
cacy, refused to insert the last stanza of this 
humourous ballad. 



[The sly humour of Allan Ramsay is visible 
in this song : it is believed, however, that he 
only retouched an old song, communicating to 
the strain some of his own peculiar glee. 
Johnson, a devout man, shook his head at the 
figurative language of the last verse. 

" O sweet Sir, for your courtesie, 
When ye come by the Bass then, 
For the love ye bear to me, 

Buy me a keeking-glass then. 
Keek into the draw well, 

Janet, Janet ; 
And there ye'll see your bonny sell, 
My jo, Janet. 

Keeking in the draw-well clear, 
What if I should fa' in then ; 

Syne a' my kin will say and swear, 
I drown'd mysell for sin, then. 



Had the better by the brae, 

Janet, Janet ; 

Had the better by the brae, 

My jo, Janet. 

Good Sir, for your courtesie, 

Coming thro' Aberdeen then, 
For the love ye bear to me, 

Buy me a pair of sheen then. 

Clout the auld, the new are dear, 

Janet, Janet ; 

A pair may gain ye ha'f a year, 

My jo, Janet. 

But what if dancing on the green, 

An' skipping like a maukin, 
If they should see my clouted sheen, 

Of me they will be tauking. 
Dance ay laigh, and late at e'en, 
Janet, Janet ; 
Syne a' their fauts will no be seen, 
My jo, Janet. 

Kind Sir, for your courtesie, 

When ye gae to the cross then, 
For the love ye bear to me, 

Buy me a pacing horse then. 
Pace upo' your spinning wheel, 
Janet, Janet ; 
Pace upo' your spinning wheel, 
My jo, Janet. 

My spinning wheel is auld and stiff, 

The rock o't winna stand, Sir ; 
To keep the temper-pin in tiff, 

Employs right aft my hand, Sir. 
Make the best o' that ye can, 

Janet, Janet ; 
But like it never wale a man, 

My jo, Janet.] 



%obt i$ tfje Cau3e of mj> JBounitug. 

The words by a Mr. R. Scott, from the town 
or neighbourhood of Bis:gar. 



[We subjoin the first stanza of this exquisite 
song : — 

By a murmuring stream a fair shepherdess lay, 
Be so kind, O ye nymphs, I oft heard her say, 
Tell Strephon I die, if he passes this way, 
And love is the cause of my mourning. 
False shepherds, that tell me of beauty & charms, 
Deceive me, for Strephon's cold heart never 

warms ; 
Yet bring me this Strephon, I'll die in his arms ) 
O Strephon ! the cause of my mourning. 
But first, said she, let me go 
Down to the shades below, 
E'er ye let Strephon know 
That I have lov'd him so : 
Then on my pale cheek no blushes will shew, 
That love is the cause of my mourning.] 



550 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



$iit, antf a' tlje £antt£ afcout it. 

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. He, as well 
as I, often gave Johnson verses, trifling enough, 
perhaps, but they served as a vehicle to the 



[The words are as follows : — 

"Allan by his grief excited, 

Long the victim of despair, 
Thus deplor'd his passion slighted, 

Thus address'd the scornful fair. 
' Fife and all the lands about it, 

Undesiring I can see ; 
Joy may crown my days without it, 

Not, my charmer, without thee. 

Must I then for ever languish, 

Still complaining, still endure ? 
Can her form create an anguish, 

Which her soul disdains to cure ? 
Who by hopeless passion fated, 

Must I still those eyes admire, 
Whilst unheeded, unregretted, 

In her presence I expire ? 

Would thy charms improve their pow'r? 

Timely think, relentless maid ; 
Beauty is a short-liv'd flower, 

Destin'd but to bloom and fade ! 
Let that Heav'n, whose kind impression 

All thy lovely features shew, 
Melt thy soul to soft compassion 

For a suff'ring lover's woe. " 

[The air to which this song is written is very 
old : the old name is supposed to have been 
" Let Jamie's Lad alane."J 



WLtxz na mj> Heart Itgljt $ IcatJ trie. 

Lord Hailes, in the notes to his Collection 
of ancient Scots poems, says that this song was 
the composition of Lady Grisel Baillie, daughter 
of the first Earl of Marchmont, and wife of 
George Baillie, of Jerviswood. 



[There are few songs superior to this — the 
last verse has obtained a melancholy importance 
from being applied by Burns to his own condi- 
tion, when he found himself neglected by his 
country, and descending to the grave. 

"There wasance a May, and she lo'ed namen, 
She biggit her bonny bow'r down in yon glen • 
But now she cries dool ! and a well-a-day ! 
Come down the green gate, & come here away. 



When bonny young Johnny came o'er the sea, 
He said he saw naithing sae lovely as me ; 
He hechtme baith rings and mony braw things : 
And were na my heart light, I wad die. 

He had a wee titty that lo'ed na me, 
Because I was twice as bonny as she ; [mother, 
She rais'd such a pother 'twix'd him and his 
That were na my heart light, I wad die. 

The day it was set, and the bridal to be, 
The wife took a dwam, and lay down to die ; 
She main'd and she grain'd, out of dolour and 
Till he vow'd he never wad see me again, [pain, 

His kin was for ane of a higher degree, 
Said, What had he to do with the like of me ? 
Albeit I was bonny, I was na for Johnny : 
And were na my heart light, I wad die. 

They said, I had neither cow nor caff, 
Nor dribbles of drink rins thro' the draff, 
Nor pickles of meal rins thro' the mill-e'e ; 
And were na my heart light, I wad die. 

His titty she was baith wylie and slee, 
She spy'd me as I came o'er the lee ; 
And then she ran in and made a loud din, 
Believe your ain een, an ye trow na me. 

His bonnet stood ance fu' round on his brow j 
His auld ane looks ay as weel as some's new ; 
But now he lets \ wear ony gate it will hing, 
And casts dimself dowie upon the corn-bing. 

And now he gaes drooping about the dykes, 
And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes : 
The live-lang night he ne'er steeks his e'e, 
And were na my heart light, I wad die. 

Were I young for thee, as I ance hae been, 
We shou'd hae been galloping down on yon 
And linking it on the lily-white lee ; [green, 
And wow gin I were but young for thee V 



[Lady Grisel Home, by whom this pathetic 
ballad was written, was the daughter of Sir 
Patrick Home, created Earl of Marchmont. 
She was born at Redbraes Castle, 25th Decem- 
ber, 1665, was married to George Baillie, of 
Jerviswood, Esq., 17th September, 1692, and 
died at London, 6th December, 1746, in the 
81st year of her age. Their eldest daughter, 
Lady Murray, of Stanhope, wrote Memoirs of 
the lives and characters of her parents — a piece 
of biography of the most affectionate and inte- 
resting kind. It was first made known by ex- 
tracts, in the Appendix to Rose's observations 
on Fox's Historical Work, 1809, and has since 
been printed entire by Thomas Thomson, Esq., 
Advocate, Edinburgh, 1822, 8vo. 



THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM. ETC. 



551 



The following fragment of a song by this dis- 
tinguished ladv has lately been discovered, in 
her hand- writing, among a parcel of old letters, 
written about the time of her father's for- 
feiture : — 

O the ewe -bughting's bonnie, baith e'ening and 
morn, [reed and horn ; 

When our blythe shepherds play on their bog- 
While we're milking, they're lilting baith plea- 
sant and clear, [my dear ! 
But my heart's like to break when I think on 

O the shepherds take pleasure to blow on the 
horn ; [morn ; 

To raise up their flocks o' sheep soon i' the 

On the bonnie green banks they feed pleasant 
and free — for thee !] 

But, alas ! my dear heart ! all my sighing' s 



€!)* pouncj; jfflan'4 23ream. 

This song is the composition of Balloon Tytler. 



[And a charming song it is : — 

i. 

One night I dream'd I lay most easy, 

By a murm'ring river's side, 
Where lovely banks were spread with daisies, 

And the streams did smoothly glide ; 
vVhile around me, and quite over, 

Spreading branches were display'd, 
111 interwoven in due order, 

Soon became a pleasant shade. 



[ saw my lass come in most charming, 

With a look and air so sweet ; 
Ev'ry grace was most alarming, 

Ev'ry beauty most complete. 
Cupid with his bow attended ; 

Lovely Venus too was there : 
As his bow young Cupid bended, 

Far away flew carking care. 



On a bank of roses seated, 

Charming my true-love sung ; 
While glad echo still repeated, 

And the hills and valleys rung : 
At the last, by sleep oppressed, 

On the bank my love did lie, 
By young Cupid still caressed, 

While the graces round did fly. 



The rose's red, the lily's blossom, 
With her charms might not compare, 

To view her cheeks and heaving bosom, 
Down they droop'd as in despair. 



On her slumber I encroaching, 

Panting came to steal a kiss ; 
Cupid smil'd at me approaching, 

Seem'd to say, " There's nought amiss." 

v. 

With eager wishes I drew nigher, 

This fair maiden to embrace ; 
My breath grew quick, my pulse beat higher, 

Gazing on her lovely face. 



The nymph, awaking, quickly check' d me, 

Starting up, with angry tone ; 
" Thus," says she, " do you respect me ? 

Leave me quick, and hence begone." 
Cupid, for me interposing, 

To my love did bow full low ; 
She from him her hands unloosing, 

In contempt struck down his bow. 

VII. 

Angry Cupid from her flying, 

Ciy'd out, as he sought the skies, 
" Haughty Nymphs their love denying, 

Cupid ever shall despise." 
As he spoke, old Care came wand'ring, 

With him stalk' d destructive Time ; 
Winter froze the streams, meand'ring, 

Nipt the Roses in their prime. 

VIII. 

Spectres then my love surrounded, 

At their back march'd chilling Death : 
Whilst she, frighted and confounded, 

Felt their blasting, pois'nous breath : 
As her charms were swift decaying, 

And the furrows seiz'd her cheek ; 
Forbear, ye friends ! I vainly crying, 

Wak'd in the attempt to speak.] 



Clje EeavS oi ikotlantr. 

Dr. Blacklock told me that Smollett, who 
was at the bottom a great Jacobite, composed 
these beautiful and pathetic verses on the infa- 
mous depredations of the Duke of Cumberland 
after the battle of Culloden. 



[" The tears of Scotland" was a bold strain 
to be written in the year ] 746. The picture of 
desolation is as true as it is moving. 

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn, 
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn ! 
Thy sons for valour long renown'd, 
Lie slaughter'd on their native ground : 
Thy hospitable roofs no more 
Invite the stranger to the d\ or j 
In smoky ruins sunk they lie, 
The monuments of cruelty. 



652 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



The wretched owner sees, afar, 
His all become the pre}? - of war ; 
Bethinks him of his babes and wife, 
Then smites his breast, and curses life. 
Thy swains are famish' d on the rocks 
Where once they fed their wanton flocks : 
Thy ravish' d virgins shriek in vain j 
Thy infants perish on the plain. 

What boots it then, in ev'ry clime, 
Thro' the wide-spreading waste of time, 
Thy martial glory, crown' d with praise, 
Still shone with undiminish'd blaze : 
Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke, 
Thy neck is bended to the yoke : 
What foreign arms could never quell 
By civil rage and rancour fell. 

The rural pipe and merry lay 
No more shall cheer the happy day : 
No social scenes of gay delight 
Beguile the dreary winter night : 
No strains, but those of sorrow, flow, 
And nought be heard but sounds of woe : 
While the pale phantoms of the slain 
Glide nightly o'er the silent plain. 

Oh ! baneful cause — oh ! fatal morn, 
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn ! 
The sons against their father stood j 
The parent shed his children's blood ! 
Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd, 
The victor's soul was not appeas'd ; 
The naked and forlorn must feel 
Devouring flames, and murd'ring steel. 

The pious mother doom'd to death, 
Forsaken, wanders o'er the heath, 
The bleak wind whistles round her head, 
Her helpless orphans cry for bread ; 
Bereft of shelter, food, and friend, 
She views the shades of night descend ; 
And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement skies, 
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. 

Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins, 
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns, 
Resentment of my country's fate 
Within my filial breast shall beat ; 
And, spite of her insulting foe, 
My sympathizing verse shall flow : 
Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn 
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurel's torn !] 



fH) I tij* poor ^t^tvtiH mournful dfaU. 



Tune — Gallashiets. 



The old title, Sour Plums tf Gallashiets, 
probably was the beginning of a song to this 
air, which is now lost. 



The tune of Gallashiels was composed about 
the beginning of the present century by the 
Laird of Gallashiels' piper. 



[William Hamilton, of Bangour, was an 
amiable and accomplished gentleman, and one 
of our sweetest lyric poets. " His mind is pic- 
tured," says the author of the life of Lord 
Karnes, " in his verses. They are the easy and 
careless effusions of an elegant fancy and a 
chastened taste ; and the sentiments they con- 
vey are the genuine feelings of a tender and 
susceptible heart, which perpetually owned the 
domination of some fair mistress ; but whose 
passion generally evaporated in song, and made 
no serious or permanent impression." Hamil- 
ton died in March, 1754, aged 50 years. The 
song which follows is one of his best ; it was 
censured by Dr. Johnson for an ill - paired 
rhyme — wishes and blushes — but harmony oi 
rhyme is one thing, and true poetry another, 
and none knew this better than the critic. 

" Ah ! the poor shepherd's mournful fate, 

AVhen doom'd to love and languish, 
To bear the scornful fair one's hate, 

Nor dare disclose his anguish ! 
Yet eager looks and dying sighs, 

My secret soul discover ; 
While rapture, trembling through mine eyes, 

Reveals how much I love her. 
The tender glance, the redd'ning cheek, 

O'erspread with rising blushes, 
A thousand various ways they speak, 

A thousand various wishes. 

For oh ! that form so heavenly fair, 

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling, 
That artless blush and modest air, 

So fatally beguiling ! 
The every look and every grace, 

So charm whene'er I view thee ; 
'Till death o'ertake me in the chase, 

Still will my hopes pursue thee : 
Then when my tedious hours are past, 

Be this last blessing given, 
Low at thy feet to breathe my last, 

And die in sight of heaven."] 



s&m, mm <&.- 



The original, or at least a song evidently 
prior to Ramsay's, is still extant. — It runs thus: 

" As I cam down yon waterside, 
And by yon shellin-hill, 0, 
There I spied a bonnie bonnie lass, 

And a lass that I lov'd right weel, O." — 



* [" Bums's inimitable ballad " The Soldier's Return" it 
copied from this literally, as far as the story and air goes ; but 
how infinitely superior are his verses !"- Hogg.] 



WALY, WALY, ETC. 



553 



The mill, mill, O, and the kill, kill, O, 
And the coggin o' Peggy's wheel, O, 

The sack and the sieve, and a' she did leave, 
And danc'd the miller's reel, O. — 



[That Burns had the verses as well as the air 
of the " Mill, Mill, O" in his mind when he 
wrote " The Poor and Honest Sodger," seems 
pretty evident : he has, however, improved the 
morality of the song, as well as heightened its 
poetr 



.iity 



OTe ran antf tljej) ran. 

The author of " We ran and they ran" — 
was a Rev. Mr. Murdoch M'Lennan, minister 
at Crathie, Dee-side. 



[The song in question is a rough rude chant 
composed in honour of some and in derision of 
others who fought, or fled, or fell in the battle 
of Sherriff-muir. The verse on Robertson of 
Struan, the poet, is one of the best : 

But Clephane acted pretty, 

And Strowan the witty, 
A poet that pleases us a', man ; 

For mine is but rhyme, 

In respect of what's fine, 
Or what he is able to draw, man."] 



»al|>, foab. 

In the west country I have heard a different 
edition of the second stanza. — Instead of the 
four lines, beginning with, "When cockle- 
shells," &c, the other way ran thus : — 

O wherefore need I busk my head, 
Or wherefore need I kame my hair, 

Sin my fause luve has me forsook, 
And says he'll never luve me mair. 



[This is a very old as well as a very beautiful 
song : it first appeared in the " Tea Table Mis- 
cellany," and seems to have been re-touched 
and altered by a very skilful hand. 

It is one of Sir Walter Scott's theories, that 
the finer and more poetic passages in our old 



* [If it was, it has been very long ago, as I have traced 
the song and air back for many generations. The song 
began : — 

Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 
Hey-howe the girdin o't, 



oral verse have been injured, and oftentimes lost, 
as the ballads to which they belonged drifted 
along the stream of time : — ■ 

" O waly, waly, up yon bank, 

And waly, waly, down yon brae, 
And waly by yon burn side, 

Where I and my love were wont to gae. 

waly, waly, love is bonny 

A little while, when it is new ; 
But when it's auld it waxeth cauld, 
And fades away like morning dew. 

When cockle-shells turn siller bells, 
And mussels grow on ev'ry tree ; 

When frost and snaw shall warm us a', 
Then shall my love prove true to me. 

1 leant my back unto an aik, 

I thought it was a trustie tree ; 
But first it bow'd, and syne it brake, 
And sae did my fause love to me. 

Now Arthur-seat shall be my bed, 
The sheets shall ne'er be fyl'd by me : 

Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, 
Since my true love's forsaken me. 

O Mart'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw, 
And shake the green leaves aff the tree 1 

gentle death, whan wilt thou cum, 
And tak a life that wearies me ? 

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 

Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, 

But my love's heart grown cauld to me. 
Whan we cam in by Glasgow town, 

We were a comely sight to see ; 
My love was clad in velvet black, 

And I mysel in cramasie. 

But had I wist before I kisst, 
That love had been sae ill to win, 

1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowcl, 
And pinn'd it wi a siller pin. 

Oh, oh ! if my young babe were born, 

And set upon the nurse's knee, 
And I mysel were dead and gone ; 

For a maid again I'll never be."] 



IButuaiT <§vaj). 



Dr. Blacklock informed me that he had 
often heard the tradition that this air was com- 
posed by a carman in Glasgow.* 



On a feast-day when we were fou, 
Sing hey the lang girdin o't. 

It was rather what our gentry would account a queer song; 
but I have often heard both wives and lasses sing it without 
any reserve. — Hogg.] 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



Dumbarton Ifruml. 

This is the last of the West Highland airs ; 
and from it, over the whole tract of country to 
the confines of Tweed-side, there is hardly a 
tune or song that one can say has taken its ori- 
gin from any place or transaction in that part 
of Scotland. — The oldest Ayr-shire reel is 
Stewarton Lasses, which was made by the 
father of the present Sir Walter Montgomery 
Cunningham, alias Lord Lysle ; since which 
period there has indeed been local music in that 
country in great plenty. — Johnnie Faa is the 
only old song which I could ever trace as be- 
longing to the extensive county of Ayr. 



[The author of this song is unknown : there 
is some good sense in the lady's musings, though 
the poetic merit of the ditty is not so great : — 

Dumbarton drums beat bonny, O, 

When they mind me of my dear Johnnie, O, 

How happy am I 

When my soldier is by, 
While he kisses and blesses his Annie, O, 
'Tis a soldier alone can delight me, O, 
For his graceful looks do unite me, O, 

While guarded in his arms, 

I'll fear no war's alarms, 
Neither danger nor death shall e'er fright me, O. 

My love is a handsome laddie, O, 
Genteel but ne'er foppish nor gaudie, O, 

Tho' commissions are dear 

Yet I'll buy him one this year, 
For he shall serve no longer a caddie, O ; 
A soldier has honour and bravery, O ; 
Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery, O, 

He minds no other thing 

But the ladies or the King, 
For every other care is but slavery, O. 
Then I'll be the Captain's lady, O ; 
Farewell all my friends and my daddy, ; 

I'll wait no more at home, 

But I'll follow with the drum, 
And whene'er that beats I'll be ready, O, 
Dumbarton Drums sound bonny, O ; 
They are sprightly like my dear Johnnie, O : 

How happy shall I be 

When on my soldier's knee, 
And he kisses and blesses his Annie, O !] 



CauftJ Hatt in ^fcuUetn. 

This song is by the Duke of Gordon.* 
old verses are, 

"There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 
And castocks in Strathbogie ; 
When ilka lad maun hae his lass, 
Then fye, gie me my coggie. 



-The 



There's Johnnie Smith has got a wife, 
That scrimps him o' his coggie, 

If she were mine, upon my life 
I wad douk her in a boggie." 



My coggie, Sirs, my coggie, Sirs, 
I cannot want my coggie : 

I wadna gie my three-girr'd cap 
For e'er a quene in Bogie. — 



* He was born in 1743, and died in 182/. 



[" The Cauld Kail" of his Grace of Gordon 
has long been a favourite in the north, and de- 
servedly so, for it is full of life and manners. 
It is almost needless to say that kail is colewert, 
and much used in broth ; that castocks are the 
stalks of a common cabbage, and that coggie is 
a wooden dish for holding porridge ; it is also 
a drinking vessel. 

" There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 

And castocks in Stra'bogie ; 
Gin I but hae a bonny lass, 

Ye're welcome to your coggie : 
And ye may sit up a' the night, 

And drink till it be braid day-light j 
Gie me a lass baith clean and tight, 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie. 

In cotillons the French excel ; 

John Bull loves countrar^flances ; 
The Spaniards dance fandangos well ; 

Mynheer an allemande prances : 
In foursome reels the Scots delight, 

At threesome they dance wond'rous light : 
But twasome ding a' out o' sight, 

Danc'd fco the Reel o' Bogie. 

Come, lads, and view your partners well, 

Wale each a blythsome rogie ; 
I'll tak this lassie to mysel, 

She looks sae keen and vogie ! 
Now, piper lad, bang up the spring ; 

The countra fashion is the thing, 
To prie their mou's e'er we begin 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie 

Now ilka lad has got a lass, 

Save yon auld doited fogie , 
And ta'en a fling upo' the grass, 

As they do in Stra'bogie : 
But a' the lasses look sae fain, 

We canna think oursels to hain, 
For they maun hae their come- again 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie. 

Now a' the lads hae done their best, 

Like true men o' Stra'bogie ; 
We'll stop awhile and tak a rest, 

And tipple out a coggie : 
Come now, my lads, and tak your glass, 

And try ilk other to surpass, 
In wishing health to every lass 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie."] 



, 



A HEALTH TO MY TRUE LOVE, ETC. 



555 



JFor Eacfc ot <&o!tt. 

The country girls in Ayr-shire, instead of 
the line — 



say, 



' She me forsook for a great duke," 
' For Athole's duke she me forsook ;" 



which I take to be the original reading. 

This song was written by the late Dr. Austin, 
physician at Edinburgh. — He had courted a 
lady, to whom he was shortly to have been 
married j but the Duke of Athole, having seen 
her, became so much in love with her, that he 
made proposals of marriage, which were ac- 
cepted of, and she jilted the doctor. 



[The doctor gave his woes an airing in song> 
and then married a very agreeable and beauti- 
ful lady, by whom he had a numerous family. 
Nor did Jean Drummond, of Megginch, break 
her heart when James, Duke of Athole, died : 
she dried her tears, and gave her hand to Lord 
Adam Gordon. The song is creditable to the 
author. — Cunningham. 

" For lack of gold she's left me, oh ! 
And of all that's dear bereft me, oh ! 
For Athole's duke, she me forsook, 

And to endless care has left me, oh ! 
A star and garter have more art 
Than youth, a true and faithful heart, 
For empty titles we must part, 

And for glitt'ring show she's left me, oh ! 

No cruel fair shall ever move 
My injur'd heart again to love, 
Thro' distant climates I must rove, 

Since Jeannie she has left me, oh ! 
Ye pow'rs above, I to your care 
Resign my faithless lovely fair, 
Your choicest blessings be her share, 

Tho' she's for ever left me, oh !"] 



*fetxt'& a flealtf) to mg true Eobe, $re. 

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. He told me 
that tradition gives the air to our James IV. of 
Scotland. 



["Scottish traditions," says Joseph Ritson, 
" are to be received with great caution." He 
might have said the same thing of all things 
oral ; but I see not why northern traditions 
are more liable to suspicion than the legends of 
other lands. Had the composition of an air or 
a song been imputed to one of his own Henrys 
or Edwards, he might have questioned it; but 



all the Stuarts were gifted men : James the 
First and Fifth were accomplished poets and 
musicians. The whole family were lovers of 
music and verse : it was not, therefore, wonder- 
ful that one of them should compose a pretty 
piece of music." — Cunningham. 



The words are as follow : 

To me what are riches encumber'd with care ! 
To me what is pomp's insignificant glare ! 
No minion of fortune, no pageant of state, 
Shall ever induce me to envy his fate. 

Their personal graces let fops idolize, 
Whose life is but death in a splendid disguise ; 
But soon the pale tyrant his right shall resume, 
And all their false lustre be hid in the tomb. 

Let the meteor discovery attract the fond sage, 
In fruitless researches for life to engage ; 
Content with my portion, the rest I forego, 
Nor labour to gain disappointment and woe. 

Contemptibly fond of contemptible self, 
While misers their wishes concentre in pelf ; 
Let the god-like delight of imparting be mine, 
Enjoyment reflected is pleasure divine. 

Extensive dominion and absolute power, 
May tickle ambition, perhaps for an hour ; 
But power in possession soon loses its charms, 
While conscience remonstrates, and terror 
alarms. 



With vigour, O teach me, kind heaven, 1 

sustain 
Those ills which in life to be suffer' d remain ; 
And when 'tis allow'd me the goal to descry, 
For my species I liv'd, for myself let me die.] 



$?ej) tuttt tattt. 



I have met the tradition universally over 
Scotland, and particularly about Stirling, in the 
neighbourhood of the scene, that this air was 
Robert Bruce's march at the Battle of Ban- 
nockburn. 



[" It does not seem at all probable," says 
Ritson, " that the Scots had any martial music 
in the time of this monarch ; it being their 
custom, at that period, for every man in the 
host to bear a little horn, with the blowing ot 
which, as we are told by Froissart, they would 
make such a horrible noise as if all the devils 
of hell had been among them. It is not, there- 
fore, likely that these unpolished warriors would 
be curious — 



556 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood 
Of flutes and soft recorders.' 

These horns, indeed, are the only music ever 
mentioned by Barbour, to whom any particular 
march would have been too important a circum- 
stance to be passed over in silence ; so that it 
must remain a moot point whether Bruce's 
army were cheered by the sound of even a so- 
litary bagpipe." 

Who would take Ritson's word for this or 
anything else ? for certainly a more capricious 
and dogmatic trifler never put pen to paper. I 
conceived it to have been a matter perfectly 
understood over all Scotland, that this air was 
' Bruce's March ;' and, if Ritson had had the 
ear of a bullock, he would have perceived that 
this ancient air had been composed exclusively 
for the bugles. — Hogg.] 

[ The following are the two songs which ac- 
company this air in the Musical Museum, the 
one is a regular tippling chant, while the other 
is a Jacobite effusion : — ■ 

" Landlady, count the lawin, 

The day is near the dawin ; 

Ye're a' blind drunk, boys, 

And I'm but jolly fou. 

CHORUS. 

Hey, tutti, taiti, 
How, tutti, taiti, 
Wha's fou' now ? 

Cog an ye were ay fou, 
Cog an ye were ay fou, 
I wad sit and sing to you, 
If ye were ay fou. 

Hey, tutti, &c. 

Weel may we a' be ! 
Ill may we never see ! 
God bless the Queen 
And the companie ! 

Hey, tutti, &c." 



" Here is to the King, Sir, 

Ye ken wha I mean, Sir, 

And to every honest man 

That will do't again. 

CHORUS. 

Fill up your bumpers high, 
We'll drink a' yere barrels dry, 
Out upon them, fy, fy, 
That winna do't again. 

Hei-e's to the chieftains 
Of the Scots Highland clans, 
They hae done it mair than ance, 
And will do't again. 

Fill up, &c. 



When you hear the trumpet sound 
Tutti taiti to the drum, 
Up your swords, and down your gun, 
And to the louns again. 

Fill up, &c. 

Here is to the king o' Swede ! 

Fresh laurels crown his head ! 

Pox on every sneaking blade 

That winna do't again ! 

Fill up, &c. 

But to mak a' things right, now, 
He that drinks maun fight, too, 
To shew his heart's upright, too, 
And that he'll do't again. 

Fill up, &c." 



The glorious song of " Scots wha hae wi' 
Wallace bled" has made this air immortal. 
That animating strain is now sung wherever 
freedom is felt, and the British language under- 
stood. The more like recitation it is sung, the 
effect is better ; scientific ornament injures the 
simple vigour of the words and air.] 



Ca& your auXtt Cloak aoout j)e. 

A part of this old song, according to the 
English set of it, is quoted in Shakspeare. 



[In the drinking scene in Othello — Iago 

sings : 

" King Stephen was a worthy peer, 

His breeches cost him but a crown ; 
He held them sixpence all too dear, 

With that he called the tailor lown ; 
He was a wight of high renown, 

And thou art but of low degree : 
'Tis pride that pulls the country down, 

Then take thine auld cloak about thee." 

The old Song from which these stanzas are 
taken was recovered by Dr. Percy, and pre- 
served by him in his Jtellques of Ancient 
Poetry. 

The economic spirit of Stephen has been 
transferred by a northern minstrel to Robert 
Bruce : the song, of which the following is a 
part, is one of our best as well as oldest. 

"In winter when the rain rain'd cauld, 

And frost and snaw on ilka hill, 
And Boreas, with his blasts sae bauld, 

Was threat'ning a' our kye to kill : 
Then Bell my wife, wha loves na strife, 

She said to me right hastily, 
Get up, goodman, save Cromie's life, 

And tak your auld cloak about ye. 



YE GODS. WAS STREPHON'S PICTURE BLEST? 



My Cromie is an useful cow, 

And she is come of a good kyne ; 
Aft has she wet the bairns' mou', 

And I am laith that she shou'd tyne. 
Get up, goodman, it is fu' time, 

The sun shines in the lift sae hie ; 
Sloth never made a gracious end, 

Go tak your auld cloak about ye. 

My cloak was ance a good grey cloak, 

When it was fitting for my wear ; 
But now it's scantly worth a groat, 

For I have worn't this thirty year ? 
Let's spend the gear that we have won, . 

W T e little ken the day we'll die : 
Then I'll be proud, since I have sworn 

To have a new cloak about me. 

In days when our king Robert rang, 

His trews they cost but half a crown ; 
He said they were a groat o'er dear, 

And call'd the taylor thief and loun. 
He was the king that wore a crown, 

And thou the man of laigh degree, 
'Tis pride puts a' the country down, 

Sae tak thy auld cloak about thee."] 



^t <&oH$, foas ^trqtfjctx's picture fcl^t 1 



Tune — Fourteenth of October. 



The title of this air shews that it alludes 
to the famous king Crispian, the patron of the 
honourable corporation of shoemakers. — St. 
Crispian's day falls on the fourteenth of October, 
old style, as the old proverb tells : 

" On the fourteenth of October, 
Was ne'er a sutor* sober." 



[William Hamilton, of Bangour, wrote this 
song on hearing that a young lady of birth and 
beauty wore his picture in her bosom, Ramsay 
obtained a copy from the author, and published 
it in the Tea Table Miscellany. 

<f Ye gods, was Strephon's picture blest 
With the fair heaven of Chloe's breast ? 
Move softer, thou fond flutt'ring heart, 
Oh gently throb, too fierce thou art. 
Tell me, thou brightest of thy kind, 
For Strephon was the bliss design'd ? 
For Strephon's sake, dear charming maid, 
Did'st thou prefer his wand' ring shade ? 

And thou bless' d shade, that sweetly art 
Lodg'd so near my Chloe's heart, 



: Sutor. — A Shoemaker. 



For me the tender hour improve, 
And softly tell how dear I love. 
Ungrateful thing ! it scorns to hear 
Its wretched master's ardent prayer, 
Ingrossing all that beauteous heaven 
That Chloe, lavish maid, has given. 

I cannot blame thee : were I lord 
Of all the wealth these breasts afford ; 
I'd be a miser too, nor give 
An alms to keep a god alive. 
Oh ! smile not thus, my lovely fair, 
On these cold looks that lifeless are : 
Prize him whose bosom glows with fire, 
With eager love and soft desire. 

'Tis true thy charms, O pow'rful maid ! 
To life can bring the silent shade : 
Thou canst surpass the painter's art, 
And real warmth and flames impart. 
But, oh ! it ne'er can love like me, 
I ever lov'd, and lov'd but thee : 
Then, charmer, grant my fond request ; 
Say, thou canst love, and make me blest." 

Pastoral designations were the fashion of 
Hamilton's day : how the ladies would have 
blushed and fluttered their fans to have been 
spoken of in song in the language of life.] 



J^m« rcW£ ol all t^at rfjatm'tf 
mg Tida. 

The old name of this air is, "the Blossom o' 
the Raspberry." The song is Dr. Blacklock's. 



[The verse is melodious, and the sentiments 
of the purest nature ; the subject — unrequited 
love. We can only give the first and last 
verses, as the song is a long one : — 

Since robb'd of all that charm'd my view, 

Of all my soul e'er fancied fair, 
Ye smiling native scenes, adieu, 

With each delightful object there ! 
Oh ! when my heart revolves the joys 

Which in your sweet recess I knew, 
The last dread shock, which life destroys, 

Is Heaven compar'd with losing you ! 

Ah me ! had Heaven and she prov'd kind, 

Then full of age, and free from care, 
How blest had I my life resign'd, 

Where first I breath' d this vital air : 
But since no flatt'ring hope remains, 

Let me my wretched lot pursue ; 
Adieu ! dear friends and native scenes ! 

To all but grief and love, adieu !"] 



558 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



goung Bamon. 
This air is by Oswald. 



[This is one of the hurried effusions of Robert 
Fergusson : his attempts in lyric composition 
were few and sometimes not very happy. 

Tune — Highland Lamentation. 



' Amidst a rosy bank of flowers 

Young Damon mourn' d his forlorn fate, 
In sighs he spent his languid hours, 

And breath'd his woes in lonely state ; 
Gay joy no more shall ease his mind, 

No wanton sports can sooth his care, 
Since sweet Amanda prov'd unkind, 

And left him full of black despair. 

His looks, that were as fresh as morn, 

Can now no longer smiles impart ; 
His pensive soul on sadness borne, 

Is rack'd and torn by Cupid's dart ; 
Turn, fair Amanda, cheer your swain, 

Unshroud him from this vale of woe ; 
Range every charm to soothe the pain 

That in his tortur'd breast doth grow."] 



Etrfc to at* let me fce. 

Tradition in the western parts of Scotland 
tells that this old song, of which there are still 
three stanzas extant, once saved a covenanting 
clergyman out of a scrape. It was a little 
prior to the revolution, a period when being a 
Scots covenanter was being a felon, that one of 
their clergy, who was at that very time hunted 
by the merciless soldiery, fell in, by accident, 
with a party of the military. The soldiers 
were not exactly acquainted with the person of 
the reverend gentleman of whom they were in 
search ; but, from suspicious circumstances, they 
fancied that they had got one of that cloth and 
opprobrious persuasion among them in the per- 
son of this stranger. " Mass John," to extri- 
cate himself, assumed a freedom of manners 
very unlike the gloomy strictness of his sect ; 
and, among other convivial exhibitions, sung 
(and, some traditions say, composed on the spur 
of the occasion), " Kirk wad let me be," with 
such effect, that the soldiers swore he was a 

d d honest fellow, and that it was impossible 

he could belong to those hellish conventicles ; 
and so gave him his liberty. 

The first stanza of this song, a little altered, 
is a favourite kind of dramatic interlude acted 



* Glenae, on the small river Ae, in Annandale ; the seat 
and designation of an ancient branch, and the present repre- 



at country weddings, in the south-west parts of 
the kingdom. A young fellow is dressed up 
like an old beggar ; a peruke, commonly made 
of carded tow, represents hoary locks ; an old 
bonnet ; a ragged plaid, or surtout, bound with 
a straw rope for a girdle ; a pair of old shoes, 
with straw ropes twisted round his ancles, as is 
done by shepherds in snowy weather : his face 
they disguise as like wretched old age as they 
can : in this plight he is brought into the wed- 
ding house, frequently to the astonishment of 
strangers, who are not in the secret, and begins 
to sing — 

" O, I am a silly auld man, 

My name it is auld Glenae,*" &c. 

He is asked to drink, and by and bye to 
dance, which after some uncouth excuses he is 
prevailed on to do, the fiddler playing the tune, 
which here is commonly called " Auld Glenae ;" 
in short he is all the time so plied with liquor 
that he is understood to get intoxicated, and, 
with all the ridiculous gesticulations of an old 
drunken beggar, he dances and staggers until 
he falls on the floor ; yet still, in all his riot, 
nay, in his rolling and tumbling on the floor, 
with some or other drunken motion of his body, 
he beats time to the music, till at last he is sup- 
posed to be carried out dead drunk. 



[There are many versions of this Nithsdale 
song ; here is one of the least objectionable, but 
not the least curious. 

" I am a silly puir man, 

Gaun hirplin owre a tree ; 
For courting a lass in the dark 

The kirk came haunting me. 
If a' my rags were oft', 

And nought but hale claes on, 
O I could please a young lass 

As well as a richer man . 

The parson he ca'd me a rogue, 

The session an a' thegither, 
The justice he cried, You dog, 

Your knavery I'll consider : 
Sae I drapt down on my knee 

And thus did humbly pray, 
O, if ye'll let me gae free, 

My hale confession ye'se hae. 

'Twas late on tysday at e'en, 

When the moon was on the grass j 
O, just for charity's sake, 

I was kind to a beggar lass. 
She had begged down Annan side, 

Lochmaben and Hightae ; 
But deil an awmous she got, 

Till she met wi' auld Glenae." 



sentative, of the gallant and unfortunate Dahels of Carnwath. 
— This is the Author's note. 



JOHNNY FAA, THE GYPSIE LADDIE. 



559 



The song goes on to relate what passed be- 
tween the Sinner and the Session ; but we can- 
not lift the curtain higher from this rustic 
drama. — Cunningham.] 



- 23Ij)tl)e foa$ £\)t. 

I composed these verses while I stayed at 
Ochtertyre with Sir William Murray. — The 
lady, who was also at Ochtertyre at the same 
time, was the well-known toast, Miss Euphe- 
mia Murray of Lentrose, who Avas called, and 
very justly, "The Flower of Strathniore." 
[She was sister to my accomplished and gallant 
friend, Sir George Murray, who claimed for 
her one night the superiority to all the flowers 
of Yarrow from me, alleging that I could not 
dispute the taste of Burns. I said that neither 
Burns nor he had ever seen one of the virgin 
flowers of Yarrow, and, until such time as he 
himself had, I denied the position most posi- 
tively. He said he had made a resolution, then, 
that he would come and see them. He is the 
best president that ever took a chair, for a 
large party; for he has the art of keeping 
every man pleased with himself, and conse- 
quently pleased with him." — Hogg.] 



Sfojnttg Jfaa, ox t^e <&£p£te Hatrtfte. 

The people in Ayr-shire begin this song — ■ 

"The gypsies cam to my Lord CassihV yett." — 

They have a great many more stanzas in this 
song than I ever yet saw in any printed copy. 
— The castle is still remaining at Maybole, 
where his lordship shut up his wayward spouse, 
and kept her for life. 



[As tradition strongly vouched for the truth 
of the story upon which this ballad is founded, 
Mr. Finlay, with a laudable curiosity, resolved 
to make the necessary inquiries, the result of 
which, without much variation, he published in 
his " Scottish Ballads," and is as follows : 

" That the Earl of Cassilis had married a 
nobleman's daughter contrary to her wishes, 
she having been previously engaged to another; 
but that the persuasion and importunity of her 
friends at last brought her to consent : That Sir 
John Faw, of Dunbar, her former lover, seiz- 
ing the opportunity of the Earl's absence on a 
foreign embassy, disguised himself and a num- 
ber of his retainers as gypsies, and carried off 
the lady, ' nothing loth:' That the Earl having 
returned opportunely at the time of the com- 
mission of the act, and nowise inclined to par- 



ticipate in his consort's ideas on the subject, 
collected his vassals, and pursued the lady and 
her paramour to the borders of England, where, 
having overtaken them, a battle ensued, in 
which Faw and his followers were all killed or 
taken prisoners, excepting one, 

- the meanest of them all, 



Who lives to weep and sing their fall.' 

"It is by this survivor that the ballad is 
supposed to have been written. The Earl, on 
bringing back the fair fugitive, banished her a 
mensa et thoro, and, it is said, confined her for 
life in a tower at the village of Maybole, in 
Ayr-shire, built for the purpose ; and, that 
nothing might remain about this tower unap- 
propriated to its original destination, eight heads, 
carved in stone, below one of the turrets, are 
said to be the effigies of so many of the gypsies. 
The lady herself, as well as the survivor of 
Faw's followers, contributed to perpetuate the 
remembrance of the transaction; for if he wrote 
a song about it, she wrought it in tapestry ; and 
this piece of workmanship is still preserved at 
Culzean Castle. It remains to be mentioned 
that the ford, by which the lady and her lover 
crossed the river Doon from a wood near Cas- 
silis-house, is still denominated the Gypsies' 
Steps. 

" There seems to be no reason for identifying 
the hero with Johnnie Faa, who was king of the 
gypsies about the year 1590. The coincidence 
of names, and the disguise assumed by the 
lover, is perhaps the foundation on which popu- 
lar tradition has raised the structure. Upon 
authority so vague, nothing can be assumed ; 
and indeed I am inclined to adopt the opinion 
of a correspondent, that the whole story may 
have been the invention of some feudal or po- 
litical rival, to injure the character and hurt 
the feelings of an opponent ; at least, after a 
pretty diligent search, I have been able to dis- 
cover nothing that in the slightest degree con* 
firms the popular tale." 

" The gypsies came to our lord's gate, 

And wow but they sang sweetly ; 
They sang sae sweet, and sae complete 

That down came the fair ladie. 

When she came tripping down the stair, 

And a' her maids before her ; 
As soon as they saw her weelfard face, 

They coost the glamour o'er her. 

' Gar tak frae me this gay mantile, 

And bring to me a plaidie ; 
For if kith and kin and a' had sworn, 

I'll follow the gypsie laddie. 

' Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed, 

And my good lord beside me ; 
This night I'll lie in a tenant's barn, 

Whatever shall betide me/ 



560 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



Oil ! come to your bed, says Johnny Faa, 
Oh ! come to your bed, my deary ; 

For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword, 
That your lord shall nae mair come near ye. 

1 I'll go to bed to my Johnny Faa, 

And I'll go to bed to my dearie ; 
For I vow and swear by what past yestreen, 

That my lord shall nae mair come near me. 

' I'll mak a hap to my Johnny Faa, 
And I'll mak a hap to my deary ; 

And he's get a' the coat gaes round, 

And my lord shall nae mair come near me.' 

And when our lord came hame at e'en, 

And speir'd for his fair lady, 
The tane she cry'd, and the other reply' d, 

She's away wi' the gypsie laddie. 

' Gae saddle to me the black, black steed, 

Gae saddle and mak him ready ; 
Before that I either eat or sleep, 

I'll gae seek my fair lady.' 

And we were fifteen well-made men, 

Altho' we were nae bonny ; 
And we were a' put down for ane, 

A fair young wanton lady/'* 

The following verse has been added : — ■ 

" My ladie's skin, like the driven snaw, 
Look'd through her satin cleedin', 

Her white hause, as the wine ran down, 
It like a rose did redden." 

John Martin, the distinguished Painter, who 
has all the love of a true Borderer for the 
strains which gladdened his ancestors, recites a 
Northumberland version of this strain, which 
calls the fortunate and unfortunate hero Gypsie 
Geordie.] 



®o JBaiwton nu. 

The two following old stanzas to this tune 
have some merit : 

" To daunton me, to daunton me, 

ken ye what it is that'll daunton me ? — 
There's eighty- eight and eighty-nine. 
And a' that I hae borne sinsyne, 
There's cess and press, f and Presbytrie, 

1 think it will do meikle for to daunton me. 

But to wanton me, to wanton me, 

O ken ye what it is that wad wanton me — 

To see guid corn upon the rigs, 



1 [Var.— The Earl of Cassilis' L.dy.] 



And right restor'd where right sud be, 

I think it would do meikle for to wanton me 



[A third verse runs thus : 

" But to wanton me, to wanton me, 
O ken ye what maist wad wanton me ? 
To see King James at Enburgh Cross 
Wi' fifty thousand foot and horse ; 
And the usurper forc'd to flee, 
O this is that maist wad wanton me !"] 



Cfje 33mmu %,a$$ mafte fyt Mtti to mr. 

"The Bonnie Lass made the Bed to me," 
was composed on an amour of Charles II. when 
skulking in the North, about Aberdeen, in the 
time of the usurpation. He formed une petite 
affaire with a daughter of the House of Port- 
letham, who was the " lass that made the bed 
to him :" — two verses of it are, 

" I kiss'd her lips sae rosy red, 

While the tear stood blinkin in her e'e , 
I said, My lassie, dinna cry, 

For ye ay shall make the bed to me. 

She took her mither's holland sheets, 
And made them a' in sarks to me ; 

Blythe and merry may she be, 
The lass that made the bed to me " 



[A version of this old song, re-touched by the 
master hand of Burns, is inserted among the 
Songs, under the title of " The Lass that made 
the Bed to me."] 



&b£etu:e. 

A song in the manner of Shenstone. 

This song and air are both by Dr. Blacklock. 



[From this strain, in the manner of Sher 
stone, we may extract some pastoral touches :- 

" Ye harvests that wave in the breeze, 

As far as the view can extend ; 
Ye mountains umbrageous with trees, 

Whose tops so majestic ascend ; 
Your landscape what joy to survey, 

Were Melissa with me to admire ! 
Then the harvests would glitter how gay, 

How majestic the mountains aspire!] 



t [Scot and lot.] 



I HAD A HORSE, AND I HAD NAE MAIB, ETC. 



561 



Ye zephyrs that visit my fair. 

Ye sun-beams around her that play, 
Does her sympathy dwell on my care, 

Does she number the hours of my stay ? 
First perish ambition and wealth, 

First perish all else that is dear, 
E'er one sigh should escape her by stealth, 

E'er my absence should cost her one tear."" 



If Ijatt a Morale, an* If Ijatf nae Platr. 

This story is founded on fact. A John 
Hunter, ancestor of a very respectable farming 
family, who live in a place in the parish, I 
think, of Galston, called Bar - mill, was the 
luckless hero that " had a horse and had nae 
mair." — For some little youthful follies he found 
it necessary to make a retreat to the West- 
Highlands, where "he feed himself to a High- 
land Laird," for that is the expression of all the 
oral editions of the song I ever heard. The 
present Mr. Hunter, who told me the anecdote, 
is the great grand-child of our hero. 



[David Herd found, no one knows where, 
these capital comic verses, and published them 
in his collection. Johnson added the original 



I had a horse, and I had nae mair, 

I gat him frae my daddy ; 
My purse was light, and heart was sair, 

But my wit it was fu' ready. 
And sae I thought me on a time, 

Outwittens of my daddy, 
To fee mysel to a lawland laird, 

Wha had a bonny lady. 

I wrote a letter, and thus began, — 

' Madam, be not offended, 
I'm o'er the lugs in love wi' you, 

And care not tho' ye kend it : 
For I get little frae the laird, 

And far less frae my daddy, 
And I would blythely be the man 

Would strive to please my lady.' 

She read my letter, and she leugh, 

' Ye needna been sae blate, man ; 
You might hae come to me yoursel, 

And tauld me o' your state, man : 
You might hae come to me yoursel, 

Outwittens o' ony body, 
And made John Gowkston of the laird, 

And kiss'd his bonny lady.' 

Then she pat siller in my purse, 
We drank wine in a coggie ; 

She feed a man to rub my horse, 
And wow ; but I was vogie ! 



But I gat ne'er sae sair a fleg, 
Since I came frae my daddy. 

The laird came, rap, rap, to the yett, 
When I was wi' his lady. 

Then she pat me below a chair, 

And happ'd me wi' a plaidie ; 
But I was like to swarf wi' fear, 

And wish'd me wi' my daddy. 
The laird went out, he saw na me, 

I went when I was ready ; 
I promis'd, but I ne'er gade back 

To kiss my bonny lady.] 



Up an* foarn a' TOltte. 

This edition of the song, I got from Tom 
Niel, of facetious fame, in Edinburgh. The 
expression " Up and warn a' Willie," alludes 
to the Crantara, or warning of a Highland 
Clan to arms. Not understanding this, the Low- 
landers in the west, and south, say, " Up and 
waur them a'," &c. 



[The ballad given in Johnson is a sort of 
Gazette account of the battle of Sheriff-muir, 
where both generals claimed the victory ; nor has 
the rustic minstrel decided the question. The 
song no sooner made its appearance than it was 
parodied in a scoffing ballad, of which the 
following is the starting verse. 

Up an' waur them a', Willie, 

Up an' waur them a', 
Up and sell your sour milk, 

And craw aboon them a', Willie 
Up and waur them a', Willie, 

Up an' waur them a', 
Ye'se be prince o' Musselburgh, 

And king in Fisherraw, Willie. 

Tom Niel, who gave the scng to Burns, was 
a carpenter in Edinburgh, and lived chiefly by 
making coffins. He was also Precentor, or 
Clerk, in one of the churches. He had a good 
strong voice, and was greatly distinguished by 
his powers of mimickry, and his humourous 
manner of singing the old Scottish ballads.] 



&ui* mot imam*-. 

It is remark - Avorthy that the song of 
u Hooly and Fairly," in all the old editions of 
it, is called " The Drunken wife o' Galloway," 
which localizes it to that country. 



["Auld Rob Morris" and "The Drunken 
wife o' Gallowa," are two first-rate old lyrics ; 
the former was printed as an ancient strain in 

2 O 



562 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany : the latter 
was not discovered so early, yet it is equally 
authentic. 



There's Auld Rob Morris that wins in yon 
glen, [men ; 

He's the king o' gude fallows, and wale o' auld 
Has fourscore o' black sheep, and fourscore too, 
And auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 

DOUGHTER. 

Haud your tongue, mither, and let that abee, 
For his eild and my eild can never agree ; 
They'll never agree, and that will be seen, 
For he is fourscore, and I'm but fifteen. 



Haud your tongue, doughter, and lay by your 

pride, 
For he's be the bridegroom, and ye's be the bride; 
He shall lie by your side, and kiss ye too, 
Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 

DOUGHTER. 

Auld Rob Morris, I ken him fu' weel, 
His back sticks out like ony peat-creel ; 
He's out-shinn'd, in-knee'd, and ringle-e'ed too, 
Auld Rob Morris is the man I'll ne'er loo. 

MITHER. 

Tho' auld Rob Morris be an elderly man, 
Yet his auld brass it will buy a new pan ; 
Then, doughter, ye shouldna be sae ill to shoo, 
For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 

DOUGHTER. 

But auld Rob Morris I never will hae, [grey ; 
His back is sae stiff, and his beard is grown 
I had rather die than live wi' him a year, 
Sae mair of Rob Morris I never will hear. 



The " Drunken wife o' Gallowa" is in ano- 
ther strain : the idea is original, and it cannot 
be denied that the author, whoever he was, has 
followed up the conception with great spirit. 
A few verses will prove this. 

Oh ! what had I ado for to marry, [nary ; 

My wife she drinks naething but sack and ca- 
I to her friends complained right early, 
O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly. 
Hooly and fairly ; hooly and fairly, 
O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

First she drank Crommie, and syne she drank 

Garie, 
Then she has drunken my bonnie grey mearie, 
That carried me thro' the dub and the lairie, 
O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 



The very grey mittens that gade on my han's, 

To her ain neibour wife she has laid them in 

pawns, [dearly, 

Wi' my bane-headed staff that I lo'ed sae 

! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

1 never was given to wrangling nor strife, 
Nor e'er did refuse her the comforts of life ; 
E'er it come to a war, I'm aye for a parley, 
O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

A pint wi' her cummers I wad her allow ; 
But when she sits down she fills hersell fou j 
And when she is fou' she's unco camstrarie, 
O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

An when she comes hame, she lays on the lads, 
And ca's a' the lasses baith limmers and jads ; 
And I my ain sell an auld cuckold carlie, 
O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!] 



This song is by Dr. Blacklock 



[It was composed in 1787 expressly for the 
"Museum." It is adapted to the old air of 
" Bonnie Kate of Edinburgh." 

Ah ! hapless man, thy perjur'd vow 
Was to thy Nancy's heart a grave ! 

The damps of death bedew'd my brow 

Whilst thou, the dying maid could save ! " 

Thus spake the vision, and withdrew ; 

From Sandy's cheeks the crimson fled ; 
Guilt and Despair their arrows threw, 

And now behold the traitor dead ! 

Remember, swains, my artless strains, 

To plighted faith be ever true ; 
And let no injur'd maid complain 

She finds false Sandy live in you ! 



%\xm your dffttalfcEi, &c. 

This song was composed by the Rev. John 
Skinner, Nonjuror Clergyman at Linshart, 
near Peterhead. He is likewise author of Tul- 
lochgorum, Ewie wi' the Crooked Horn, John 
o' Badenyond, &c, and, what is of still more 
consequence, he is one of the worthiest of man- 
kind. He is the author of an ecclesiastical 
history of Scotland. The air is by Mr. Mar- 
shall, butler to the Duke of Gordon ; the first 
composer of strathspeys of the age. I have 
been told by somebody, who had it of Marshall 
himself, that he took the idea of his three most 



WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN. 



563 



celebrated pieces, The Marquis of Huntley's 
Reel, His Farewell, and Miss Admiral Gordon's 
Reel, from the old air, "The German Lairdie.' ; 



[There is generally a dance of words in the 
lyric compositions of Skinner, which show that 
his heart was in harmony with the music : this 
is not wanting here : — 

Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly, 
Play the Marquis' Reel discreetly j 
Here we are a band completely 

Fitted to be jolly. 
Come, my boys, be blythe and gaucie, 
Every youngster choose his lassie, 
Dance wi' life, and be not saucy, 

Shy, nor melancholy. 

Lay aside your sour grimaces, 
Clouded brows, and drumlie faces ; 
Look about and see their graces, 

How they smile delighted, 
Now's the season to be merry, 
Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry ; 
Time enough to turn camstary, 

When we're old and doited.] 



(&il iHtonce.* 



This plaintive ballad ought to have been 
called Child Maurice, and not Gil Morice. In 
its present dress, it has gained immortal honour 
from Mr. Home's taking from it the ground- 
work of his fine tragedy of Douglas. But I 
am of opinion that the present ballad is a mo- 
dern composition ; perhaps not much above the 
age of the middle of the last century ; at least 
I should be glad to see or hear of a copy of the 
present words prioif' to 1650. That it was taken 
from an old ballad, called " Child Maurice," 
now lost, 1 am inclined to believe ; but the 
present one may be classed with " Hardyk- 
nute," " Kenneth," " Duncan, the Laird of 
Woodhouselee," " Lord Livingston," " Binno- 
rie," "The Death of Monteith," and many 
other modern productions, which have been 
swallowed by many readers as ancient frag- 
ments of old poems. This beautiful plaintive 
tune was composed by Mr. M 'Gibbon, the se- 
lector of a collection of Scots tunes. — R. B. 

In addition to the observations on Gil Morice, 
I add, that, of the songs which Capt. Riddel 
mentions, " Kenneth" and " Duncan" are juve- 
nile compositions of Mr. M'Kenzie, " The Man 
of Feeling." — M'Kenzie's father shewed them 
in MSS. to Dr. Blacklock, as the productions 

[* Mr. Pinkerton remarks that, in many parts of Scotland, 
" Gil" at this day, signifies " Child," as is the case in the 
Gaelic; thus, "Gilchrist" means the "Child of Christ." — 



of his son, from which the Doctor rightly prog- 
nosticated that the young poet would make, in 
his more advanced years, a respectable figure in 
the world of letters. 

This I had from Blacklock. 



[Of the many ancient ballads which have 
been preserved by tradition among the peasantry 
of Scotland, none has excited more interest in 
the world of letters than the beautiful and pa- 
thetic tale of " Gil Morice ;" and this, no less 
on account of its own intrinsic merits as a piece 
of exquisite poetry, than of its having furnished 
the plot of the justly- celebrated tragedy of 
" Douglas." When this tragedy was originally 
produced at Edinburgh, in 1756, the title of 
the heroine was Lady Barnard : the alteration 
to Lady Randolph was made on its being trans- 
planted to London. It was acted in Covent 
Garden in 1757. It has likewise supplied Mr. 
Langhorne with the principal materials from 
which he has woven the fabric of his sweet, 
though prolix, poem of ' Owen of Carron ;' 
and Mr. Jamieson mentions that it has also 
been 'made the subject of a dramatic entertain- 
ment, with songs, by Mr. Rennie of Aberdeen.' 
From the ballad, so well known, it is needless 
to make any extracts : for pathetic simplicity 
it is all but Unrivalled.] 



WHtyn $ upon tyv 33j»tom lean. 

This song was the work of a very worthy face- 
tious old fellow, John Lapraik, late of Dalfram, 
near Muirkirk, which little property he was 
obliged to sell in consequence of some con- 
nexion as security for some persons concerned 
in that villanous bubble, the Ayr bank. 
He has often told me that he composed this 
song one day when his wife had been fretting 
o'er their misfortunes. 



[This is the very song " that some kind hus- 
band had addrest to some sweet wife," alluded 
to with such exquisite delicacy in the "Epistle 
to J. Lapraik." 

There was ae sang amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thrilPd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A' to the life. 



" Child" seems also to have been the customary appellation 
of a young nobleman, when about fifteen years of age.] 



6G4 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN. 

When I upon thy bosom lean, 

And fondly clasp thee a' my ain, 
I glory in the sacred ties 

That made us ane, wha ance were twain : 
A mutual flame inspires us baith, 

The tender look, the melting kiss : 
Even years shall ne'er destroy our love, 

But only gie us change o' bliss. 

Hae I a wish ? it's a' for thee ; 

I ken thy wish is me to please ; 
Our moments pass sae smooth away, 

That numbers on us look and gaze, 
Weel pleas'd they see our happy days, 

Nor envy's sel find aught to blame ; 
And ay when weary cares arise, 

Thy bosom still shall be my name. 

I'll lay me there, and take my rest, 

And if, that aught disturb my dear, 
I'll bid her laugh her cares away, 

And beg her not to drap a tear : 
Hae I a joy ? its a' her ain 5 

United still her heart and mine ; 
They're like the woodbine round the tree, 

That's twin'd till death shall them disjoin.] 



€%e %i$)UxCH Character. 

[OR, GARB OF OLD GAUL.] 

This tune was the composition of Gen. Reid, 
and called by him " The Highland, or 42nd 
Regiment's March." The words are by Sir 
Harry Erskine. 



[Sir Harry Erskine was a wit, an orator, and 
something of a poet : his song on the Highland 
character was once very popular : the com- 
mencement is indeed agreeable to national 
vanity, as well as suitable to the music. 

In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old 
Rome, [we come, 

From the heath-cover'd mountains of Scotia 

Where the Romans endeavour'd our country 
to gain ; [in vain. 

But our ancestors fought, and they fought not 

No effeminate customs our sinews unbrace, 
No luxurious tables enervate our race, 
Our loud-sounding pipe bears the true mar- 
tial strain, 
So do we the old Scottish valour retain. 



* [Burns was quite right in this conjecture. " Leader 
Haughs and Yarrow" was written hy one Nicol Burn, who 
seems to have been the last c»f the old Border Minstrels. 
" The words of Burn the Violcr" are likely too his last lay. 



We're tall as the oak on the mount of the 
vale, [assail, 

As swift as the roe which the hound doth 

As the full moon in autumn our shields do 
appear, 

Minerva would dread to encounter our spear. 

As a storm in the ocean when Boreas blows, 
So are we enrag'd when we rush on our foes ; 
We sons of the mountains, tremendous as 
rocks, [ing strokes.] 

Dash the force of our foes with our thunder- 



iUafccivflauglM ant* ©arrofo. 

There is in several collections the old song 
of "Leader- Haughs and Yarrow." It seems 
to have been the work of one of our itinerant 
minstrels, as he calls himself, at the conclusion 
of his song, " Minstrel Burn."* 



[Who Minstrel Burn was is a question which 
antiquaries are unable to solve : that he was a 
borderer seems probable from the subject of his 
song, and that he had not a little of the poet's 
spirit his song survives to prove. The first and 
last verses are very beautiful. 



When Phoebus bright, the azure skies 

With golden rays enlight'neth, 
He makes all Nature's beauties rise, 

Herbs, trees, and flow'rs he quick'neth : 
Amongst all those he makes his choice, 

And with delight goes thorow, 
With radiant beams and silver streams ' 

O'er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

11. 

When Aries the day and night 

In equal length divideth, 
Auld frosty Saturn takes his flight, 

Nae langer he abideth ; 
Then Flora Queen, with mantle green, 

Casts aff her former sorrow, 
And vows to dwell with Ceres' sel', 

In Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 
in. 
Pan playing on his aiten reed, 

And shepherds him attending, 
Do here resort their flocks to feed, 

The hills and haughs commending. 
With cur and kent upon the bent, 

Sing to the sun, good-morrow, 
And swear nae fields mair pleasure yields 

Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 



They appear to have been produced when "the minstrel was 
infirm and old ;" and seem to have been intended as an ad- 
dition and conclusion to his song of " Leader Haughs and 
Yarrow."] 



LEADER HAUGTIS AND YARROW. 



565 



A house there stands on Leaderside,* 

Surmounting my descriving, 
With rooms sae rare, and windows fair. 

Like Dedalus' contriving ; 
Men passing by, do aften cry, 

In sooth it hath nae marrow ; 
It stands as sweet on Leaderside, 

As Newark does on Yarrow, 
v. 
A mile below wha lists to ride, 

They'll hear the mavis singing ; 
Into St. Leonard's banks she'll bide, 

Sweet birks her head o'erhinging ; 
The lintwhite loud and Progne proud, 

With- tuneful throats and narrow, 
Into St. Leonard's banks they sing 

As sweetly as in Yarrow. 

VI. 

The lapwing lilteth o'er the lee, 

With nimble wing she sporteth ; 
But vows she'll flee far frae the tree 

Where Philomel resorteth : 
By break of day the lark can say, 

I'll bid you a good-morrow, 
I'll streek my wing, and, mounting, sing 

O'er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

VII. 

Park, Wanton-waws, and Wooden-cleugh, 

The East and Western Mainses, 
The wood of Lauder's fair enough, 

The corns are good in Blainshes ; 
Where aits are fine, and sold by kind, 

That if ye search all thorow 
Mearns, Buchan, Mar, nane better are 

Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

VIII. 

Tn Burmill Bog, and Whiteslade Shaws, 

The fearful hare she haunteth ; 
Brig-haugh and Braidwoodshiel she knaws, 

And Chapel-wood frequenteth ; 
Yet when she irks, to Kaidsly birks 

She rins, and sighs for sorrow, 
That she should leave sweet Leader-Haughs, 

And cannot win to Yarrow. 

IX. 

What sweeter music wad ye hear 

Than hounds and beigles crying ? 
The started hare rins hard with fear, 

Upon her speed relying : 
But yet her strength it fails at length, 

Nae beilding can she burrow, 
In Sorrel's field, Cleckman, or Hag's, 

And sighs to be in Yarrow, 
x. 
For Rockwood, Ringwood, Spoty, Shag, 

With sight and scent pursue her, 



! * Thirlstane Castle : an ancient seat of the Earl of Lau- 

derda'e. 
! | [These verses do not appear to have been known to Allan 
I Ramsay, when compiling his " TeaT.-.hle Miscellany," other- 



Till, ah ! her pith begins to flag, 
Nae cunning can rescue her : 

O'er dub and dyke, o'er seugh and syke, 
She'll rin the fields all thorow, 

Till faild, she fa's in Leader-Haughs, 
And bids fareweel to Yarrow. 



Sing Erslington and Cowdenknows, 

Where Homes had ance commanding ; 
And Dry grange with the milk-white ewes, 

'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing ; 
The birds that flee throw Reedpath trees, 

And Gledswood banks ilk morrow, 
May chant and sing — Sweet Leader-Haughs, 

And bonny howms of Yarrow. 



But Minstrel Burn cannot assuage 

His grief, while life endureth, 
To see the changes of this age, 

That fleeting time procureth : 
For mony a place stands in hard case, 

Where blyth fowk kend nae sorrow, 
With Homes that dwelt on Leaderside, 

And Scots that dwelt on Yarrow. 

THE WORDS OF BURN THE VIOLER.f 

What, shall my viol silent be, 
Or leave her wonted scriding ; 

But choice some sadder elegie, 
No sports and mirth deriding. 

It must be fain with lower strain 

Than it was wont beforrow, 
To sound the praise of Leader-haughs 

And the bonny banks of Yarrow. 

But floods have overflown the banks, 
The greenish haughs disgracing, 

And trees in woods grow thin in ranks, 
About the fields defacing. 

For water waxes, wood cloth waind, 

More, if I could for sorrow,. 
In rural verse I could rehearse 

Of Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

But sighs and sobs o'erset my breath, 
Sore saltish tears forth sending, 

All things sublunar here on earth 
Are subject to an ending. 

So must my song, though somewhat long, 
Though late at even and morrow, 

I'll sigh and sing sweet Leader-Haughs, 
And the bonny banks of Yarrow. 



wise we think he would have printed them along with the 
sons? to which they form the melancholy companion. The 
above constitute, we fear, all the remaining works of Burn 
the Violer.j 



568 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



C!)i3 fe no mv am iiattSe. 

The first half-stanza is old, the rest is Ram- 
say's. The old words are — 

O this is no my ain house, 
My ain house, my ain house ; 

This is no my ain house, 
I ken by the biggin o't. 

Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks, 
My door-cheeks, my door-cheeks ; 

Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks, 
And pan-cakes the riggin o't. 

This is no my ain wean, 

My ain wean, my ain wean • 

This is no my ain wean, 
I ken by the greetie o't. 

I'll tak the curchie aff my head, 

An my head, aff my head ; 
I'll tak the curchie aff my head, 

And row't about the feetie o't. 

The tune is an old Highland air, called 
' Shuan triiish williqhan." 



Eattfcte, lit near me. 
This song is by Dr. Blacklock. 



[The chief fault of the lyric compositions of 
this poet is want of simplicity : with how much 
ease Burns and the old minstrels commenced 
their strains, compared to the starting stanza of 
" Laddie, lie near me." 

Hark, the loud tempest shakes the earth to 
its centre, [venture ; 

How mad were the task on a journey to 
How dismal's my prospect, of life I am weary, 
O ! listen, my love, I beseech thee to hear me, 

Hear me, hear me, in tenderness hear me ; 

All the long winter night, laddie, lie near me. 

Nights though protracted, tho' piercing the 
weather, [gether; 

Yet summer was endless when we were to- 
Now since thy absence I feel most severely 
Joy is extinguished and being is dreary, 

Dreary, dreary, painful and dreary ; [me. 

All the long winter night, laddie, lie near 

With far more natural ease the author of the 
old verses glides into his subject. 

Lang hae we parted been, lassie, my dearie, 
Now we are met again, lassie, lie near me, 
Near me, near me, lassie, lie near me ; 
Lang hast thou lien thy lane, lassie lie near me. 



A' that I hae endur'd, lassie, my dearie, 
Here in thy arms is cur'd, lassie, lie near me, 
Near me, near me, lassie, lie near me ; [me. 
Lang hast thou lien thy lane, lassie, lie near 

These words have a Jacobite hue : the song 
was composed, it is said, by one of the Scottish 
exiles on returning to his family after the act of 
oblivion.] 



%\)t <2lafcerlim£te J3flan.* 

The Gaberlunzie Man is supposed to com- 
memorate an intrigue of James the Vth. Mr. 
Callander of Craigforth published, some years 
ago, an edition of " Christ's Kirk on the 
Green," and the " Gaberlunzie Man," with 
notes critical and historical. James the Vth is 
saidto have been fond of Gosford, in Aberlady 
Parish, and that it was suspected by his con- 
temporaries that, in his frequent excursions to 
that part of the country, he had other purposes 
in view besides golfing and archery. Three 
favourite ladies, Sandilands, Weir, and Oli- 
phant (one of them resided at Gosford, and the 
others in the neighbourhood), were occasionally 
visitedby their royal and gallant admirer, which 
gave rise to the following satirical advice to his 
Majesty, from Sir David Lindsay, of the Mount, 
Lord Lyon, f 

Sow not yere seed on Sandilands, 
Spend not yere strength in Weir, 

And ride not on yere Oliphants, 
For gawing o' yere gear. 



[Of the nature of his Majesty's nocturnal ex- 
cursions this, and the ballad beginning 

There was a jolly beggar, and a begging he was bound, 

will fully inform the reader ; he indulged too in 
other rambles of a martial nature, of which the 
border still carries the tokens. James was at 
once a poet, a warrior, and a musician. Of his 
skill in ballad -making, " The Gaberlunzie Man" 
will be a lasting record. 

The pawky auld carle came o'er the lea, 
Wi' many good e'ens and days to me, 
Saying, Goodwife, for your courtesie, 

Will ye lodge a silly poor man ? 
The night was cauld, the carle was wat, 
And down ayont the ingle he sat ; 
My daughter's shoulders he 'gan to clap, 

And cadgily ranted and sang. 

O wow ! quo' he, were I as free 
As first when I saw this countrie, 



* [A Wallet-man, or tinker, who appears to have been for- 
merly a Jack-of-all-trades ] 

f [Sir David was Lion King -at -Arms, under James V.] 



THE GABERLUNZIE-MAN, ETC. 



567 



How blyth and merry wad I be ! 

And I wad never think lang. 
He grew canty, and she grew fain ; 
But little did her auld rainny ken 
What thir slee twa togither were say'n', 

When wooing they were sae thrang. 

And O ! quo' he, and ye were as black 
As e'er the crown of my daddy's hat, 
'Tis I wad lay thee on my back, 

And awa' wi' me thou shou'd gang. 
And O ! quo' she, an' I were as white, 
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike, 
I'd deed me braw, and lady like, 

And awa' with thee I'd gang. 

Between the twa was made a plot ; 
They raise awee before the cock, 
And wilily they shot the lock, 

And fast to the bent are they gane. 
Up in the morn the auld wife raise, 
And at her leisure put on her claise j 
Syne to the servant's bed she gaes, 

To speer for the silly poor man. 

She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay, 
The strae was cauld, he was away, 
She clapt her hand, cry'd, dulefu' day ! 

For some of our gear will be gane. 
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist, 
But nought was stown that cou'd be mist, 
She danc'd her lane, cry'd, praise be blest ! 

I have lodg'd a leal poor man. 

Since naething's awa', as we can learn, 

The kirn 's to kirn, and milk to earn, 

Gae but the house, lass, and wauken my bairn, 

And bid her come quickly ben. 
The servant gade where the daughter lay, 
The sheets were cauld, she was away, 
And fast to her goodwife did say, 

She's aff with the Gaberlunzie-man. 

O fy ! gar ride, and fy ! gar rin, 
And haste ye find these- traitors again ; 
For she's be burnt, and he's be slain, 

The wearifu' Gaberlunzie-man. 
S-ome rade upo' horse, some ran a foot, 
The wife was wud, and out o' her wit, 
She cou'd na gang, nor yet cou'd she sit, 

But ay did curse and did ban. 

Meantime far hind out o'er the lea, 

Fu' snug in a gien where nane could see, 

The twa, with kindly sport and glee, 

Cut frae a new cheese a whang. 
The priving was good, it pleas'd them baith ; 
To lo'e for ay, he gae her his aith : 
Quo' she, to leave thee I will be laith, 

My winsome Gaberlunzie man. 

O kenn'd, my minnie, I were wi' you, 
Ill-fardly wad she crook her mou', 



Sic a poor man she'd never trow, 

After the Gaberlunzie-man. 
My dear, quo' he, ye're yet o'er young, 
And ha' nae learn'd the beggar's tongue, 
To follow me frae town to town, 

And carry the gaberlunzie on. 

Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread, 
And spindles and whorles for them wha need, 
Whilk is a gentle trade indeed, 

To carry the gaberlunzie on. 
I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee, 
And draw a black clout o'er my e'e ; 
A cripple, or blind, they will ca' me, 

While we shall be merry and sing. 

This very graphic song is printed as the 
composition of James V. of Scotland. " A 
prince," says Percy, " whose character, for wit 
and libertinism, bears a great resemblance to 
that of his gay successor, Charles II. He was 
noted," the Bishop adds, " for strolling about 
his dominions in disguise, and for his frequent 
gallantries with country girls. Two adventures 
of this kind he hath celebrated with his own 
pen, viz., in the Gaberlunzie-man, and The 
Jolly Beggar." 

" I know not," says Cunningham, " where 
a more lively picture of living life, or a story 
of rustic intrigue, told with such naivete and 
discretion, is to be found, than in the above 
song."] 



m)t Mack €agk. 

This song is by Dr. Fordyce, whose merits 
as a prose writer are well known. 



Hark ! yonder eagle lonely wails ; 
His faithful bosom grief assails ; 
Last night I heard him in my dream, 
When death and woe were all the theme. 
Like that poor bird I make my moan, 
I grieve for dearest Delia gone ; 
With him to gloomy rocks I fly, 
He mourns for love, and so do I. 

'Twas mighty love that tam'd his breast, 
'Tis tender grief that breaks his rest ; 
He droops his wings, he hangs his head, 
Since she he fondly lov'd was dead. 
With Delia's breath my joy expir'd, 
'Twas Deila's smiles my fancy fir'd ; 
Like that poor bird, I pine, and prove 
Nought can supply the place of love. 

Dark as his feathers was the fate 
That robb'd him of his darling mate ; 
Dimm'd is the lustre of his eye, 
That wont to gaze the sun-bright sky. 



t 



568 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



To him is now for ever lost 
The heart-felt bliss he once could boast ; 
Thy sorrows, hapless bird, display 
An image of my soul's dismay. 

Dr. Fordyce perished at sea in the year 1755.] 



This satirical song was composed to com- 
memorate General Cope's defeat at Preston 
Pans, in 1745, when he marched against the 
Clans. 

The air was the tune of an old song, of which 
I have heard some verses, but now only remem- 
oer the title, which was, 

Will ye go the coals in the morning. 



[The following is the old song to which 
Burns refers : — 



Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar — 
Charlie, meet me, an ye daur, 
And I'll learn you the art of war, 
If you'll meet me in the morning. 

CHORUS. 

Hey Johnnie Cope, are ye waking yet ? 
Or are your drums a-beating yet ? 
If ye were waking I would wait 
To gang to the coals i' the morning. 

ii. 

When Charlie look'd the letter upon, 
He drew Ins sword the scabbard from, 
Come follow me, my merry merry men, 
To meet Johnnie Cope i' the morning. 

in. 
Now, Johnnie Cope, be as good 's your word, 
And try our fate wi' fire and sword, 
And dinna tak wing like a frighten'd bird, 
That's chas'd frae its nest i' the morning. 

IV. 

When Johnnie Cope he heard of this, 
He thought it wadna be amiss 
To hae a horse in readiness 
To flee awa' i' the morning. 



Fy Johnnie, now get up and rin, 
The Highland bagpipes make a din, 
It's best to sleep in a hale skin, 
For 'twill be a bluidie morning. 



Yon's no the took o' England's drum, 
But it's the war-pipes deadly strum ; 
And poues the claymore and the gun- 
It will be a bluidy morning. 



When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came, 
They speer'd at him "Where's a' your men? 
' ' The deil confound me gin I ken, 
For I left them a' i' the morning." 



Now, Johnnie, trouth ye was na blate, 
To come wi' the news o' your am defeat, 
And leave your men in sic a strait, 
Sae early in the morning. 

IX. 

Ah ! faith, quo' Johnnie, I got a fleg, 

With their claymores and philabeg ; 

If I face them again, deil break my leg, 

Sae I wish you a good morning. 

Hey Johnnie Cope, are ye waking yet ? 

Or are your drums a-beating yet? 

If ye were waking I would wait 
To gang to the coals i' the morning. 

When Cope fled, the fleetness of his horse 
carried him foremost, upon which a Scots- 
man sarcastically complimented him, " God, 
Sir, but ye hae won the race, win the battle 
wha like !"] 



Ceage, cta$t, im> tiear Jruntt to eyplore. 

The song is by Dr. Blacklock ; I believe, but 
I am not quite certain that the air is his too. 



[There are some pretty lines and agreeable 
thoughts in this song : — 

Cease, cease, my dear friend to explore 

From whence and how pieicing my smart; 
Let the charms of the nymph I adore 

Excuse and interpret my heart. 
Then how much I admire ye shall prove, 

When like me ye are taught to admire, 
And imagine how boundless my love, 

When you number the charms that inspire. 

Than sunshine more dear to my sight, 

To my life more essential than air, 
To my soul she is perfect delight, 

To my sense all that's pleasing and fair. 
The swains, who her beauty behold, 

With transport applaud every charm, 
And swear that the breast must be cold 

Which a beam so intense cannot warm. 

Does my boldness offend my dear maid ? 

Is my fondness loquacious and free ? 
Are my visits too frequently paid ? 

Or my converse unworthy of thee ? 
Yet when grief was too big for my breast, 

And labour'd in sighs to complain, 
Its struggles I oft have supprest, 

And silence impos'd on my pain. 



AULD ROBIN GRAY, ETC. 



569 



Ah, Strephon, liow vain thy desire, 

Thy numbers and music how vain, 
While merit and fortune conspire 

The smiles of the nymph to obtain. 
Yet cease to upbraid the soft choice, 

Tho' it ne'er should determine for thee ; 
If my heart in her joy may rejoice, 

Unhappy thou never canst be. 



This air was formerly called, " The Bride- 
groom greets when the Sun gangs down." The 
words are by Lady Ann Lindsay, of the Bal- 
carras family. 



[When the sheep are in the fauld, and a' the 

kye at hame, 
And a' the weary warld to sleep are gane : 
The waes of my heart fa' in show'rs frae my e'e, 
When my gudeman sleeps sound by me. 

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought me 

for his bride, 
But saving a crown he had naething else beside ; 
To make that crown a pound, my Jamie gade 

to sea, 
And the crown and the pound were baath for me. 

He hadna been gane a year and a day, 
When my father brak his arm, and my Jamie 
at the sea, [away ; 

My mither she fell sick, and our cow was stown 
And auld Robin Gray came a courting to me. 

My father coudna work, and my mither coudna 
spin, [win ; 

I toil'd day and night, but their bread I coudna 

Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears 
in his e'e, 

Said, "Jenny, for their sakes, O marry me." 

My heart it said nae, for I look'd for Jamie 
back, [a wrack ; 

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was 
The ship it was a wrack, why didna Jenny die, 
And why do I live to say, wae's me ? 



* [Pinkerton, after observing that none of the " Scotch 
amatory ballads are written by ladies ;" and that the "pro- 
fligacy of manners which always reigns before women can so 
utterly forget all sense of decency and propriety as to com- 
i mence authors, is yet almost unknown in Scotland," adds, 
in a note, that " there is indeed, of very late years, one in- 
significant exception to this rule ; ' Auld Robin Gray,' 
having got his silly psalm set to soporific music, is, to the 
credit of our taste, popular for the d.iy. But after lulling 
some good-natured audiences asleep, he will soon fall asleep 
himself." Ritson, with a becoming boldness and indigna- 
tion at the author of these ungracious and ungallant remarks, 
steps forward with his accustomed bantom-cock courage, and 
thus strikes at the hard forehead of Pinkerton. "Alas ! this 



My father argu'd sair, tho' my mither didna 
speak, [break ; 

She lookit in my face till my heart was like to 

Sae they gi'ed him my hand, tho' my heart was 
in the sea, 

And auld Robin Gray is gudeman to me. 

I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 
When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I coudna think 
it he, [thee." 

'Till he said, " I'm come back for to marry 

G sair did we greet, and mickle did we say, 
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away ; 
I wish I were dead ! but I'm no like to die, 
And why do I live to say, wae's me ! 

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin, 
I darena think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
But I'll do my best a gudewife to be, 
For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.] * 



iBonaltt mix dPlora. 

This is one of those fine Gaelic tunes, pre- 
served from time immemorial in the Hebrides ; 
they seem to be the ground- work of many of 
our finest Scots pastoral tunes. The words of 
this song were written to commemorate the un- 
fortunate expedition of General Burgoyne in 
America, in 1777. 



[This fine ballad is the composition of Hector 
Macneil, Esq., author of the celebrated poem, 
"Will and Jean," and other popular works. 
Hector Macneil was looked up to as Scotland's 
hope in song when Burns died ; his poems flew ; 
over the north like wildfire, and half a dozen 
editions were bought up in a year. The Do- 
nald of the song was Captain Stewart, who 
fell at the battle of Saratoga, and Elora was a 
young lady of Athole, to whom he was be- 
trothed.] 

When merry hearts were gay, 
Careless of aught but play, 
Poor Flora slipt away, 
Sad'ning to Mora ;f 



' silly psalm' will continue to be sung, ' to the credit of our 
taste,' long after the author of this equally ridiculous and 
malignant paragraph shall be as completely forgotten as yes- 
terday's Ephemeron, and his printed trash be only occasion- 
ally discernible at the bottom of a pie. Of the twenty-four 
Scottish song-writers whose names are preserved, four, if not 
five, are females ; and, as poetesses, two more might be added 
to the number. | 

" At the time Mr. Pinkerton made this unmanly remark, 
he must have been aware that an examination of the charac- 
ters of our principal female authors would have convinced 
him of its fallacy."] 

t [Mora is the name of a small valley in Athole, so named 
by the two lovers.] 



570 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



Loose flow'd her coal black hair, 
Quick heav'd her bosom bare, 
As thus to the troubled air 
She vented her sorrow : — 

" Loud howls the northern blast, 
Bleak is the dreary waste ; 
Haste thee, O ! Donald, haste, 

Haste to thy Flora ! 
Twice twelve long months are o'er, 
Since, on a foreign shore, 
You promis'd to fight no more, 

But meet me in Mora. 

" ' Where now is Donald dear V 
Maids cry with taunting sneer ; 
' Say is he still sincere 

To his lov'd Flora V 
Parents upbraid my moan, 
Each heart is turn'd to stone ; 
Ah ! Flora, thou'rt now alone, 

Friendless in Mora ! 

" Come then, O come away ! 
Donald, no longer stay ;-— 
Where can my rover stray 

From his lov'd Flora ? 
Ah ! sure he ne'er can be 
False to his vows and me — 
O, Heaven ! is not yonder he 

Bounding o'er Mora 1" 

" Never, ah ! wretched fair ! 
(Sigh'd the sad messenger,) 
Never shall Donald mair 

Meet his lov'd Flora ! 
Cold, cold beyond the main, 
Donald, thy love, lies slain : 
He sent me to sooth thy pain, 

Weeping in Mora. 

" Well fought our gallant men, 
Headed by brave Burgoyne, 
Our heroes were thrice led on 

To British glory. 
But ah ! tho' our foes did flee, 
Sad was the loss to thee, 
While every fresh victory 

Drown'd us in sorrow. 

" Here, take this trusty blade, 
(Donald expiring said,) 
' Give it to yon dear maid, 
Weeping in Mora. 



* ["The reader will be pleased to find," says Cromek, 
"from the following communication to the editor, by Mrs. 
Murray, of Bath (authoress of ' Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch,'), 
that Mr. Ross was one of the very few wri ers that practised 
what they taught. 

" ' I knew a good deal of Mr. Ross, author of * The For- 
tunate Shepherdess,' but it was many years ago : — I still 
remember him with respect, as a man of most amiable 
character. His genius and talents speak for themselves in 
the above-mentioned beautiful little poem, and one cannot 
help regretting that such abilities were only born to ' blush 
unseen, and waste their sweetness on the desert air;' for in 



Tell her, oh Allan ! tell, 
Donald thus bravely fell, 
And that in his last farewell 
He thought on his Flora.' " 

Mute stood the trembling fair, 
Speechless with wild despair, 
Then, striking her bosom bare, 

Sigh'd out, ' Poor Flora !' 
Oh ! Donald ! oh, well a day ! 
Was all the fond heart could say ; 
At length the sound died away 

Feebly, in Mora.] 



€fy Capttfce Sfttbfoantf. 
This air is called " Robie donna Gorach." 



[The song of " The Captive Ribband" has 
been generally imputed to Burns. Here are 
the words — the reader may judge for himself: 
they are adapted to a Gaelic air, called Robie 
donna Gorach, or Daft Robin. This air is 
evidently a slight alteration of the fine old tri- 
ple tune, entitled Earl Douglas's Lament. 

Dear Myra, the captive Ribband's mine, 
'Twas all my faithful love could gain ; 

And would you ask me to resign 

The sole reward that crowns my pain ? 

Go, bid the hero who has run 

Thro' fields of death to gather fame, 

Go, bid him lay his laurels down, 

And all his well-earn'd praise disclaim. 

The ribband shall its freedom lose, 
Lose all the bliss it had with you, 

And share the fate I would impose 
On thee, wert thou my captive too. 

It shall upon my bosom live, 

Or clasp me in a close embrace ; 
And at its fortune if you grieve, 

Retrieve its doom and take its place.] 



C*je Antral o't. 



This song is the work of a Mr. Alexander 
Ross,* late schoolmaster at Lochlee ; and author 



truth his humble abode was little better than a desert, though 
not inhabited by savages ; nothing on earth being less savage 
than a mere uncultivated Highlander. I speak from the ex- 
perience of many years of the early part of my life, which I 
had the happiness of spending in the North Highlands of 
Scotland, the country of ' Honest men and bonny lasses.' 

"Mr. Ross was also author of two excellent songs, called 
' What ails the Lasses at me ?' and ' The Rock and the wee 
pickle tow.' They are printed in the Museum immediately 
after 'The Bridal o't.' He was born about the year 1/00. 
His father was a farmer in the parish of Kincardine O'Neil, 
Aberdeen-shire. His first settlement was at Birs, as parochial 



THE BRIDAL O'T, ETC. 



571 



of a beautiful Scots poem, called 
nate Shepherdess." 



: The Fortu- 



[They say that Jockey'll speed weel o't, 

They say that Jockey'll speed weel o't, 
For he grows brawer ilka day — 

I hope we'll hae a bridal o't : 
For yesternight, nae farder gane, 

The backhouse at the side wa' o't, 
He there wi' Meg was mirden seen — 

I hope we'll hae a bridal o't. 
An we had but a bridal o't, 

An we had but a bridal o't, 
We'd leave the rest unto gude luck, 

Altho' there should betide ill o't : 
For bridal days are merry times, 

And young folks like the coming o't, 
And scribblers they bang up their rhymes, 

And pipers they the bumming o't. 

The lasses like a bridal o't, 

The lasses like a bridal o't, 
Their braws maun be in rank and file, 

Altho' that they should guide ill o't : 
The boddom o' the kist is then 

Turn'd up unto the inmost o't, 
The end that held the kecks sae clean, 

Is now become the teeniest o't. 

The bangster at the threshing o't, 

The bangster at the threshing o't, 
Afore it comes is fidgin fain, 

And ilka day's a clashing o't : 
He'll sell his jerkin for a groat, 

His linder for anither o't, 
And e'er he want to clear his shot, 

His sark'll pay the tither o't. 

The pipers and the fiddlers o't, 

The pipers and the fiddlers o't, 
Can smell a bridal unco' far, 

And like to be the middlers o't ; 
Fan * thick and threefold they convene, 

Ilk ane envies the tither o't, 
And wishes nane but him alane 

May ever see anither o't. 

Fan they hae done wi' eating o't, 

Fan they hae done wi' eating o't, 
For dancing they gae to the green, 

And aiblins to the beating o't : 
He dances best that dances fast, 

And loups at ilka reesing o't, 
And claps his hands frae hough to hough, 

And furls about the feezings o't.] 



schoolmaster, about the year 1733. He removed to Lochlee, 
Forfar-shire, where he died in May, 1783, after residing fifty 
years in the centre of the Grampians, almost secluded from 
the converse of men and books. Mr. Ross's grandson, the 
Rev. Alexander Thomson, gives the following account of him 
n a letter to Mr. Campbell, author of ' An Introduction to 
the History of Poetry in Scotland,' dated Lintrethen, 
14th June, 1798. — ' He (Ross) was a plain man, had the cha- 
racter of being a good schoolmaster, was very religious, which 
appeared by his behaviour as much as by his profession. He 



Cofcten flame. 

This is perhaps the first bottle song that ever 
was composed. The author's name is unknown. 



[When I've a saxpence under my thumb, 
Then I'll get credit in ilka town : 
But ay when I'm poor they bid me gae by ; 
O ! poverty parts good company. 
Todlen hame, todlen hame, 
Coudna my love come todlen hame ? 

Fair fa' the goodwife, and send her good sale, 
She gi'es us wtite bannocks to drink her ale, 
Syne if her tippcny chance to be sma', 
We'll tak a good scour o't, and ca't awa\ 

Todlen hame, todlen hame, 

As round as a neep come todlen hame. 

My kimmer and I lay down to sleep, 
And twa pint-stoups at our bed-feet ; [dry : 
And ay when we waken'd, we drank them 
What think ye of my wee kimmer and I ? 

Todlen but, and todlen ben, 

Sae round as my love comes todlen hame. 

Leeze me on liquor, my todlen dow, 

Ye're ay sae good humour'd when weeting 

your mou' ; 
When sober sae sour, ye'll fight wi' a flee, 
That 'tis a blyth sight to the bairns and me, 
When todlen hame, todlen hame, [hame. ] 
When round as a neep ye come todlen 



Cf)e Jr'fjepIjertJ'g preference. 

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. — I don't know 
how it came by the name, but the oldest appel- 
lation of the air was, u Whistle and I'll come 
to you my lad." 

It has little affinity to the tune commonly 
known by that name. 



[In May, when the daisies appear on thegreen, 
And flow'rs in the field and the forest are 
seen ; [up sprung, 

Where lilies bloom'd bonnie, and hawthorns 
A pensive young shepherd oft whistled and 
sung. [flow'rs, 

But neither the shades nor the sweets of the 
Nor the blackbirds that warbled in blossom- 
ing bowers : 



was an excellent Latin scholar, and wrote with considerable 
accuracy, till the days of old age and infirmity, when he 
composed a poem, entitled ' The Orphan,' and attempted to 
publish it at Aberdeen, with some other little performances, 
which, on account of their inaccuracy, of which the worthy 
author was not so sensible as he would have formerly been, 
he was advised by Dr. Beattie, one of his best friends, not to 
publish.' "] 

* Fan, when— the dialect of Angus. 



572 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



Could brighten his eye or his ear entertain, 
For love was his pleasure, and love was his 
pain. 

The shepherd thus sung, while his flocks all 

around i [sound ; 

Drew nearer and nearer, and sigh'd to the 
Around, as in chains, lay the beasts of the 

wood, 
With pity disarm' d, and with music subdu'd. 
Young Jessy is fair as the spring's early 

flow'r, [bow'r ; 

And Mary sings sweet as the bird in her 
But Peggy is fairer and sweeter than they, 
With looks like the morning — with smiles 

like the day. 

The blind bard continues the strain through 
three other verses : he had a fine ear, but ex- 
ternal nature had begun to fade and grow dim 
in his remembrance.] 



3 o%n <&' 33at(enj)mrtf.* 

This excellent song is the composition of my 
worthy friend, old Skinner, at Linshart. 



[" The songs of Skinner deserve to the full 
the eulogiums of Burns. Our ancestors tole- 
rated strains of a length that would weary out 
the patience of their descendants in singing. 
But then amusements in those days were few, 
and he who could sing a long song, or recite a 
long story, was of some account : at present 
we have so multiplied our enjoyments that he 
who would sing John of Badenyond, or one of 
Robin Hood's Ballads, would be looked upon 
as one who desired to rob us of variety in plea- 
sure." — Cunningham. 

When first I cam to be a man 

Of twenty years or so, 
I thought myself a handsome youth, 

And fain the world would know ; 
In best attire I stept abroad, 

With spirits brisk and gay, 
And here, and there, and every where, 

Was like a morn in May. 
No care had I, nor fear of want, 

But rambled up and down, 
And for a beau I might have pass'd 

In country or in town ; 
I still was pleas' d where'er I went, 

And when I was alone, 
I tun'd my pipe and pleas'd myself 

Wi' John o' Badenyon'. 



* [The words of Burns's celebrated Dirge "Man was made 
to Mourn, ' ' were composed to this tune. J 



Now in the days of youthful prime, 

A mistress I must find, 
For love, they say, gives one an air, 

And ev'n improves the mind : 
On Phillis fair, above the rest, 

Kind fortune fix'd my eyes ; 
Her piercing beauty struck my heart, 

And she became my choice : 
To Cupid then with hearty pray'r, 

I ofFer'd many a vow ; 
And danc'd, and sung, and sigh'd, and sworej 

As other lovers do : 
But, when at last I breath'd my flame, 

I found her cold as stone ; 
I left the jilt, and tun'd my pipe, 

To John o' Badenyon'. 

When love had thus my heart beguil'd 

With foolish hopes and vain ; 
To friendship's port I steer'd my course, 

And laugh'd at lover's pain ; 
A friend I got by lucky chance, 

'Twas something like divine, 
An honest friend's a precious gift, 

And such a gift was mine : 
And now, whatever might betide, 

A happy man was I, 
In any strait I knew to whom 

I freely might apply : 
A strait soon came, my friend I. try'd ; 

He heard, and spurn'd my moan ; 
I hi'd me home, and pleas'd myself 

With John o' Badenyon'. 

I thought I should be wiser next, 

And would a patriot turn, 
Began to doat on Johnny Wilkes, 

And cry up Parson Home. 
Their manly spirit I admir'd, 

And prais'd their noble zeal, 
Who had with flaming tongue and pen 

Maintain' d the public weal ; 
But e'er a month or two had past, 

I found myself betray'd, 
'Twas self and party after all, 

For all the stir they made ; 
At last I saw these factious knaves 

Insult the very throne, 
I curs'd them a', and tun'd my pipe 

To John o' Badenyon'. 

And now, ye youngsters every where 

Who want to make a show, 
Take heed in time, nor vainty hope 

For happiness below ; 
What you may fancy pleasure here 

Is but an empty name, 
For girls and friends, and books, and so, 

You'll find them all the same. 
Then be advis'd, and warning take 

From such a man as me, 
I'm neither Pope, nor Cardinal, 

Nor one of high degree : 



A WAUKRIFE MINNIE.— TUL LOCHGORUM. 



573 



You'll find displeasure everywhere ; 

Then do as I have done, 
E'en tune your pipe, and please yourself 

With John o' Badenyon'. ] 



8 raatifertfe fflLinnit.* 

I picked up this old song and tune from a 
country girl in Nithsdale. — I never met with it 
elsewhere in Scotland : — 

' Whare are you gaun, my bonnie lass ? 
Whare are you gaun, my hinnie ?" 
She answer' d me right saucilie — 
An errand for my minnie. 

" O whare live ye, my bonnie lass ? 

O whare live ye, my hinnie 1" — 
By yon burn-side, gin ye maun ken, 

In a wee house wi' my minnie. 

But I foor up the glen at e'en, 

To see my bonnie lassie ; 
And lang before the grey morn cam, 

She was na hauf sae saucie. 

O weary fa' the waukrife cock, 
And the foumart lay his crawin ! 

He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep, 
A wee blink or the dawin. 

An angry wife I wat she raise, 
And o'er the bed she brought her ; 

And wi' a mickle hazle rung 

She made her a weel pay'd dochter. 

" fare thee weel, my bonnie lass ! 

O fare thee weel, my hinnie ! 
Thou art a gay and a bonnie lass, 

But thou hast a waukrife minnie. "f 



The Editor thinks it respectful to the poet 
*o preserve the verses he thus recovered. 

R. B. 

["I have frequently heard this song sung in 
Nithsdale — and sung too with many variations. 
t am of opinion, nevertheless, that a large por- 
tion of it is the work of Burns himself. That 
several of the verses have been amended by him 
I have not the least doubt. It may gratify- 
some to know that he lessened the indelicacy 
without impairing the wit of the song : his 
omissions too are on the same side : the con- 
cluding verse may be quoted — I have no wish 
to restore it — 



thus : — 



A watchful mother. 

[The way that I have always heard this song sung ended 



; ' But Fit come back an' see you yet, 
For a' your wauk rife minnie. ' '— 



Hogg.] 



" though thy hair were hanks o' gowd, 
And thy lips o' drappin hinnie ; 
Thou hast gotten the clog that winna cling, 
For a' thy waukrife minnie." 

Cunningham.] 



CltllodjCprum. 

This first of songs is the master-piece of 
my old friend Skinner. He was passing the 
day, at the town of Cullen, I think it was [he 
should have said Ellon], in a friend's house, 
whose name was Montgomery. Mrs. Mont- 
gomery observing, en passant, that the beauti- 
ful reel of Tullochgorum wanted words, she 
begged them of Mr. Skinner, who gratified her 
wishes, and the wishes of every lover of Scot- 
tish song, in this most excellent ballad. 

These particulars I had from the author's son, 
Bishop Skinner, at Aberdeen. 



Come gie's a sang, Montgomery cry'd, 
And lay your disputes all aside, 
What signifies't for folks to chide 

For what was done before them : 
Let Whig and Tory all agree, 

Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory, 
Whig and Tory all agree, 

To drop their Whig-mig-morum. 
Let Whig and Tory all agree 
To spend the night in mirth and glee, 
And cheerful sing, alang wi' me, 

The Reel o' Tullochgorum. 

ii. 

O, Tullochgorum' s my delight, 

It gars us a' in ane unite, 

And ony sumph that keeps up spite, 

In conscience I abhor him : 
For blythe and cheerie we'll be a', 

Blythe and cheerie, blythe and cheerie, 
Blythe and cheerie we'll be a', 

And mak' a happy quorum, 
For blythe and cheerie we'll be a', 
As lang as we hae breath to draw, 
And dance, till we be like to fa', 

The Reel o' Tullochgorum. 



What needs there be sae great a fraise, 

Wi' dringing dull Italian lays ? 

I wadna gie our ain Strathspeys 

For half a hunder score o' em. 

They're dowf and dowie at the best, 
Dowf and dowie, dowf and dowie, 
Dowf and dowie at the best, 
Wi' a' their variorum ; 

They're dowf and dowie at the best, 

Their allegros and a' the rest, 



574 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



f 



They canna' please a Scottish taste, 

Compar'd wi' Tullochgorum. 



Let warldly worms their minds oppress 
Wi' fears o' want and double cess, 
And sullen sots themsells distress 

Wi' keeping up decorum : 
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 

Sour and sulky, sour and sulky, 
Sour and sulky shall we sit 
Like old philosophorum ? 
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit, 
Nor ever try to shake a fit 

To the Reel o' Tullochgorum ? 



May choicest blessings e'er attend 
Each honest, open-hearted friend, 
And calm and quiet be his end 

And all that's good watch o'er him ! 
May peace and plenty be his lot, 

Peace and plenty, peace and plenty, 
Peace and plenty be his lot, 

And dainties a great store o' em ; 
May peace and plenty be his lot, 
Unstain'd by any vicious spot, 
And may he never want a groat, 

That's fond o' Tullochgorum ! 



But for the sullen frampish fool, 
That loves to be oppression's tool, 
May envy gnaw his rotten soul, 

And discontent devour him ! 
May dool and sorrow be his chance, 
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow, 
Dool and sorrow be his chance ; 

And nane say, Wae's me for him ! 
May dool and sorrow be his chance, 
Wi' a' the ills that come frae France, 
Whae'er he be that winna dance 

The Reel o' Tullochgorum ! 



<&uW 3£an£ &%m. 

Ramsay here, as is usual with him, has taken 
the idea of the song, and the first line, from the 
old fragment, which may be seen in the "Mu- 
seum," vol. v. 



[In Watson's Collection of Scots Poems, 
Part III., Edinburgh, 1711, 8vo., there is a 
poem entitled " Old Long syne," written about 
the middle of the 17th century. It contains 
ten stanzas, of which the first and sixth may 
serve as a specimen. It is probably an English 
ballad, founded on one of an earlier date : — 



Should old acquaintance be forgot 

And never thought upon, 
The flames of love extinguished, 

And freely past and gone ? 
Is thy kind heart now grown so cold, 

In that loving breast of thine, 
That thou canst never once reflect 

On old-long-syne ? 

If e'er I have a house, my dear, 

That truly is call'd mine, 
And can afford but country cheer, 

Or ought that's good therein ; 
Tho' thou wert rebel to the king, 

And beat with wind and rain, 
Assure thyself of welcome love, 

For old-long-syne.] 



€l)t lEfou tot' tf)e cvoaktU Horn. 

Another excellent song of old Skinner's. 



[The " Poor Mailie" of Burns is said to have, 
been suggested by " The Ewie wi' the crooked 
horn" of Skinner — with what truth the poem 
itself will show. The simplicity, tenderness, 
pathos, and humour of the verses of the bard of 
Kyle far exceed those of the poet of Linshart. 



O were I able to rehearse 

My Ewie's praise in proper verse, 

I'd sound it out as loud and fierce 

As ever piper's drone could blaw. 
The Ewie wi' the crookit horn 
Weel deserv'd baith garse and corn ; 
Sic a Ewie ne'er was born 

Hereabout, nor far awa', 
Sic a Ewie ne'er was born 

Hereabout, nor far awa'. 



I never needed tar nor keil 
To mark her upo' hip or heel, 
Her crookit horn did just as weel 

To ken her by amo' them a' ; 
She never threaten'd scab nor rot, 
But keepit ay her ain jog trot, 
Baith to the fauld and to the cot, 

Was never sweir to lead nor ca' ; 
Baith to the fauld and to the cot, 

Was never sweir to lead nor ca'. 



Cauld nor hunger never dang her, 
Wind nor rain could never wrang her, 
Ance she lay an ouk and langer, 

Out aneath a wreath o' snaw : 
Whan ither Ewies lap the dyke, 
And ate the kail for a' the tyke, 



HUGHIE GRAHAM. 



575 



My Ewie never play'd the like, 

But tyc'd about the barn yard wa' ; 

My Ewie never play'd the like, 

But tyc'd about the barn yard wa'. 

IV. 

A better nor a thriftier beast 

Nae honest man cou'd weel hae wist, 

Puir silly thing, she never mist 

To hae ilk year a lamb or twa. 
The first she had I ga'e to Jock, 
To be to him a kind of stock, 
And now the laddie has a flock 

Of mail* nor thirty head to ca'. 
And now the laddie has a flock 

Of mair nor thirty head to ca', 



The neist I ga'e to Jean • and now 
The bairn's sae braw, has fauld sae fu', 
That lads sae thick come here to woo, 

They're fain to sleep on hay or straw. 
I lookit aye at even' for her, 
For fear the foumart might devour her, 
Or some mischanter had come o'er her, 

Gin the beastie bade awa ; 
Or some mischanter had come o'er her, 

Gin the beastie bade awa. 



Yet last ouk, for a' my keeping, 

( Wha can speak it without weeping ?) 

A villain cam when I was sleeping, 

And sta' my Ewie, horn and a' 5 
I sought her sair upo' the morn, 
And down aneath a buss o' thorn 
I got my Ewie's crookit horn, 

But ah, my Ewie was awa'. 
I got my Ewie's crookit horn, 

But ah, my Ewie was awa'. 



! gin I had the loun that did it, 
Sworn I have as weel as said it, 
Tho' a' the warld shou'd forbid it, 

I wad gie his neck a thra' : 

1 never met wi' sic a turn, 
As this sin' ever I was born, 
My Ewie wi' the crookit horn, 

Puir sillie Ewie stown awa', 
My Ewie wi' the crookit horn, 
Puir silly Ewie stown awa'.] 



There are several editions of this ballaa. — 
This, here inserted, is from oral tradition in 
Ayr-shire, where, when I was a boy, it was a 
popular song. — It originally had a simple old 
tune, which I have forgotten. 



Our lords are to the mountains gane, 

A hunting o' the fallow deer, 
And they have grippet Hughie Graham, 

For stealing o' the bishop's mare. 

And they ha'e tied him hand and foot, 
And led him up, thro' Stirling toun- 

The lads and lasses met him there, 

Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loon. 

O lowse my right hand free, he says, 
And put my braid sword in the same • 

He's no in Stirling toun this day 

Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham. 

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, 

As he sat by the bishop's knee, 
Five hundred white stots I'll gie you, 

If ye'll let Hughie Graham gae free. 

O haud your tongue, the bishop says, 
And wi' your pleading let me be ; 

For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat, 
Hughie Graham this day shall die. 

Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, 
As she sat by the bishop's knee ; 

Five hundred white pence I'll gie you, 
If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me. 

O haud your tongue now, lady fair, 
And wi' your pleading let it be • 

Altho' ten Grahams were in his coat, 
It's for my honour he maun die. 

They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe, 

He looked to the gallows tree, 
Yet never colour left his cheek, 

Nor ever did he blink his e'e. 

At length he looked round about, 

To see whatever he could spy : 
And there he saw his auld father, 

And he was weeping bitterly. 

O haud your tongue, my father dear, 
And wi' your weeping let it be ; 

Thy weeping's sairer on my heart 
Than a' that they can do to me. 

And ye may gie my brother John 

My sword that's bent in the middle clear j 

And let him come at twelve o'clock, 
And see me pay the bishop's mare. 

And ye may gie my brother James 

My sword that's bent in the middle brown 5 

And bid him come at four o'clock, 
And see his brother Hugh cut down. 

Remember me to Maggy my wife, 
The neist time ye gang o'er the moor. 

Tell her she staw the bishop's mare, 
Tell her she was the bishop's whore. 



576 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



And ye may tell my kith and kin, 
I never did disgrace their blood ; 

And when they meet the bishop's cloak 
To mak it shorter by the hood. 



[Burns did not choose to be quite correct 
in stating that this copy of the ballad of 
" Hughie Graham" is printed from oral tra- 
dition in Ayr-shire. The fact is, that four of 
the stanzas are either altered or superadded by 
himself. 

_ Of this number the third and eighth are ori- 
ginal ; the ninth and tenth have received his 
corrections. Perhaps pathos was never more 
touching than in the picture of the hero singling 
out his poor aged father from the crowd of 
spectators ; and the simple grandeur of prepa- 
ration for this afflicting circumstance, in the 
verse that immediately precedes it, is matchless. 
That the reader may probably appreciate the 
value of Burns's touches, I here subjoin two 
verses from the most correct copy of the ballad, 
as it is printed in the " Border Minstrelsy." 

He looked over his left shoulder 
And for to see what he might see ; 

There was he aware of his auld father, 
Came tearing his hair most piteouslie. 

" O baud your tongue, my father," he says, 
" And see that ye dinna weep for me ! 

For they may ravish me o' my life, 

But they canna banish me from heaven hie." 
Cromek.] 



This is a popular Ayr-shire song, though the 
notes were never taken down before. It, as 
well as many of the ballad tunes in this collec- 
tion, was written from Mrs. Burns's voice. 



[" Southland Jenny" is older than the days 
of Allan Ramsay, for it is inserted in his " Tea 
Table _ Miscellany," with the letter Z annexed, 
to intimate its antiquity. It seems to be of 
southern manufacture, and probably owes its 
origin to one of those very ingenious persons 
who, in London, imitated the voice and manner 
of the northern muse, with the same happiness 
that Wallenstien's follower imitated the ge- 
neral : 

" I grant that in trifles you hit it off, 
You can spit like the Friedlander — ape his cough." 



* Tocher— Marriage portion. 

t [" This statement is incorrect. On referring to ' Neil Gow 
and Son's,' 2nd book, p. 18, it will be seen that it is un- 
claimed by Nathaniel Gow or any of his family. Mr. Gow 
found the tune in ' Oswald's Caledonian Pocket Companion,' 



The first verse will be sample sufficient of this 
compound strain. 

A Southland Jenny that was right bonnie, 
She had for a suitor a Norlan' Johnnie ; 
But he was siccan a bashfu' wooer 
That he could scarcely speak unto her. 
But blinks o' her beauty, and hopes o' her 

siller, 
Forc'd him at last to tell his mind till 'er ; 
My dear, quo' he, we'll nae longer tarry, 
Gin ye can love me, let's o'er the muir and 

marry.] 



ffl*> Cccljn*^ tl)e fdml.* 



It i 



This tune is claimed by Nathaniel Gow. 
is notoriously taken from " The Muckin : 
Geordie's Byre." It is also to be found, long 
prior to Nathaniel Gow's era, in Aird's " Se- 
lection of Airs and Marches," the first edition, 
under the name of " The Highway to Edin- 
burgh, "f 



CJen, <§uttstmfe, count tlje Ealutn'. 

The chorus of this is part of an old song 
one stanza of which I recollect : — 

Every day my wife tells me 
That ale and brandy will ruin me ; 
But if gude liquor be my dead, 
This shall be written on my head — 
O, gude wife, count the lawin'. 



€!)* g>oger 3lact(te. 

The first verse of this is old ; the rest is by 
Ramsay. The tune seems to be the same with 
a slow air, called " Jacky Hume's Lament" — 
or, " The Hollin Buss" — or, " Ken ye what 
Meg o' the Mill has gotten ?" 



[In Thomson's " Orpheus Caledonius," print- 
ed in 1725, both the music and words of " The 
Soger Laddie" may be found. The first four 
lines of the song have the true echo of the an- 
cient minstrelsy. 

My soger laddie is over the sea, 
And he'll bring gold and silver to me, [lady ; 
And when he comes hame he will make me his 
My blessings gang wi' him, my soger laddie 



book Hi. p. 28, as a quick jig; it struck him that it would be 
pretty if slow ; and, being without a name, he called it 'Lord 
Elcho's Favourite.' Oswald's book was published as long 
prior to Aird's era, as Aird's was to that of Gow."—' 
Cromek. ] 



WHERE WAD BONNIE ANNIE LIE? ETC. 



577 



My doughty laddie is handsome and brave, 
And can as a soger and lover behave, 
He's true to his country, to love he is steady 5 
There's few to compare wi' my soger laddie. 

O shield him, ye Angels, frae death in alarms, 
Return him with laurels to my longing arms, 
Syne frae all my care ye'll pleasantly free me, 
When back to my wishes my soger ye gie me. 

O soon may his honours bloom fair on his brow, 
As quickly they must, if he get but his due ; 
For in noble actions his courage is ready, 
Which makes me delight in my soger laddie.] 



Wtym foatt honnit Sfom'e lit 1 

The old name of this tune is, — 

Whare'll our glide-man lie? 

A silly old stanza of it runs thus — 
O whare'll our gudeman lie, 

Gudeman lie, gudeman lie, 
O whare'll our gudeman lie, 
Till he shute o'er the simmer ? 

Up amang the hen-bawks, 
The hen-bawks, the hen-bawks, 

Up amang the hen-bawks, 
Amang the rotten timmer. 



[Ramsay's song is as follows : — 

O where wad bonnie Annie lie ? 
Alane nae mair ye maunna lie ; 
Wad ye a gudeman try, 

Is that the thing ye're lacking ? 
O can a lass sae young as I 
Venture on the bridal tye ? 
Syne down wi' a gudeman lie, 

I'm fley'd he'd keep me waukin. 

Never judge until ye try, 
Mak me your gudeman, I 
Shanna hinder you to lie, 

And sleep till ye be weary. 
What if I shou'd wauking lie, 
When the ho boys are gaun by, 
Will ye tent me when I cry 

My dear, I'm faint and eiry ? 

In my bosom thou shalt lie, 
When thou waukrife art, or dry, 
Healthy cordial standing by, 

Shall presently revive thee. 
To your will I then comply ; 
Join us, priest, and let me try, 
How I'll wi' a gudeman lie, 

Wha can a cordial gie me.] 



#aIIofoag Cam. 

I have seen an interlude (acted on a wed- 
ding) to this tune, called r - The Wooing of the 
Maiden." These entertainments are now much 
worn out in this part of Scotland. Two are 
still retained in Nithsdale, viz. " Silly Puir 
Auld Glenae," and this one, " The Wooing of 
the Maiden." 

[Galloway Tarn is a fellow of merit in his 
way, as the song in his honour will shew : 



O Galloway Tarn cam here to woo, 
We'd better hae gi'en him the bawsent cow, 
For our lass Bess may curse and ban 
The wanton wit o' Galloway Tam. 
A cannie tongue and a glance fu' gleg, 
A boordly back and a lordly leg, 
A heart like a fox, and a look like a lamb — 
O, these are the marks o' Galloway Tam. 



O Galloway Tam came here to shear, 

We'd better hae gi'en him the gude grey nieare, 

Hekiss'dthegudewife&he dang'd the gudeman, 

And these are the tricks o' Galloway Tam. 

He ow'd the kirk a twalmonth's score, 

And he dofF'd his bonnet at the door ; 

The loon cried out wha sung the psalm, 

" Tnere's room on the stool for Galloway Tam V* 



Ye lasses 0' Galloway, frank and fair, 
Tak tent o' your hearts and something mair ; 
And bar your doors, your windows steek, 
For he comes stealing like night and sleep r 
O nought frae Tam but wae ye'll win, 
He'll sing ye dumb and he'll dance ye blin' ; 
And aff your balance he'll cowp ye then, 
Tak tent o' the deil and Galloway Tam. 



" Sir," quoth Mess John, " the wanton deil 

Has put his birn 'boon gospel kiel, 

And bound yere cloots in his black ban' :" 

" For mercy loos't !" quo' Galloway Tam. 

" In our kirk-fauld we maun ye bar, 

And smear your fleece wi' cov'nant tar, 

And pettle ye up a dainty lamb." 

" Among the yowes, ' quo' Galloway Tam. 

v. 
Eas'd of a twalmonth's graceless deeds, 
He gaylie doff'd his sackcloth w r eeds ; 
An' 'mang the maidens he laughing cam — 
" Tak tent o' your hearts," quo' Galloway Tam. 
A cannie tongue and a glance fu' gleg, 
A boordly back and a lordly leg, 
A heart like a fox, and a look like a lamb — 
O, these are the marks o' Gallow r ay Tam."] 



578 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



%& \ cam tofon \% von Cattle W. 
This is a very popular Ayr-shire song. 



[It has no doubt been greatly amended by 
Burns. Both music and words were unknown 
till he sent them to the " Museum.' 

As I cam down by yon castle wa', 

And in by yon garden green, 
O there I spied a bonnie bonnie lass, 

But the flower-borders were us between. 

A bonnie bonnie lassie she was, 
As ever mine eyes did see ; 

five hundred pounds would I give, 
For to have such a pretty bride as thee. 

To have such a pretty bride as me ! 

Young man, ye are sairly mista'en ; 
Tho' ye were king o' fair Scotland, 

I wad disdain to be your queen. 

Talk not so very high, bonnie lass, 

O talk not so very, very high ; 
The man at the fair, that wad sell, 

He maun learn at the man that wad buy. 

1 trust to climb a far higher tree, 
And herry a far richer nest. 

Tak this advice o' me, bonnie lass, 
Humility wad set thee best.] 



HotU 9ftonaItf, mo &ou. 

This air, a very favourite one in Ayr-shire, 
is evidently the original of Lochaber. In this 
manner most of our finest more modern airs 
have had their origin. Some early minstrel, or 
musical shepherd, composed the simple artless 
original air ; which being picked up by the 
more learned musician, took the improved form 
it bears. 



[The complete ballad of "Lord Ronald" 
may be found under the name of " Lord Ran- 
dal," in the " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bor- 
der-" The hero of the sonp- was poisoned — he 
ate a dish of adders instead of eels : this is in- 
timated in a stray verse, which should be 
restored to its place, as, without it, the ballad 
is incomplete. 

And where did they catch them, Lord Ronald 
my son ? [young man ? 

And where did they catch them,my handsome 

Beneath the bracken-bush, mother; make my 
bed soon, [down."] 

For I'm wearied wi' hunting, and fain wad lie 



<& f tx tyz Ptoor amattg tl)e f^eatijer. 

This song is the composition of Jean Glover, 
a girl who was not only a wh-re, but also a 
thief; and in one or other character has visited 
most of the Correction Houses in the West. 
She was born I believe in Kilmarnock, — I took 
the song down from her singing, as she was 
strolling through the country, with a slight-of- 
hand blackguard. 



[Comin' thro' the craigs o' Kyle, 
Amang the bonnie blooming leather, 
There I met a bonnie lassie, 
Keeping a' her yowes thegither. 
O'er the moor amang the heather, 
O'er the moor amang the heather, 
There I met a bonnie lassie, 
Keeping a' her yowes thegither. 

Says I, my dearie, where is thy hame, 
In moor or dale pray tell me whether ? 
She says, I tent the fleecy flocks 
That feed amang the blooming heather. 
O'er the moor, &c. 

We laid us down upon a bank, 
Sae warm and sunny was the weather, 
She left her flocks at large to rove 
Amang the bonnie blooming heather. 
O'er the moor, &c. 

While thus we lay she sang a sang, 
Till echo rang a mile and farther, 
And ay the burden o' the sang 
Was o'er the moor amang the heather. 
O'er the moor, &c. 

She charm'd my heart, and aye sinsyne, 
I could na think on any ither ; 
By sea and sky she shall be mine ! 
The bonnie lass amang the heather. 
O'er the moor, &c] 



This song is the composition of one John- 
son, a joiner in the neighbourhood of Belfast. 
The tune is by Oswald, altered, evidently, from 
" Jockie's Grey Breeks." 



[All hail to thee, thou bawmy bud, 
Thou charming child o' simmer, hail ; 
Ilk fragrant thorn and lofty wood 
Does nod thy welcome to the vale. 

See on thy lovely faulded form, 
Glad Phoebus smiles wi' cheering eye, 
While on thy head the dewy morn 
Has shed the tears o' silent joy. 



THE TEARS I SHED, ETC. 



579 



The tuneful tribes frae yonder bower, 
Wi' sangs of joy thy presence hail ; 
Then haste, thou bawmy fragrant flower, 
And gie thy bosom to the gale. 

And see the fair industrious bee, 
With airy wheel and soothing hum, 
Flies ceaseless round thy parent tree, 
While gentle breezes trembling come. 

If ruthless Liza pass this way, 
She'll pu' thee frae thy thorny stem ; 
Awhile thou'lt grace her virgin breast, 
But soon thou'lt fade, my bonny gem. 

Ah, short, too short, thy rural reign, 
And yield to fate, alas ! thou must : 
Bright emblem of the virgin train, 
Thou blooms, alas ! to mix wi' dust. 

Sae bonny Liza hence may learn, 
Wi' every youthfu' maiden gay, 
That beauty, like the simmer's rose, 
In time shall wither and decay.] 



[)ou art gane aloa. 



This tune is the same with ' 
me, Donald." 



Haud awa frae 



[Both tune and words of " Thou art gane 
awa" have been modernized, and not unskil- 
fully : the last verse is the best. 

Tho' you've been false, yet while I live 

I'll lo'e nae maid but thee, Mary ; 
Let friends forget as I forgive 

Thy wrangs to them and me, Mary. 
So then farewell ! — of this be sure, 

Since you've been false to me, Mary, 
For a' the world I'll not endure 

Half what I've done for thee, Mary.] 



Cije CcarS If fytto must tbtv fall. 

This song of genius was composed by a 
Miss Cranstoun. It wanted four lines, to make 
all the stanzas suit the music, which I added, 
and are the first four of the last stanza. 



[Miss Cranstoun was the sister of George, 
Lord Cranstoun, a Lord of Session in Scotland. 
She became the second wife of one as accom- 
plished as herself, the celebrated Professor 
Dugald Stewart : of her poetic genius this 
exquisite song will long continue a striking 
proof. She died on the 28th of July, 1838, at 
the age of seventy-one. 



The tears I shed must ever fail ; 

I weep not for an absent swain, 
For time can past delights recall, 

And parted lovers meet again. 
I weep not for the silent dead, 

Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er, 
And those they lov'd their steps shall tread, 

And death shall join to part no more. 

Though boundless oceans roll between, 

If certain that his heart is near, 
A conscious transport glads the scene, 

Soft is the sigh and sweet the tear. 
E'en when by death's cold hand remov'd, 

We mourn the tenant of the tomb, 
To think that ev'n in death he lov'd, 

Can cheer the terrors of the gloom. 

But bitter, bitter is the tear 

Of her who slighted love bewails, 
No hopes her gloomy prospect cheer, 

No pleasing melancholy hails. 
Her's are the pangs of wounded pride, 

Of blasted hope, and wither'd joy : 
The yrop she lean'd on pierc'd her side, 

The flame she fed burns to destroy. 

In vain does memory renew 

The scenes once ting'd in transport's dye ; 
The sad reverse soon meets the view, 

And turns the thought to agony. 
Ev'n conscious virtue cannot cure 

The pangs to ev'ry feeling due ; 
Ungen'rous youth, thy boast how poor. 

To steal a heart, and break it too ! 

No cold approach, no alter 'd mien, 

Just what would make suspicion start ; 
No pause the dire extremes between, 

He made me blest — and broke my heart ! 
Hope from its only anchor torn, 

Neglected and neglecting all, 
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn, 

The tears I shed must ever fall.] 



Uamti) iSabte. 



This song, tradition says, and the compo- 
sition itself confirms it, was composed on the 
Rev. David Williamson's begetting the daugh- 
ter of Lady Cherrytrees with child, while a 
party of dragoons were searching her house to 
apprehend him fo** being an adherent to the 
solemn league and covenant. The pious wo- 
man had put a lady s night-cap on him, and 
had laid him a-bed with her own daughter, and 
passed him to the soldiery as a lady, her daugh- 
ter's bedfellow. A mutilated stanza or two are 
to be found in Herd's collection, but the origi- 
nal song consists of five or six stanzas, and 
were their delicacy equal to their wit and hu- 
mour, they would merit a place in any collec- 
tion. The first stanza is as follows : 

2 P 2 



580 



BURNS'S REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



Being pursued by the dragoons, 
Within my bed he "was laid down ; 
And weel I wat he was worth his room, 
For he was my daintie Davie. 

Ramsay's song, " Luckie Nansy," thougli 
he calls it an old song with additions, seems to 
be all his own, except the chorus : 

I was a telling you, 
Luckie Nansy, luckie Nansy, 
Auld springs wad ding the new, 
But ye wad never trow me. 

Which I should conjecture to be part of a song, 
prior to the affair of Williamson. 



["Luckie Nansy" is one of the very hap- 
piest of all Allan Ramsay's songs : — ■ 

While fops in soft Italian verse, 
Ilk fair ane's een and breast rehearse, 
While sangs abound and scene is scarce, 

These lines I have indited : 
But neither darts nor arrows here, 
Venus nor Cupid shall appear, 
And yet with these fine sounds I swear, 

The maidens are delighted. 

I was ay telling you, 
Lucky Nansy, lucky Nansy, 
Auld springs wad ding the new, 
But ye wad never Wow me. 

Nor snaw with crimson will I mix, 
To spread upon my lassie's cheeks ; 
And syne th' unmeaning name prefix, 

Miranda, Chloe, Phillis. 
I'll fetch nae simile frae Jove, 
My height of extacy to prove, 
Nor sighing, — thus — present my love 

With roses eke and lilies. 

I was ay telling you, &c. 

But stay — I had amaist forgot 
My mistress and my sang to boot, 
And that's an unco' faut, I wot : 

But Nansy, 'tis nae matter. 
Ye see I clink my verse wi' rhyme, 
And, ken ye, that atones the crime : 
Forbye, how sweet my numbers chime, 

And slide away like water ! 

I was ay telling you, &c. 

Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair, 
Thy runkled cheeks and lyart hair, 
Thy haff shut een and hodling air, 

Are a' my passion's fuel. 
Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see, 
Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee ; 
Yet thou hast charms enow for me, ■ 

Then smile, and be na cruel. 



Leeze me on thy snawy pow, 
Lucky Nansy, lucky Nansy, 
Dryest wood will eithest low, 
And Nansy, sae will ye now. 

Troth I have sung the sang to you, 
Which ne'er anither bard wad do j 
Hear then my charitable vow, 

Dear venerable Nansy, 
But if the warld my passion wrang, 
And say, ye only live in sang, 
Ken, I despise a sland'ring tongue, 

And sing to please my fancy. 
Leeze me on thy, &c. 

Tytler, on very doubtful authority, says that 
Duncan Forbes, of CuLoden, was the author ' 
of this song.] 



33ob o* ©ttmMaiu. 

Ramsay, as usual, has modernized this song. 
The original, which I learned on the spot, 
from my old hostess in the principal inn there, 



Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle, 
And I'll lend you my thripplin-kame ; 

My heckle is broken, it canna be gotten, 
And we'll gae dance the bob o' Dumblane. 

Twa gaed to the wood, to the wood, to the 

wood, 

Twa gaed to the wood — three came hame : 

An' it be na weel bobbit, weel bobbit, weel 

bobbit, 

An' it be na weel bobbit, we'll bob it again. 

I insert this song to introduce the following 
anecdote, which I have heard well authenti- 
cated. In the evening of the day of the bat- 
tle of .Jumblane (SherriT- Muir) when the 
action was over, a Scots officer, in Argyle's 
army, observed to his Grace that he was 
afraid the rebels would give out to the world 
that they had gotten the victory. — " Weel, 
weel," returned his Grace, alluding to the fore- 
going ballad, " if they think it be na weel 
bobbit, we'll bob it again." 



[The battle of Dumblane, or Sherriff-Muir, 
was fought on the 13th of November, 1715, be- 
tween the Earl of Mar, for the Chevalier, and 
the Duke of Argyle, for the government. — 
Both sides claimed the victory, the left wing of 
either army being routed. Ritson observes, it 
is very remarkable that the capture of Preston 
happened on the same day.] 



581 



THE AYR-SHIRE BALLADS. 



That Burns was a great admirer of the an- 
cient minstrelsy of the West of Scotland, his 
numerous notes on Scottish song sufficiently at- 
test. He was well acquainted with ballad lore, 
and communicated several interesting speci- 
mens to Johnson's Musical Museum : of these 
" Hughie Graeme," " The Gude AVallace," 
and the " Lochmaben Harper," are the best : 
his attention being afterwards drawn to the 
subject by William Tytler, Esq., of Wood- 
houselee, he recollected several snatches of old 
ballads, wrote them down, and sent them to his 
friend with the following letter : 

Sir, — Inclosed I have sent you a sample of 
the old pieces that are still to be found among 
our peasantry in the west. — I once had a great 
many of these fragments, and some of these 
here entire ; but as I had no idea then that any 
body cared for them, I have forgotten them. I 
invariably hold it sacrilege to add any thing of 
my own to help out with the shattered wrecks 
of these venerable old compositions ; but they 
have many various readings. If you have not 
seen these before, I know they will flatter your 
true old-style Caledonian feelings ; at any rate, 
I am truly happy to have an opportunity of 
assuring you how sincerely I am, Revered Sir, 
your grateful and obliged humble Servant, 

.Robert Burns. 

Lawnmarket, Edinburgh, August, 1/90. 

Many compositions of this description he 
rescued from oblivion, and sent them to the 
" Scots Musical Museum," and it appears to 
have been his design to recover all which were 
worthy of preservation. Several of them un- 
derwent his correction and emendation, as the 
subjoined unpublished extract from one of his 
letters will testify : — 

"The songs marked Z in the ' Museum/ I 
have given to the world as old verses of their 
respective tunes ; but, in fact, of a good many 
of them little more than the chorus is ancient, 
though there is no reason for telling every body j 
this piece of intelligence." ) 

The first of these Ballads is a western ver- ' 
sion of 

€i)t tiotm'c Mtns of ^.iitouj. 

Tune — Willie's Rare. 



Nae birdies sang the mirky hour 
Amang the braes o' Yarrow, 



But slumber'd on the dewy boughs 
To wait the waukening morrow. 

Where shall I gang, my ain true love, 
Where shall I gang to hide me ; 

For weel ye ken, i' yere father's bow'r, 
It wad be death to find me. 

O go ye to yon tavern house, 

An' there count owre your law in, 

An' if I be a woman true, 
I'll meet you in the dawin'. 

O he's gone to yon tavern house, 
An' ay he counted his lawin, 

An' ay he drank to her guid health 
Was to meet him in the dawin'. 

he's gone to yon tavern house, 
An' counted owre his lawin, 

When in there cam' three armed men, 
To meet him in the dawin'. 

O, woe be unto woman's wit, 

It has beguiled many ! 
She promised to come herseP 

But she sent three men to slay me ! 



Get up, get up, now, sister Ann, 
I fear we've wrought you sorrow ; 

Get up, ye'll find your true love slain, 
Among the banks of Yarrow. 

She sought him east, she sought him west, 
She sought him braid and narrow, 

'Till in the clintin of a craig 

She found him drown'd in Yarrow. 

She's ta'en three links of her yellow hair, 
That hung down lang and yellow, 

And she's tied it about sweet Willie's waist, 
An' drawn him out of Yarrow. 



I made my love a suit of clothes, 
I clad him all in tartan, 

But ere the morning sun arose 
He was a' bluid to the gartan. 



Cetera desunt. 



[Hamilton, of Bangour, must have been ac- 
quainted with this western version of the "Dowie 
dens of Yarrow" when he wrote his very affect- 
ing ballad : it seems also to have been known 



582 



THE AYR-SHIRE BALLADS. 



to Logan : it appears however to have escaped 
the researches of that most vigilant and poetic 
of all antiquaries, Sir Walter Scott, whose ver- 
sion in the Border Minstrelsy has little in com- 
mon with the fragment which the Bard of Ayr 
preserved. It would seem that Scott had failed 
in obtaining the entire ballad : his copy begins 
obscurely as well as abruptly. 

Late at e'en drinking the wine, 
And ere they paid the lawing ; 

They set a combat 'tween them twa, 
To fight it in the dawing. 

O stay at hame, my noble lord, 
O stay at hame, my marrow ; 

My cruel brother will you betray, 
On the dowie houms o' Yarrow. 

Two tall grey stones stand about eighty paces 
distant from each other, to mark out the spot 
where this contest took place in which both pe- 
rished : but whether they are to be considered 
as a memorial of the " Willie" of the present 
ballad is uncertain.] 



3aob &od. 



Tune— A rude set of the Mill, Mill, 1 

Rob Roy from the Highlands came 

Unto the Lawlan' border, 
To steal awa a gay ladie, 

To liaud his house in order : 
He cam owre the loch o' Lynn, 

Twenty men his arms did carry • 
Himsel gaed in an' fand her out, 

Protesting he would marry. 

will ye gae wi' me, he says, 
Or will ye be my honey ; 

Or will ye be my wedded wife, 
For I love you best of ony : 

1 winna gae wi' you, she says, 
Nor will I be your honey ; 

Nor will I be your wedded wife, 
You love me for my money. 



But he set her on a coal black steed, 

Himsel lap on behind her ; 
An' he's awa to the highland hills, 

Whare her frien's they canna find her. 

[The song went on to narrate the forcing her 
to bed ; when the tune changes to something 
like "Jenny dang the weaver."] 



Rob Roy was my father ca'd, 
Macgregor was his name, ladie 



He led a band o' heroes bauld, 
An' I am here the same, ladie. 

Be content, be content, 
Be content to stay, ladie ; 

For thou art my wedded wife 
Until thy dying day, ladie. 

He was a hedge unto his frien's, 

A heckle to his foes, ladie ; 
Every one that durst him wrang, 

He took him by the nose, ladie. 
I'm as bold, I'm as bold, 

I'm as bold, an' more, ladie ; 
He that daurs dispute my word 

Shall feel my guid claymore, ladie. 



[" The history of Rob Roy the reader may 
find at great length in Maclaurin's Criminal 
Trials. He was the son of the Rob Roy Macgregor 
who figures in the Rebellion, 1715. The short 
account of him is this. He was outlawed by 
sentence of the Court of Justiciary in Scotland, 
in 1736, for not appearing to stand trial for the 
murder of a man of the name of Maclaren. In 
this state of outlawry, he formed the mad and 
desperate project of carrying off and forcibly 
accomplishing a marriage with Jane Key, heiress 
of Edinbelly, and thus getting possession of her 
estate. He and his brother James Macgregor, 
at the head of a band of armed ruffians, entered 
her mother's house, dragged her out, and tying 
her, hand and foot, with ropes, laid her across a 
horse, and brought her in this situation to the 
house of one of their clan, in a wild and seques- 
tered part of the mountains of Argyle-shire ; 
where, after some show of a marriage ceremony, 
she was put to bed, and forcibly compelled to 
submit to his embraces. 

On a discovery of the place of her conceal- 
ment she was rescued by her relations, and Rob 
Roy, and his brother James, were tried capitally 
for the crime. James made his escape from pri- 
son before sentence, was outlawed in conse- 
quence, and some years afterwards obtained a 
pardon. Rob Roy was condemned and exe- 
cuted, February, 1753." — Cromek.] 



^otmg Hpntfjjovn. 



N ear Edinburgh was a young son born, 

Hey lilelu an' a how low Ian', 
An' his name it was called young Hyndhorn, 

An' its hey down down deedle airo. 

Seven long years he served the king, 

An' it's a' for the sake of his daughter Jean. 



YOUNG HYNDHORN. 



58b 



The king an angry man was he, 
He sent young Hyndhorn to the sea. 

* * * 

An' on his finger she put a ring. 

* * * 

When your ring turns pale an' wan, 
Then I'm in love wi' another man. 

* * * 

Upon a day he look'd at his ring, 
It was as pale as any thing. 

He's left the sea, an' he's come to the Ian', 
An' there he met an auld beggar man. 

What news, what news, my auld beggar man, 
What news, what news by sea or by Ian'. 

Nae news, nae news, the auld beggar said, 
But the king's dochter Jean is going to be wed. 

Cast aff, cast aff thy auld beggar- weed, 
An' I'll gie thee my gude grey steed. 



* [The story of Hynd Horn seems to have been popular 
with our ancient metre ballad-mongers, for it may be traced 
in several of the olden strains whioh delighted our forefathers. 

Mr. Cromek seems not to have been aware of the jewel he 
had picked up, as it is passed over without a single remark. 
We have been fortunate enough to recover two copies from 
recitation, which, joined to the stanzas preserved by Mr. Cro- 
mek, have enabled us to present it to the public in its present 
complete state. Though Hynd Horn possesses no claims 
upon the reader's attention on account of its poetry, yet it 
is highly valuable as illustrative of the history of romantic 
ballad. In fact, it is nothing else than a portion of the 
ancient English metrical romance of " Kyng Horn," which 
some benevolent pen, peradventure, "for luf of the lewed 
man," hath stripped of its " quainte Inglis," and given — 

" In symple speche as he couthe, 
That is lightest in maune's mouthe." 

Of this the reader will be at once convinced, if he com- 
pares it with the romance alluded to, or rather with the frag- 
ment of the one preserved in the Auchinleck MS., entitled, 
"Home Childe and Maiden Riminild," both of which an- 
cient poems are to be found in Ritson's Metrical Romances. 

It is, perhaps, unnecessary to remind the reader, that 
Hend or Hynd means 'courteous, kind, affable,' &c, epi- 
thets, which, we doubt not, the hero of the ballad was fully 
entitled to assume. — Motherwell. 

Near Edinburgh was a young child born, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
And his name it was called young Hynd Horn, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

Seven long years he served the king, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
And it's a' for the sake of his dochter Jean, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

The king an angry man was he, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
He sent young Hynd Horn to the sea, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" Oh ! I never saw my love before, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
Till I saw her thro' an augre bore, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

"And she gave to me a gay gold ring, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 



When he cam to our guid king's yett, [sake, 
He sought a glass o' wine for young Hyndhorn's 

He drank out the wine an' he put in the ring, 
An' he bade them carry' t to the king's dochter 
Jean. 



gat ye't by sea, or gat ye't by Ian', 
Or gat ye't aff a dead man's han' ? 

1 gat na't by sea, I gat na't by Ian', 
But I gat it out of your own han'. 



Go take away my bridal gown, 

An' I'll follow him frae town to town. 

Ye need na leave your bridal gown, 
For I'll make ye ladie o' mony a town.* 



With three shining diamonds set therein, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" And I gave to her a silver wand, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

With three singing lavrocks set thereon, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" What if those diamonds lose their hue ? 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
Just when my love begins for to rue, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

' For when your ring turns pale and wan, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
Then I'm in love with another man, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

He's left the land, and he's gone to the sea, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And he's stay'd there seven years and a day, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

Seven lang years he has been on the sea, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

And Hynd Horn has look'd how his ring may be, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

But when he looked this ring upon, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

The shining diamonds were both pale and wan, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

Oh ! the ring it was both black and blue, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

And she's either dead, or she's married, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

He's left the seas, and he's come to the land, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And the first he met was an auld beggar man, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" What news ? what news ? my silly auld man ? 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
For it's seven years since I have seen land, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 



THE AYR-SHIRE BALLADS. 



"What news? what news? thou auld beggar man ; 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
What news ? what news ? by sea or land ? 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie.'* 

" No news at all," said the auld beggar man, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

" But there is a wedding in the king's hall, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" There is a king's dochter in the west, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And she has been married thir nine nights past, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" Into the bride-bed she winna gang, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

Till she hears tell of her ain Fynd Horn, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

" Wilt thou give to me thy begging coat, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And I'll give to thee my scarlet cloak, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" Wilt thou give to me thy begging staff, 
With a hey J.illelu and a how lo Ian , 

And I'll give to thee my good grey steed, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

The auld beggar man cast off his coat, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And he's ta'en up the scarlet cloak, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

The auld beggar man threw down his staff, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

And he is mounted the good grey steed, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

The auld beggar man was bound for the mill, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

But young Hynd Horn for the king's hall, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

The auld beggar man was bound for to ride, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 

But young Hynd Horn was bound for the bride, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

When he came to the king's gate, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 

He asked a drink for young Hynd Horn's sake, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie 

These news unto the bonnie bride came, 
With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 



That at the yett there stands an auld man, 
And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

There stands an auld man at the king's gate, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
He asketh a drink for young Hynd Horn's sake, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

" I'll go through nine fires so hot, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
But I'll give him a drink, for young Hynd Horn's sake, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

She went to the gate where the auld man did stand, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
And she gave him a drink out of her own hand, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

She gave him a cup out of her own hand, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
He drunk out the drink, and dropt in the ring, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" Got thou it by sea, or got thou it by land ? 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
Or got thou it off a dead man's hand? 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

" I got it not by sea, but I got it by land, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
For I got it out of thine own hand, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

" I'll cast off my gowns of brown, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
And I'll follow thee from town to town, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" I'll cast off my gowns of red, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Lin, 
And along with thee I'll beg my bread, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

" Thou need not cast off thy gowns of brown, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
For I can make thee lady of many a town, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 

" Thou need not cast off thy gowns of red, 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian, 
For I can maintain thee with both wine and bread, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie." 

The bridegroom thought he had the bonnie bride wed 

With a hey lillelu and a how lo Ian ; 
But young Hynd Horn took the bride to the bed, 

And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



[The letters of Burns extend over a large 
portion of his life : they are varied, vigorous, 
and characteristic. They are addressed to per- 
sons of almost all conditions : a few are to 
humble farmers and little lairds : some to vil- 
lage shop-keepers and parish school-masters : a 
number are to clergymen : many to noblemen 
and ladies of beauty and rank, while a great 
variety are written to men of high literary 
eminence, such as Tytler, Blair, Stewart, Ali- 
son, and Moore. They contain much of the 
personal history of the Poet : exhibit numerous 
sketches of character, pictures of l.ianners, and 
views of domestic life ; with many of those 
vivid touches and original sallies which com- 
municate to prose the feeling and sentiment of 
poetry. Almost all the letters which Burns 
wrote will be found in this edition of his works : 
from that first humble one which he addressed to 
his father, on the darkness of his future pros- 
pects, till that last and most mournful one writ- 
ten to James Armour, at Mauchline, begging 
his mother-in-law to hasten to Dumfries, for 
that his wife was about to be confined, and he 
was himself dying. 

"The letters of Burns,''' says Sir Walter 
Scott, " although containing passages of great 
eloquence, bear, occasionally, strong marks of 
affectation, with a tincture of pedantiy, rather 
foreign to the Bard's character and education. 
They are written in various tones of feeling, 
and modes of mind : in some instances exhibit- 
ing all the force of the writer's talents, in others 
only valuable because they bear his signa- 
ture."* Another critical judge has delivered a 
much sterner opinion. — " The prose works of 
Burns," says Jeffrey, " consist almost entirely 
of his letters. They bear, as well as his poetry, 
the seal and impress of his genius : but they 
contain much more bad taste, and are written 
with far more apparent labour. His poetry 
was almost all written primarily from feeling, 
and only secondarily from ambition. His let- 
ters seem to have been nearly all composed as 
exercises, and for display. There are few of 
them written with simplicity or plainness : and, 



though natural enough as to the sentiment, they 
are, generally, very strained and elaborate in 
the expression. A very great proportion of 
them, too, relate neither to facts nor feelings pe- 
culiarly connected with the author or his corres- 
pondent, but are made up of general declama- 
tion, moral reflectiors, and vague discussions — 
all evidently composed for the sake of effect." 

" In the critic's almost wholesale condemn- 
ation of the prose of Burns," says Cunning- 
ham, " the world has not concurred: he sins, 
somewhat indeed, in the spirit of Jeffrey's des- 
cription, but his errors are neither so serious nor 
so frequen^ as has been averred. In truth, his 
prose partakes largely of the character of his 
poetry : there is the same earnest vehemence of 
language : the same happy quickness of per- 
ception : the same mixture of the solemn 
with the sarcastic, and the humourous with 
the tender ; and the presence everywhere 
of that ardent and penetrating spirit which 
sheds light and communicates importance to 
all it touches. Pie is occasionally turgid, it 
is true ; neither is he so simple and unaffected 
in prose as he is in verse : but this is more the 
fault of his education than of his taste. His 
daily language was the dialect of his native 
land j and in that he expressed himself with 
almost miraculous clearness and precision : the 
language of his verse corresponds with that of 
his conversation : but the etiquette of his day 
required his letters to be in English ; and in 
that, to him, almost foreign tongue, he now and 
then moved with little ease or grace. Yet 
though a peasant, and labouring to express him- 
self in a language alien to his lips, his letters 
yield not in interest to those of the ripest scho- 
lars of the age. He wants the colloquial ease 
of Cowper, but he is less minute and tedious : 
he lacks the withering irony of Byron, but he 
has more humour, and infinitely less of that 
' pribble prabble ' which deforms the noble 
lord's correspondence and memoranda. 

"Wilson has, perhaps, expressed the truest 
opinion of all our critics concerning the letters 
of Burns, though he certainly errs when he 



I 



* [And are they not valuable inasmuch as they do bear 
that signature ? The devotion with which the memory of 
Burns is cherished by his countrymen has rendered the mean- 
est trifle which he penned inestimable in their eyes, and the 



may be said with regard to the lightest and most care- 
less effusions of the gifted spirit whom we have quoted, now 
since he has been called to mingle with ancestral dust within 
the hallowed precincts of Dryburgh abbey. — Motherwell.] 



says that the Poet wrote many of them when 
tipsy — nay, intoxicated. He belonged, indeed, 
to days of hard drinking : Pitt sometimes reeled 
when he rose to discourse on the state of the 
nation: Fox, it is averred, loved the bottle, — 
though he contrived to stand steady ; and She- 
ridan, it is well known, perfumed his eloquence 
with wine. There is something like intoxica- 
tion of feeling and sentiment in the letters of 
Burns ; but in the wildest of them sense and 
genius predominate." 

"The letters of Burns," observes Wilson, 
" are said to be too elaborate, the expression 
more studied and artificial than belongs to that 
species of composition. Now the truth is, 
Burns never considered letter writing ' a spe- 
cies of composition' subject to certain rules of 
taste and criticism. That had never occurred 
to him, and so much the better. But hundreds, 
even of his most familiar letters, are perfectly 
artless, though still most eloquent, compositions. 
Simple we may not call them, so rich are they 
tii fancy, so overflowing in feeling, and dashed 
off' every other paragraph with the easy bold- 
ness of a great master, conscious of his strength, 
even at times when, of all things in the world, 
he was least solicitous about display : while 
some there are so solemn, so sacred, so reli- 
gious, that he who can read them with an un- 
stirred heart can have no trust, no hope, in the 
immortality of the soul." To this eloquent 
commendation the heart of Scotland responds. 

Of his correspondence, Mr. Lockhart thus 
speaks with all the generous feeling of a con- 
genial and sympathising mind : — 

" From the time that Burns settled himself 
in Dumfries-shire, he appears to have conducted 
witli much care the extensive correspondence in 
which his celebrity had engaged him ; it is, 
however, very necessary in judging of these 
letters, and drawing inferences from their lan- 
guage as to the real sentiments and opinions of 
the writer, to take into consideration the rank 
and character of the persons to whom they were 
severally addressed, and the measure of inti- 
macy which really subsisted between them and 
the Poet. In his letters, as in his conversation, 
Burns, in spite of all his pride, did something 
to accommodate himself to his company : and 
he who did write the series of letters addressed 
to Mrs. Dunlop, Dr. Moore, Mr. Dugald 
Stewart, Miss Chalmers, and others, eminently 
distinguished as these are by purity, and noble- 
ness of feeling, and perfect propriety of lan- 
guage, presents himself, in other effusions of the 
same class, in colours which it would be rash to 
call his own. That he should have conde- 
scended to any such compliance must be regret- 
ted ; but, in most cases, it would probably be quite 
unjust to push our censure further than this." 

The critique upon his prose writings by Pro- 
fessor Walker, which we subjoin, is equally 
worthy of perusal :— 



" The prose writings of Burns consist almost 
solely of his correspondence, and are therefore 
to be considered as presenting no sufficient cri- 
terion of his powers. Epistolary effusions, 
being a sort of written conversation, participate 
in many of the advantages and defects of dis- 
course. They materially vary, both in subject 
and manner, with the character of the person 
addressed, to which the mind of their author 
for the moment assumes an affinity. To equals 
they are familiar and negligent, and to supe- 
riors they can scarcely avoid that transition, to 
careful effort and studied correctness, which the 
behaviour of the writer would undergo, when 
entering the presence of those to whom his 
talents were his only introduction. Burns, 
from the lowness of his origin, found himself 
inferior in rank to all his correspondents, except 
his father and brother ; and, although the supe- 
riority of his genius should have done more 
than correct this disparity of condition, yet 
between pretensions so incommensurable it is 
difficult to produce a perfect equality. Burns 
evidently labours to reason himself into a feel- 
ing of its completeness, but the very frequency 
of his efforts betrays his dissatisfaction with 
their success, and he may therefore be consi- 
dered as writing under the influence of a desire 
to create or to preserve the admiration of his 
correspondents. In this object he must cer- 
tainly have succeeded ; for, if his letters are 
deficient in some of the charms of epistolary 
writing, the deficiency is supplied by others. 
If they occasionally fail in colloquial ease and 
simplicity, they abound in genius, in richness 
of sentiment, and strength of expression. The 
taste of Burns, according to the judgment of 
Professor Stewart, was not sufficiently correct 
and refined to relish chaste and artless prose, 
but was captivated by writers who labour their 
periods into a pointed and antithetical bril- 
liancy. What he preferred he would naturally 
be ambitious to imitate ; and though he might 
have chosen better models, yet those which 
were his choice he has imitated with success. 
Even in poetry, if we may judge from his few 
attempts in English heroic measure, he was as 
far from attaining, and perhaps from desiring to 
attain, the flowing sweetness of Goldsmith, as 
he is in his letters from aiming at the graceful 
ease of Addison, or the severe simplicity of 
Swift. Burns in his prose seems never to have 
forgot that he was a poet ; but, though his style 
may be taxed with occasional luxuriance, and 
with the admission of crowded and even of 
compounded epithets, few will deny that genius 
is displayed in their invention and application, 
as few will deny that there is eloquence in the 
harangue of an Indian Sachem, although it be 
not in the shape to which we are accustomed, 
nor pruned of its flowers by the critical exact- 
ness of a British orator. 

" It is to be observed, however, that Burns 



GENEKAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



587 



could diversify his style with great address to 
suit the taste of his various correspondents : 
and that when he occasionally swells it into de- 
clamation, or stiffens it into pedantry, it is for 
the amusement of an individual whom he knew 
it would amuse, and should not be mistaken for 
the style which he thought most proper for the 
public. The letter to his father, for whom he 
had a deep veneration, and of whose applause 
he was no doubt desirous, is written with care, 
but with no exuberance. It is grave, pious, 
and gloomy, like the mind of the person who 
was to receive it. In his correspondence with 
Dr. Blair, Mr. Stewart, Mr. Graham, and Mr. 
Erskine, his style has a respectful propriety 
and a regulated vigour which shew a just con- 
ception of what became himself, and suited his 
relation with the persons whom he addressed. 
He writes to Mr. Nicol in a vein of strong and 
ironical extravagance, which was congenial to 
the manner, and adapted to the taste, of his 
friend. To his female correspondents, without 
excepting the venerable Mrs. Dunlop, he is 
lively, and sometimes romantic ; and a skilful 
critic may perceive his pen under the influence 
of that tenderness for the feminine character 
which has been already noticed. In short, 
through the whole collection, we see various 
shades of gravity and care, or of sportive pomp 
and intentional affectation, according to the fa- 
miliarity which subsisted between the writer 
and the person for whose exclusive perusal he 
wrote : and before we estimate the merit of any 
single letter, we should know the character of 
both correspondents, and the measure of their 
intimacy. These remarks are suggested by the 
objections of a distinguished critic, to a letter 
which was communicated to Mr. Cromek, with- 
out its address, by the author of this critique, 
and which occurs in the ' Reliques of Burns.' 
The censure would perhaps have been softened, 
had the critic been aware that the timidity 
which he blames was no serious attempt at fine 
writing, but merely a playful effusion in mock- 
heroic, to divert a friend whom he had formerly 
succeeded in diverting with similar sallies. 
Burns was sometimes happy in short compli- 
mentary addresses, of which a specimen is sub- 
joined. It is inscribed on the blank-leaf of a 
book presented to Mrs. Graham of Fintray, 
from which it was copied, by that lady's per- 
mission : — 

TO Mrs. GRAHAM OF FINTRAY. 

( It is probable, Madam, that this page may 
be read when the hand that now writes it shall 
be mouldering in the dust : may it then bear 
witness that I present you these volumes as a 
tribute of gratitude, on my part ardent and 
sincere, as your and Mr. Graham's goodness to 



me has been generous and noble ! May every 
child of yours, in the hour of need, find such a 
friend as I shall teach every child of mine that 
their father found in you. 

Robert Burns.' 

" The letters of Burns may on the whole be 
regarded as a valuable offering to the public. 
They are curious, as evidences of his genius, 
and interesting, as keys to his character ; and 
they can scarcely fail to command the admira- 
tion of all who do not measure their pretensions 
by an unfair standard." 

" Of the following letters," says Currie, " a 
considerable number were transmitted for pub- 
lication by the individuals to whom they were 
addressed, but very few have been printed en- 
tire. It will easily be believed that in a series 
of letters written without the least view to pub- 
lication, various passages were found unfit for 
the press, from different considerations. It will 
also be readily supposed that our Poet, writing 
nearly at the same time, and under the same 
feelings to different individuals, would some- 
times fall into the same train of sentiment and 
forms of expression. To avoid, therefore, the 
tediousness of such repetitions, it has been found 
necessary to mutilate many of the individual 
letters, and sometimes to exscind parts of great 
delicacy — the unbridled effusions of panegyric 
and regard. But though many of the letters 
are printed from originals furnished by the per- 
sons to whom they were addressed, others are 
printed from first draughts, or sketches, found 
among the papers of our Bard. Though, in 
general, no man committed his thoughts to his 
correspondents with less consideration or effort 
than Burns, yet it appears that in some instances 
he was dissatisfied with his first essays, and 
wrote out his communications in a fairer cha- 
racter, or perhaps in more studied language. 
In the chaos of the manuscripts, some of the 
original sketches were found : and as these 
sketches, though less perfect, are fairly to be 
considered as the offspring of his mind, where 
they have seemed in themselves worthy of a 
place in this volume, we have not hesitated to 
insert them, though they may not always cor- 
respond exactly with the letters transmitted, 
which have been lost or withheld." 

Time, since the days of Currie, has removed 
many of the obstacles which influenced him in 
suppressing portions of these inimitable letters. 
Those passages omitted from personal considera- 
tions are now restored. A number of highly 
interesting original letters are in this edition, 
for the first time, given to the world, and it is 
believed the correspondence of the illustrious 
Bard is now presented in a more complete form 
than it has ever yet appeared.] 



THE WORKS OF BURN IS. 



No. I. 
TO WILLIAM BURNESS. 

Irvine, Dec. 27th, 1781. 

Honoured Sir: 

I have purposely delayed writing, in the 
hope that I should have the pleasure of seeing 
you on New- Year's day ; but work comes so 
hard upon us that I do not choose to be absent 
on that account, as well as for some other little 
reasons which I shall tell you at meeting. My 
health is nearly the same as when you were 
here, only my sleep is a little sounder, and on 
the whole I am rather better than otherwise, 
though I mend by very sIoav degrees. The 
weakness of my nerves has so debilitated my 
mind that I dare neither review past wants, 
nor look forward into futurity ; for the least 
anxiety or perturbation in my breast produces 
most unhappy effects on my whole frame. — 
Sometimes, indeed, when for an hour or two 
my spirits are alightened, I glimmer a little 
into futurity ; but my principal, and indeed my 
only pleasurable, employment, is looking back- 
wards and forwards in a moral and religious 
way ; I am quite transported at the thought, 
that ere long, perhaps very soon, I shall bid an 
eternal adieu to all the pains, and uneasiness, 
and disquietudes of this weary life ; for I as- 
sure you I am heartily tired of it ; and, if I do 



* [The verses of Scripture here alluded to are as follows : — 
Rev. vii. 15 Therefore are they before the throne of God, 
and serve him day and night in his temple ; and he that 
sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. 

16 They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; 
neither shall the sun light on them, nor any jeat. 

17 For the Lamb, which is in the midst of the throne, 
shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of 
waters ; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.] 

t [When Burns wrote this touching letter to his father, he 
was toiling as a heckler in his unfortunate flax speculation, a 
dull as well as a dusty employment. On the fourth day after 
it was penned, the Poet and his relation Peacock were wel- 
coming in the new year; a lighted candle touched some flax, 
and there was an end to all their hopes. 

Of William Burness, the father of the Poet, much has al- 
ready been said : he was a worthy and pious man, desirous of 
maintaining right discipline in his house, and solicitous about 
the present and future welfare of his children. He was some- 
what austere of manners ; loved not boisterous jocularity ; 
was rarely himself moved to laughter, and has been described 
as abstemious of speech. His early and continued misfortunes, 
though they saddened his brow, never affected the warm be- 
nevolence of his nature ; he was liberal to the poor, and stern 
and self-denying only to himself. He is buried in Alloway 
kirk-yard, and his grave is visited by all who desire to pay 
homage to the fame of his eminent son. — Cunningham.] 

% [It is no uncommon case for a small farmer, or even 
cotter, in Scotland, to have a son placed at some distant 
seminary of learning, or serving an apprenticeship to some 
metropolitan writer or tradesman ; in which case, the ycuth 
is almost invariably supplied with oatmeal, the staple of the 
poor Scotsman's life — cheese, perhaps— oaten or .arley bread, 
&c, from the home stores, by the intervention of the weekly 
or fortnightly carrier. There is an anecdote related of a gen- 
tleman, now high in consideration at the Scottish bar, whose 
father, a poor villager, in the upper ward of Lanark-shire, 
having contrived to get him placed at Glasgow university, 
supported him there chiefly by a weekly bag of oatmeal. On 
one occasion, the supply was stopped for nearly three weeks 



not very much deceive myself, I could content- 
edly and gladly resign it. 

" The soul, uneasy, and confin'd at home, 
Rests and expatiates in a life to come." 

It is for this reason I am more pleased with the 
15th, 16th, and 17th verses of the 7th chapter 
of Revelations than with any ten times as 
many verses in the whole Bible, and would not 
exchange the noble enthusiasm with which they 
inspire me, for all that this world has to offer.* 
As for this world, I despair of ever making a 
figure in it. I am not formed for the bustle of 
the busy, nor the flutter of the gay. 1 shall 
never again be capable of entering into such 
scenes. Indeed, I am altogether unconcerned 
at the thoughts of this life. I foresee that po- 
verty and obscurity probably await me, and I 
am in some measure prepared, and daily pre- 
paring, to meet them. I have but just time and 
paper to return you my grateful thanks for the 
lessons of virtue and piety you have given me, 
which were too much neglected at the time of 
giving them, but which I hope have been re- 
membered ere it is yet too late. Present my 
dutiful respects to my mother, and my compli- 
ments to Mr. and Mrs. Muir ; and with wish- 
ing you a merry New-year's day, I shall con- 
clude. I am, honoured sir, your dutiful son, 
Robert Burness.-|- 

P.S. My meal is nearly out, but I am going 
to borrow till I get more. J 



by a snow-storm. The young man's meal, like Burns's, was 
out ; but his pride, or his having no intimate acquaintance, 
prevented him from borrowing. And this remarkable and 
powerful-minded man had all but perished before the dis- 
solving snow allowed a new stock of provisions to reach him. 
— Chambers. 

" One of the most striking letters in the Collection," 
(Cromek's Reliques of Burns,) says Jeffrey, " and to us, one 
of the most interesting, is the earliest of the whole series ; 
being addressed to his father in 1781, six or seven years be- 
fore his name had been heard out of his own family. The 
author was then a common flax-dresser, and his father a poor 
peasant; — yet there is not one trait of vulgarity, either in 
thought or expression ; but, on the contrary, a dignity and 
elevation of sentiment which must have been considered as 
of good omen in a youth of much higher condition." 

" This letter," says Dr. Currie, " written several years be- 
fore the publication of his poems, when his name was as 
obscure as his condition was humble, displays the philoso- 
phic melancholy which so generally forms the poetical tern 
perament, and that buoyant and ambitious spirit, which 
indicates a mind cautious of its strength. At Irvine, Burns 
at this time possessed a sinple room for his lodgings, rented 
perhaps at the rate of a shilling a- week. He passed his days 
in constant labour, as a flax-dresser, and his food consisted 
chiefly of oatmeal, sent to him fr-^m his father's family. The 
store of this humble though wholesome nutriment, it appears, 
was nearly exhausted, an " he was about to borrow till he 
should obtain a supply. Vet even in this situation his active 
imagination had formed to itselt pictures of eminence and 
distinction. His despair of making a figure in the world 
shows how ardently he wished for honourable fame ; and his 
contempt of life, founded on this despair, is the genuine ex- 
pression of a youthful and generous mind. In such a state 
of reflection and of suffering, the imagination of Burns na- 
turally passed the dark boundaries of our earthly horizon, 
and rested on those beautiful creations of a better world, 
where there is neither thirst, nor hunger, nor sorrow, and 
where happiness shall be in proportion to the capacity of 
happiness."] 



GENERAL COHRE SPONDEN CE. 



589 



N T o. II. 
TO Mr. JOHN MURDOCH, 

SCHOOL-MASTER, 
STAPLES INN BUILDINGS, LONDON. 

Lochlea, \bth January, 1783. 

Dear Sir : 

As I have an opportunity of sending you a 
letter without putting you to that expense 
which any production of mine would but ill re- 
pay, I embrace it with pleasure, to tell you that 
I have not forgotten, nor ever will forget, the 
many obligations I lie under to your kindness 
and friendship. 

I do not doubt, Sir, but you will wish to 
know what has been the result of all the pains 
of an indulgent father, and a masterly teacher ; 
and I wish I could gratify your curiosity with 
such a recital as you would be pleased with ; — 
but that is what I am afraid will not be the 
case. I have, indeed, kept pretty clear of vi- 
cious habits ; and, in this respect, I hope, my 
conduct will not disgrace the education I have 
gotten ; but as a man of the world, I am most 
miserably deficient. One would have thought 
that, bred as I have been, under a father who 
has figured pretty well as un homme des af- 
faires, I might have been what the world calls 
a pushing, active fellow ; but to tell you the 
truth, Sir, there is hardly any thing more my 
reverse. I seem to be one sent into the world, 
to see and observe ; and I very easily compound 
with the knave who tricks me of my money, if 
there be any thing original about him, which 
shews me human nature in a different light 
from any thing I have seen before. In short, 
the joy of my heart i« to " study men, their 
manners, and their ways;" and for this darling 
subject, I cheerfully sacrifice every other consi- 
deration. I am quite indolent about those 
great concerns that set the bustling, busy sons 
of care agog ; and if I have to answer for the 
present hour, I am very easy with regard to any 
thing further. Even the last, worst shift of the 
unfortunate and the wretched * does not much 
terrify me : I know that even then my talent 



* [The last shift alluded to here must be the condition of 
an itinerant beggar. — Currie.] 

t [" As exhibiting the progress of the Poet's studies, as well 
as the names of his favourite authors, this letter, addressed 
to his old teacher at Lochlea, Mr. Murdoch, is very interest- 
ing, and affords us an insight into the origin of part of that 
sentimentalism and exaggeration of feeling which are occa- 
sionally perceptible, both in his prose and poetical works. 
After this confession, it is no marvel to us that the muse of 
Coila, when she presented herself to the imaginings of her 
only and choicest son, when sitting 'lanely by the ingle 
cheek,' had ' a hair - brained sentimental trace strongly 
marked in her face.' Burns, at this period, however, had a 
full consciousness of his own innate powers, and the pride 
of genius breaks out in almost every line. The glorious tri- 
umph does indeed swell the heart, and in his confidential 
letter to his early preceptor, he makes no attempts to con- 
ceal it." — Motherwell. 



for what country folks call " a sei sible crack," 
when once it is sanctified by a hoary head, | 
would procure me so much esteem that even 
then — I would learn to be happy. HoAvever, 
I am under no apprehensions about that ; for 
though indolent, yet so far as an extremely de- 
licate constitution permits, I am not lazy ; and 
in many things, especially in tavern matters, I 
am a strict economist ; not, indeed, for the sake 
of the money ; but one of the principal parts 
in my composition is a kind of pride of sto- 
mach ; and I scorn to fear the face of any man 
living : above every thing, I abhor as hell the 
idea of sneaking in a corner to avoid a dun — 
possibly some pitiful, sordid wretch, who in my 
heart I despise and detest. 'Tis this, and this 
alone, that endears economy to me. In the 
matter of books, indeed, I am very profuse. — 
My favorite authors are of the sentimental 
kind, such as Shenstone, particularly his 
" Elegies ;" Thomson; " Man of Feeling" — a 
book I prize next to the Bible; "Man of the 
World •" Sterne, especially his " Sentimental 
Journey •" Macpherson's <l Ossian," &c. ; — 
these are the glorious models after which I en- 
deavour to form my conduct, and 'tis incon- 
gruous, — 'tis absurd to suppose that the man 
whose mind glows with sentiments lighted up 
at their sacred flame — the man whose heart dis- 
tends with benevolence to all the human race — 
he " who can soar above this little scene of 
things" — can he descend to mind the paltry 
concerns about which the terras-filial race fret, 
and fume, and vex themselves ! O how the 
glorious triumph swells my heart ! I forget 
that I am a poor, insignificant devil, unnoticed 
and unknown, stalking up and down fairs and 
markets, when I happen to be in them, reading 
a page or two of mankind, and " catching the 
manners living as they rise," whilst the men 
of business jostle me on every side, as an idle 
incumbrance in their way. — But I dare say I 
have by this time tired your patience; so I 
shall conclude with begging you to give Mrs. 
Murdoch — not my compliments, for that is a 
mere common-place story ; but my warmest, 
kindest wishes for her welfare ; and accept of 
the same for yourself, from, dear Sir, yours, 

R. B.f 



John Murdoch, as has already been intim .lad, kept the 
school of Lochlea, and instructed for a time the sons of 
William Burness. He was much of an enthuscst in his 
calling, and took delight in teaching such quick boys as the 
Poet and his brother ; he was a frequent guest at the good 
man's fire-side, and spent the hours of evening in profitable 
conversation, on poetry, history, and religion. He removed 
to London, and maintained himself by his learning ; nor was 
it without some surprise, it is said, that he first heard of his 
pupil's fame in poetry. — " Gilbert," observes this discerning 
teacher, " always appeared to me to possess a more lively 
imagination, and to be more of a wit, than Robert. I at- 
tempted to teach them a little church music ; here they were 
left far behind by all the rest of the school. Robert's ear, 
in particular, was remarkably dull, and his voice untuneable ; 
his countenance was generally grave, and expressive of a 
serious, contemplative, and thoughtful mind. Gilbert's face 
said, ' Mirth, with thee I mean to live;' and certainly, if 



690 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. III. 
TO Mr. JAMES BURN ESS, 

WRITER, MONTROSE.* 



Dear Sir : 



Lochlea, 21st Junr., 1783. 



My father received your favour of the 10th 
current, and as he has been fo, some months 
very poorly in health, and is in his own opinion 
(and, indeed, in almost every body's else) in a 
dying condition, he has only, with great diffi- 
culty, written a few farewell lines to each of 
his brothers-in-law. For this melancholy rea- 
son, I now hold the pen for him to thank you 
for your kind letter, and to assure you, Sir, that 
it shall not be my fault if my father's corres- 
pondence in the north die with him. My bro- 
ther writes to John Caird, and to him I must 
refer you for the news of our family. 

I shall only trouble you with a few particu- 
lars relative to the wretched state of this coun- 
try. Our markets are exceedingly high ; 
oatmeal, 17^. and 18c?. per peck, and not to be 



any person, who knew the two boys, had been asked which 
of them was most likely to court the muses, he would surely 
ne^er have guessed that Robert had a propensity of that 
kind." 

Mr. John Murdoch died April 20, 1824, aged seventy-seven. 
He had published a Radical Vocabulary of the French lan- 
guage, 12mo. 1/83 ; Pronunciation and Orthography of the 
French language, 8vo. 1788 ; Dictionary of Distinctions, 
8vo. 1811 ; and other works. He was a highly amiable and 
worthy man. In his latter days, illness had reduced him 
to the brink of destitution, and an appeal was made to the 
friends and admirers of his illustrious pupil, in his behalf. 
Some money was thus raised, and applied to the relief of his 
necessities. It is stated, in the obituary notice of Mr. Mur- 
doch, published in the London papers, that he had taught 
English in London to several distinguished foreigners ; 
among the rest, to the celebrated Talleyrand, during his 
residence as an emigrant in England.] 

The following is Mr. Murdoch's reply to the letter of 
Burns : — 

London, October 20th, 1/87. 
My dear Sir, 

As my friend Mr. Brown is going from this place to your 
neighbourhood, I embrace the opportunity of telling you 
that I am yet alive, tolerably well, and always in expectation 
of being better. By the much-valued letters before me, I 
see that it was my duty to have given this intelligence about 
three years and nine months ago ; and have nothing to 
allege as an excuse but that we poor, busy, bustling bodies 
in London are so much taken up with the various pursuits 
in which we are here engaged that we seldom think of any 
person, creature, place, or thing, that is absent. But this is 
not altogether the case with me ; for I often think of you, 
and Hornie, and Russell, and an unfathomed depth, and 
lowan brunstane, all in the same minute, although you and 
they are (as I suppose) at a considerable distance. I flatter 
myself, however, with the pleasing thought that you and I 
shall meet some time or other, either in Scotland or England. 
If ever you come hither, you will have the satisfaction of see- 
ing your poems relished by the Caledonians in London, full 
as much they can be by those of Edinburgh. We frequently 
repeat some of your verses in our Caledonian Society ; and 
you may believe that I am not a little vain that I have had 
some share in cultivating such a g«.nius. I was not absolutely 
certain that you were the author, till a few days ago, when I 
made a visit to Mrs. Hill, Dr. M c Comb's eldest daughter, 
who lives in town, and who told me that she was informed of 
it by a letter from her sister in Edinburgh, with whom you 
had been in company when in that capital. 



got even at that price. We have indeed been 
pretty well supplied with quantities of white 
peas from England and elsewhere, but that re- 
source is likely to fail us, and what will become 
of us then, particularly the very poorest sort, 
Heaven only knows. This country, till of late, 
was flourishing incredibly in the manufacture 
of silk, lawn, and carpet- weaving ; and we are 
still carrying on a good deal in that way, but 
much reduced from what it was. We had also 
a fine trade in the shoe way, but now entirely 
ruined, and hundreds driven to a starving con- 
dition on account of it. Farming is also at a 
very low ebb with us. Our lands, generally 
speaking, are mountainous and barren ; and 
our landholders, full of ideas of farming, ga- 
thered from the English and the Lothians, and 
other rich soils in Scotland, make no allow- 
ance for the odds of the quality of land, and 
consequently stretch us much beyond what in 
the event we will be found able to pay. We 
are also much at a loss for want of proper me- 
thods in our improvements of farming. Neces- 
sity compels us to leave our old schemes, and 
few of us have opportunities of being well in- 



Pray let me know if you have any intention of visiting this 
huge, overgrown metropolis. It would afford matter for a 
large poem. Here you would have an opportunity of indulg- 
ing your views in the study of mankind, perhaps to a greater 
degree than in any city upon the face ol the globe ; for the 
inhabitants of London, as you know, are a collection of all 
nations, kindreds, and tongues, who make it, as it were, the 
centre of their commerce. 

***** 

Present my respectful compliments to Mrs. Burness, to my 
dear friend Gilbert, and all the rest of her amiable children. 
May the Father of the Universe bless you all with those prin- 
ciples, and dispositions that the best of parents took such 
uncommon pains to instil into your minds, from your earliest 
infancy. May you live as he did ; if you do, you can never 
be unhappy. I feel myself grown serious all at once, and 
affected in a manner I cannot describe. I shall only add 
that it is one of the greatest pleasures I promise myself be- 
fore I die, that of seeing the family of a man whose memory 
I revere more than that of any person that ever I was ac- 
quainted with. I am, my dear Friend, 

Yours sincerely, 

John Murdoch. 

* [This gentleman (the son of an elder brother of my fa- 
ther), when he was very young, lost his parent, and having 
discovered in his repositories some of my father's let= 
ters, he requested that the correspondence might be re- 
newed. My father continued till the last year of his life to 
correspond with his nephew, and it was afterwards kept up 
by my brother. Extracts from some of my brother's letters 
to his cousin are introduced in this edidon for the purpose 
of exhibiting the Poet before he had attracted the notice of 
the public, and in his domestic family relations afterwards. 
— Gilbert Burns. 

He was grandfather of Lieutenant Burnes, author of Tra- 
vels in Bokhara, published a few years' since. 

Jcmes Burness, son of the Poet's uncle, lives at Montrose, 
and has seen fame come to his house in a two-fold way ; viz. 
through his eminent cousin Robert, and, dearer still, through 
his own grandson, Lieutenant Burnes, with whose talents and 
intrepidity the world is well acquainted. He is now, as may 
be surmised, descending into the vale of years : his faculties 
are still unimpaired, and his love of his own ancient name 
nothing lessened. He adheres— and we honour him for it— 
to the spelling of his ancestors ; and is not at all pleased at 
the change made in the name ; and even sighs, it is said, 
because his grandsons have adopted, in part, tL.^ Poet's mo- 
il ification. — Cunningham.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



591 



formed in new ones. In short, my dear Sir, 
since the unfortunate beginning of this Ameri- 
can war, and its as unfortunate conclusion, this 
country has been, and still is, decaying very 
fast. Even in higher life, a couple of our Ayr- 
shire noblemen, and the major part of our 
knights and squires, are all insolvent. A mi- 
serable job of a Douglas, Heron, and Co.'s 
bank, which no doubt you heard of, has un- 
done numbers of them ; and imitating English 
and French, and other foreign luxiries and fop- 
peries, has ruined as many more. There is a 
great trade of smuggling carried on along our 
coasts, which, however destructive to the in- 
terests of the kingdom at large, certainly 
enriches this corner of it, but too often at the 
expense of our morals. However, it enables 
individuals to make, at least for a time, a splen- 
did appearance ; but Fortune, as is usual with 
her when she is uncommonly lavish of her 
favours, is generally even with them at the 
last ; and happy were it for numbers of them 
if she would leave them no worse than when 
she found them. 

My mother sends you a small present of a 
cheese ; 'tis but a very little one, as our last 
year's stock is sold oif; but if you could fix on 
any correspondent in Edinburgh or Glasgow, 
we would send you a proper one in the season. 
Mrs. Black promises to take the cheese under 
her care so far, and then to send it to you by 
the Stirling carrier. 

I shall conclude this long letter with assuring 
you that I shall be very happy to hear from 
you, or any of our friends in your country, 
when opportunity serves. 

My father sends you, probably for the last 
time in this world, his warmest wishes for your 
welfare and happiness ; and my mother and the 
rest of the family desire to inclose their kind 
compliments to you, Mrs. Burness, and the rest 
of your family, along with those of, 
Dear Sir, 
Your affectionate Cousin, R. B. 



No. IV. 



TO Miss ELIZA B*** * 

Lochlea, 1783. 

I verily believe, my dear Eliza, that the 
pure genuine feelings of love are as rare in the 



* [This, and the three succeeding letters, were included in 
the first edition of the posthumous works of the Poet, but, 
for reasons which may be easily imagined, they were omitted 
in the following editions by Currie, nor were they restored 
by Gilbert Burns when his brother's works fell under his 
care. The name of the lady to whom they were addressed 
has not transpired : she was the heroine of several songs — of 
"Montgomery's Peggy," of "Bonnie Peggy Alison," and 
of that still finer lyric commencing, 

' Now westlin' winds and slaught'ring guns.' 

She was educated, the Bard himself tells us, more than 
what was then common among young women of her station ; 



world as the pure genuine principles of virtue 
and piety. This I hope will account for the 
uncommon style of all my letters to you. By 
uncommon, I mean their being written in such 
a hasty manner, which, to tell you the truth, 
has made me often afraid lest you should take 
me for some zealous bigot, who conversed with 
his mistress as he would converse with his mi- 
nister. I don't know how it is, my dear, for 
though, except your company, there is nothing 
on earth gives me so much pleasure as writing 
to you, yet it never gives me those giddy rap- 
tures so much talked of among lovers. I have 
often thought that if a well-grounded affection 
be not really a part of virtue, 'tis something 
extremely akin to it. Whenever the thought 
of my Eliza warms my heart, every feeling of 
humanity, every principle of generosity kindles 
in my breast. It extinguishes every dirty spark 
of malice and envy which are but too apt to 
infest me. I grasp every creature in the arms 
of universal benevolence, and equally partici- 
pate in the pleasures of the happy, and sympa- 
thize with the miseries of the unfortunate. I 
assure you, my dear, I often look up to the 
Divine Disposer of events with an eye of gra- 
titude for the blessing which I hope he intends 
to bestow on me in bestowing you. I sincerely 
wish that he may bless my endeavours to make 
your life as comfortable and happy as possible, 
both in sweetening the rougher parts of my 
natural temper, and bettering the unkindly 
circumstances of my fortune. This, my dear, 
is a passion, at least in my view, worthy of a 
man, and I will add worthy of a Christian. 
The sordid earth-worm may profess love to a 
woman's person, whilst in reality his affection 
is centered in her pocket; and the slavish 
drudge may go a-wooing as he goes to the 
horse-market to choose one who is stout and 
firm, and, as we may say of an old horse, one 
who will be a good drudge and draw kindly. 
I disdain their dirty, puny ideas I would be 
heartily out of humour with myself, if I thought 
E were capable of having so poor a notion of 
the sex which was designed to crown the 
pleasures of society. Poor devils ! I don't 
envy them thei- happiness who have such no- 
tions. For my part I propose quite other plea- 
sures with my dear partner. 

R. B. 



she was also distinguished for good sense as well as good 
looks. In the note on " Montgomery's Peggy," the Poet's 
account of his wooing and its indifferent success is given : — 
he desired to show his talents in letter-writing as well as 
display his conversational eloquence in twilight walks and 
stolen interviews. Currie gives these epistles to the twen- 
tieth year of Burns, and Lockhart inclines to the same 
period : but they seem to have been written during the year 
1783 : they are worthy of him in his best days : they are' full 
of good sense and good feeling; and no doubt, "my dear 
Eliza" marvelled to find the impassioned lover of "The 
cannie hour at e'en" so reasonable and sedate on paper. — 
Ibid. 



592 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. V. 
TO THE SAME. 



My dear Eliza : 

I do not remember, in the course of your ac- 
quaintance and mine, ever to have heard your 
opinion on the ordinary way of falling in love, 
amongst people in our station in life ; I do not 
mean the persons who proceed in the way of 
bargain, but those whose affection is really 
placed on the person. 

Though I be, as you know very well, but a 
very awkward lover myself, yet, as I have some 
opportunities of observing the conduct of others 
who are much better skilled in the affair of 
courtship than I am, I often think it is owing 
to lucky chance, more than to good manage- 
ment, that there are not more unhappy mar- 
riages than usually are. 

It is natural for a young fellow to like the 
acquaintance of the females, and customary for 
him to keep them company when occasion 
serves : some one of them is more agreeable to 
him than the rest ; there is something, he knows 
not what, pleases him, he knows not how, in 
her company. This I take to be what is called 
love with the greater part of us ; and I must 
own, my dear Eliza, it is a hard game such a 
one as you have to play when you meet with 
such a lover. You cannot refuse but he is sin- 
cere, and yet though you use him ever so favour- 
ably, perhaps in a few months, or at farthest 
in a year or two, the same unaccountable fancy 
may make him as distractedly fond of another, 
whilst you are quite forgot. I am aware that 
perhaps the next time I have the pleasure of 
seeing you, you may bid me take my own les- 
son home, and tell me that the passion I have 
professed for you is perhaps one of those tran- 
sient flashes I have been describing ; but I 
hope, my dear Eliza, you will do me the justice 
to believe me, when I assure you that the love 
I have for you is founded on the sacred prin- 
ciples of virtue and honour, and by consequence 
so long as you continue possessed of those amia- 
ble qualities which first inspired my passion for 
you, so long must I continue to love you. Believe 
me, my dear, it is love like this alone which can 
render the marriage state happy. People may- 
talk of flames and raptures as long as they 
please, and a warm fancy, with a flow of youth- 
ful spirits, may make them feel something like 
what they describe ; but sure I am the nobler 
faculties of the mind with kindred feelings of 
the heart can only be the foundation of friend- 
ship, and it has always been my opinion that 
the married life was only friendship in a more 



"Burns, in these letters, moralizes occasionally very hap- 
pily on love and marriage. They are, in fact, the only sen- 
sible love-letters we have ever seen." -Motherwell. 



exalted degree. If you will be so good as to 
grant my wishes, and it should please Provi- 
dence to spare us to the latest period of life, I 
can look forward and see that even then, though 
bent down with winkled age ; even then, when 
all other worldly circumstances will be indif- 
ferent to me, I will regard my Eliza with the 
tenderest affection, and for this plain reason, 
because she is still possessed of these noble qua- 
lities, improved to a much higher degree, which 
first inspired my affection for her. 

" O ! happy state when souls each other draw, 
When love is liberty, and nature law." 

I know were I to speak in such a style to 
mamy a girl, who thinks herself possessed of no 
small share of sense, she would think it ridicu- 
lous; but the language of the heart is, my 
dear Eliza, the only courtship I shall ever use 
to you. 

When I look over what I have written, I am 
sensible it is ^astly different from the ordinary 
style of courtship, but I shall make no apology 
— I know your good nature will excuse what 
your good sense may see amiss. 

R. B. 



No. VI. 
TO THE SAME. 

Loehlea, 1783. 

I have often thought it a peculiarly unlucky 
circumstance in love, that though in every other 
situation in life telling the truth is not only the 
safest, but actually by far the easiest, way of 
proceeding, a lover is never under greater dif' 
ficulty in acting, or more puzzled for expression, 
than when his passion is sincere, and his inten- 
tions are honourable. I do not think that it is so 
difficult for a person of ordinary capacity to 
talk of love and fondness, which are not felt, 
and to make vows of constancy and fidelity, 
which are never intended to be performed, if he 
be villain enough to practise such detestable 
conduct : but to a man whose heart glows with 
the principles of integrity and truth, and who 
sincerely leves a woman of amiable person, un 
common refinement of sentiment and purity of 
manners — to such a one, in such circumstances, 
I can assure you, my dear, from my own feel- 
ings at this present moment, courtship is a task 
indeed. There is such a number of foreboding 
fears, and distrustful anxieties crowd into my 
mind when I am in your company, or when I 
sit down to write to you, that what to speak or 
what to write I am altogether at a loss. 

There is one rule which I have hitherto prac- 
tised, and which I shall invariably keep with 



" It is probable," says Chambers, "that ' my dear Eliza 
was the heroine of the Poet's song, 'From thee, Eliza, I 
must go.' " — See page 353.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



593 



vou, and that is, honestly to tell yon the plain 
truth. There is something so mean and un- 
manly in the arts of dissimulation and false- 
hood that I am surprised they can be acted by 
any one in so noble, so generous a passion, as 
virtuous love. No, my dear Eliza, I shall 
never endeavour to gain your favour by such 
detestable practices. If you will be so good 
and so generous as to admit me for your part- 
ner, your companion, your bosom friend through 
life, there is nothing on this side of eternity 
shall give me greater transport ; but I shall 
never think of purchasing your hand by any 
arts unworthy of a man, and, I will add, of a 
Christian. There is one thing, my dear, which 
I earnestly request of you, and it is this ; that 
you would soon either put an end to my hopes 
Dy a peremptory refusal, or cure me of my fears 
by a generous consent. 

It would oblige me much if you would send 
me a line or two when convenient. I shall only 
add further that, if a behaviour regulated 
(though perhaps but very imperfectly) by the 
rules of honour and virtue, if a heart devoted 
to love and esteem you, and an earnest endea- 
vour to promote your happiness ; if these are 
qualities you would wish in a friend, in a hus- 
band, I hope you shall ever find them in your 
real friend and sincere lover, R. B. 



No. VII. 



TO THE SAME. 

Lochlea, 1783. 

I ought, in good manners, to have acknow- 
ledged the receipt of your letter before this 
time, but my heart was so shocked at the con- 
tents of it that I can scarcely yet collect my 
thoughts so as to write you on the subject. I 
will not attempt to describe what I felt on 
receiving your letter. I read it over and over, 
again md again, and though it was in the po- 
litest language of refusal, still it was peremp- 
tory ; {e you were sorry you could not make me 
a return, but you wish me/' what, without you 
I never can obtain, " you wish me all kind of 
happiness." It would be weak and unmanly 
to say that without you I never can be happy ; 
but sure I am that sharing life with you would 
have given it a relish, that, wanting you, I can 
never taste. 

Your uncommon personal advantages, and 
your superior good sense, do not so much strike 
me j these, possibly, may be met with in a few 
instances in others : but that amiable goodness, 
that tender feminine softness, that endearing 
sweetness of disposition, with all the charming 
offspring of a warm feeling heart — these I 
never again expect to meet with, in such 
a degree, in this world. All these charming 
qualities, heightened by an education much be- 
vond anything I have ever met in any woman 



I ever dared to approach, have made an impres- 
sion on my heart that I do not think the world 
can ever efface. My imagination has fondly 
flattered myself with a wish, I dare not say it 
ever reached a hope, that possibly I might one 
day call you mine. I had formed the most de- 
lightful images, and my fancy fondly brooded 
over them ; but now I am wretched for the loss 
of what I really had no right to expect. I 
must now think no more of you as a mistress ; 
still I presume to ask to be admitted as a friend. 
As such I wish to be allowed to wait on you, 
and, as I expect to remove in a few days a little 
farther off, and you, I suppose, will soon leave 
this place, I wish to see or hear from you soon ; 
and if an expression should perhaps escape me, 
rather too warm for friendship, I hope you will 
pardon it in, my dear Miss — (pardon me the 
dear expression for once) * * * *. 

R. B. 
* 

No. VIII. 

TO Mr. JAMES BURNESS, 



MONTROSE. 



Dear Cousin : 



Lochlea, 17th Feb. 1784. 



I would have returned you my thanks for 
your kind favour of the 13th of December 
sooner, had it not been that I waited to give 
you an account of that melancholy event, 
which, for some time past, we have from day 
to day expected. 

On the 13th current I lost the best of fathers. 
Though, to be sure, we have had long warning 
of the impending stroke ; still the reelings of 
nature claim their part, and I cannot recollect 
the tender endearments and parental lessons of 
the best of friends and ablest of instructors, 
without feeling what perhaps the calmer dic- 
tates of reason would partly condemn. 

I hope my father's friends in your country 
will not let their connexion in this place die 
with him. For my part I shall ever with plea- 
sure — with pride, acknowledge my connexion 
with those who were allied by the ties of blood 
and friendship to a man whose memory I shall 
ever honour and revere. 

I expect, therefore, my dear Sir, you will not 
neglect any opportunity of letting me hear from 
you, which will very much oblige, 

My dear Cousin, yours sincerely, 

R. B. 



No. IX. 
TO JAMES BURNESS, 

MONTROSE. 

Mossgiel, August, 1784. 

We have been surprised with one of the most 
extraordinary phenomena in the moral world 
2 Q 



594 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



which, I dare say, has happened in the course 
of this half century. We have had a party of 
Presbytery relief, as they call themselves, for 
some time in this country. A pretty thriving 
society of them has been in the burgh of Ir- 
vine for some years past, till about two years 
ago, a Mrs. Buchan from Glasgow came among 
them, and began to spread some fanatical no- 
tions of religion among them, and, in a short 
time, made many converts ; and, among others, 
their preacher, Mr. Whyte, who, upon that ac- 
count, has been suspended and formally de- 
posed by his brethren. He continued, however, 
to preach in private to his party, and was sup- 
ported, both he, and their spiritual mother, as 
they affect to call old Buchan, by the contri- 
butions of the rest, several of whom were in 
good circumstances ; till, in spring last, the 
populace rose and mobbed Mrs. Buchan, and 
put her out of the town ; on which, all her fol- 
lowers voluntarily quitted the place likewise, 
and with such precipitation that many of them 
never shut their doors behind them : one left a 
washing on the green, another a cow bellowing 
at the crib without food, or any body to mind 
her, and after several stages, they are fixed at 
present in the neighbourhood of Dumfries. 
Their tenets are a strange jumble of enthusiastic 
jargon ; among others, she pretends to give 
them the Holy Ghost by breathing on them, 
which she does with postures and practices that 
are scandalously indecent ; they have likewise 
disposed of all their effects, and hold a com- 
munity of goods, and live nearly an idle life, 
carrying on a great farce of pretended devotion 
in barns and woods, where they lodge and lie 
all together, and hold likewise a community of 
women, as it is another of their tenets that they 
can commit no moral sin. I am personally ac- 
quainted with most of them, and I can assure 
you the above mentioned are facts. 

This, my dear Sir, is one of the many instances 
of the folly of leaving the guidance of sound 
reason and common sense in matters of religion. 



* [" The Buchanites were a small community of enthu- 
siasts, who believed the time to be at hand when there would 
neither be marriage nor giving in marriage — when the ground, 
instead of thistles and heather, would yield spontaneously 
the finest fruits — when all things under the sun would be in 
common — and ' our lady,' so they called Mrs. Buchan, reign 
spiritual queen of the earth. At first they held the doctrine 
of immediate translation, but a night spent in wild prayer, 
wild song, and wilder sermons on the top of a cold hill re- 
buked this part of their belief, but strengthened them in the 
opinion regarding their empire on earih, and confirmed ' our 
lady' in the resolution of making a tour through her ima- 
ginary dominions. She accordingly moved towards Niths- 
dale with all her people — some were in carts, some on horse- 
back, and not a few on foot. She rode in front upon a white 
pony : and often halted to lecture them upon the loveliness 
of the land, and to cheer them with food from what she called 
her ' Garner of mercy,' and with drink from a large cup called 
' The comforter.' She addressed all people as she passed 
along with much mildness, and spoke to them in the lan- 
guage of their callings. 'James Macleish,' she said to a 
gardener, who went to see her, ' quit Mr. Copland's garden, 
and come and work in that of the Lord.' — ' Thank ye,' an- 
v.vered James, ' but he was na owre kind to the last gardener 



Whenever we neglect or despise these sacred 
monitors, the whimsical notions of a perturbated 
brain are taken for the immediate influences of 
the Deity, and the wildest fanaticism, and the 
most inconstant absurdities, will meet with abet- 
tors and converts. Nay, I have often thought 
that the more out-of-the-way and ridiculous the 
fancies are, if once they are sanctified under 
the sacred name of religion, the unhappy mis- 
taken votaries are the more firmly glued to 
them.* R. B. 



No. X. 



TO Mr. JOHN RICHMOND, f 



EDINBURGH. 



My dear Sir: 



Mossgiel, Feb. 17, 1786. 



I have not time at present to upbraid you 
for your silence and neglect ; I shall only say I 
received yours with great pleasure. I have 
enclosed you a piece of rhyming ware for your 
perusal. I have been very busy with the muses 
since I saw you, and have composed, among 
several others, " The Ordination," a poem on 
Mr. M'Kinlay's being called to Kilmarnock : 
" Scotch drink," a poem ; " The Cotter's Sa- 
turday Night;" " An Address to the De'il," 
&c. I have likewise completed my poem on 
the " Twa Dogs," but have not shewn it to the 
world. My chief patron now is Mr. Aiken in 
Ayr, who is pleased to express great approba- 
tion of my works. Be so good as to send me 
Fergusson, by Connel, X and I will remit you the 
money. I have no news to acquaint you with 
about Mauchline, they are just going on in the 
old way. I have some very important news 
with respect to myself, not the most agreeable 
— news that I am sure you cannot guess, but I 
shall give you the particulars another time. I 
am extremely happy with Smith ;§ he is the only 
friend I have now in Mauchline. I can scarcely 



he had.' ' Our lady' died at Auchengibardhill in Galloway, 
and her followers were dispersed — a few of the more resolute 
believers took a farm : the women spun and made large quan- 
tities of linen ; the men ploughed and sowed, and made arti- 
cles of turnery — their lives were inoffensive and their manners 
gentle — they are now all dead and gone." — Cunningham j 

t [To John Richmond we are indebted for some valuable 
information respecting the early days and works of the Poet 
of Ayr-shire, for he was the companion of many of his even- 
ing hours, knew of all his poems and songs, and was ac- 
quainted with his outgoings and incomings among the dames 
of Kyle. Burns loved him for the frankness of his heart, 
and respected him for his learning, which was at least equal 
to what was required by a Writer in a country village. He 
is the sole survivor of all the Mauchline comrades of the 
Poet; and was then pursuing his legal studies in Edinburgh ; 
he now resides in his native place, and rejoices in the faille 
of his friend. 

t [Connel was the Mauchline carrier.— Ifo'd.] 
§ [Smith was then a shop-keeper in Mauchline. It was to 
him that Burns addressed one of his epistles, beginning, 
" Dear Smith, the sleest pnukie thief." 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE 



595 



forgive your long neglect of me, and I beg you 
will let me hear from you regularly by Connel. 
If you would act your part as a friend, I am 
sure neither good nor bad fortune should strange 
or alter me. Excuse haste, as I got your's but 
yesterday. 

I am, my dear Sir, 

Yours, 
Robert Burness. 



No. XI. 
TO Mr. ROBERT MUIR,* 

KILMARNOCK. 



Dear Sir : 



Mossgiel, 20th March, 1786. 



I am heartily sorry I had not the pleasure 
of seeing you as you returned through Mauch- 
line ; but as I was engaged, I could not be in 
town before the evening. 

I here enclose you my " Scotch Drink," and 

"may the follow with a blessing for your 

edification.'' I hope, sometime before we hear 
the gowk, to have the pleasure of seeing you 
at Kilmarnock, when I intend we shall have a 
gill between us, in a mutchkin-stoup ; which 
will be a great comfort and consolation to, 
Dear Sir, 

Your humble servant, 

Robert Burvess. 



No. XII. 
TO Mr. AIKEN. 

Mossgiel, 3rd April, 1786. 

Dear Sir : 
I received your kind letter with double 
pleasure, on account of the second flattering 
instance of Mrs. C.'s notice and approbation. I 
assure you I 

" Turn out the brunt side 0' my shin," 

as the famous Ramsay, of jingling memory, 
says, at such a patroness. Present her my 
most grateful acknowledgments in your very 



He died in the West Indies. Cromek, who first gave this 
letter to the public, says this is the only letter he had met 
with in which the Poet added the termination ess to his 
name, as his father and family had spelled it ; but in the 
letters immediately following, he still adhered to the ancient 
orthography.] 

* [Mr. Muir was a staunch friend of the Poet, and did him 
many good offices. When the Edinburgh edition of his 
Poems was announced by subscription, he put down his 
name for forty copies, and used all his influence among his 
friends and acquaintances to induce them to be equally 
liberal. This was true friendship.] 

f [See " Lines to Mrs. C," page 325.] 

% [This is the last time that the Poet spelt his name ac- 
cording to his forefathers : his poems were now in the press, 



best manner of telling truth. I have in- 
scribed the following stanza on the blank leaf 
of Miss More's Work.f 

My proposals for publishing I am just going 
to send to press. I expect to hear from you by 
the first opportunity. 

I am ever, dear Sir, yours, 

Robert Burness.]: 



No. XIII. 

TO Mr. M'WHINNIE, 

writer, atr. 



17th April, 1786. 

It is injuring some hearts, those hearts that 
elegantly bear the impression of the good Cre- 
ator, to say to them you give them the trouble 
of obliging a friend ; for this reason, I only tell 
you that I gratify my own feelings in requesting 
your friendly offices with respect to the enclosed, 
because I know it will gratify yours to assist 
me in it to the utmost of your power. 

I have sent you four copies, as I have no less 
than eight dozen, which is a great deal more 
than I shall ever need. 

Be sure to remember a poor poet militant in 
your prayers. He looks forward with fear and 
trembling to that, to him, important moment 
which stamps the die with — with — with, per- 
haps, the eternal disgrace of, 
My dear Sir, 

Your humble, 

afHicted, tormented, 

Robert Burns. $> 



No. XIV. 
TO Mr. JOHN KENNEDY. 

Mossgiel, 20th April, 1786. 

Sir, 
By some neglect in Mr. Hamilton, I did not 
hear of your kind request for a subscription 
paper 'till this day. I will not attempt any 
acknowledgment for this, nor the manner in 
which I see your name in Mr. Hamilton's sub- 



and he had to make his election. Indeed, the family aver 
that in the Montrose archives the name is sometimes written 
Burnes, but this seems not to affect the pronunciation^ which 
was always Burness, till the Bard of Ayr deprived it of a 
syllable. The Miss More alluded to is the celebrated Han- 
nah More, author of " Practical Piety," and numerous other 
moral and religious works.] 

§ [Burns, in this letter, enclosed some subscription lists 
for the first edition of his poems. He had many friends in 
Ayr-shire ; and it is gratifying to know that this gentleman, 
as well as the rest of the Poet's friends, was not backward 
in fulfilling the wishes of the Bard. Mr. M'Whinnie not 
only subscribed himself, but induced many others to do the 
same.] 

2 Q 2 



596 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



scription list. Allow me only to say, Sir, I 
feel the weight of the debt. 

I have here likewise inclosed a small piece, 
the very latest of my productions.* I am a 
good deal pleased with some sentiments myself, 
as they are just the native querulous feelings of 
a heart which, as the elegantly melting Gray 
says, " melancholy has marked for her own." 

Our race comes on a-pace ; that much ex- 
pected scene of revelry and mirth ; but to me 
it brings no joy equal to that meeting with 
which your last flattered the expectation of, 
Sir, 
Your indebted humble Servant, 

R. B. 



No. XV. 



TO Mr. JOHN KENNEDY. 

Mossgiel, \7th May, 1786. 

Dear Sir, 
I have sent you the above hasty copy as I 
promised.f In about three or four weeks I 
shall probably set the press a-going. I am 
much hurried at present, otherwise your dili- 
gence, so very friendly in my subscription, 
should have a more lengthened acknowledg- 
ment from 

Dear Sir, 
Your obliged Servant, 

R. B. 



No. XVI. 



TO JOHN BALLANTINE, 



Honoured Sir: 
My proposals came to hand last night, and 
knowing that you would wish to have it in your 
power to do me a service as early as any body, 
I enclose you half a sheet of them. I must 
consult you, first opportunity, on the propriety 
of sending my quondam friend, Mr. Aiken, a 
copy. If he is now reconciled to my character 
as an honest man, I would do it with all my 
soul ; but I would not be beholden to the no- 
blest being ever God created, if he imagined 
me to be a rascal. Apropos, old Mr. Armour 



* [The small piece which the Poet enclosed was the in- 
imitable " Mountain Daisy." The name which heads the 
manuscript is "The Gowan." It is almost a pity that the 
Poet changed the title.] 

t [The Poet's Epistle to Rankine was enclosed in this hasty 
note. Burns seems to have been indefatigable in making his 
works known through the medium of friends : the copies of 
his best poems in his own hand-writing are numerous. His 
correspondents, living often at a distance from each other, 
were pleased with this mark of confidence, and read his 
poems to all who were willing to listen.] 

% [In (his letter we have a plain account of the destruction 
of the marriage-lines between the Poet and his bonnie Jean : 
her father consulted Mr. Aiken, and prevailed upon him to 



prevailed with him to mutilate that unlucky 
paper yesterday. Would you believe it? — 
though I had not a hope, nor even a wish, to 
make her mine after her conduct ; yet, when 
he told me the names were all out of the paper, 
my heart Jied within me, and he cut my veins 
with the news. Perdition seize her falsehood \% 

R. B 



No. XVII. 



TO Mr. DAVID BRICE.§ 



Dear Brice : 



Mossgiel, June 12, 1786. 



I received your message by G. Paterson, 
and, as I am not very throng at present, I just 
write to let you know that there is such a 
worthless, rhyming reprobate, as your humble 
servant, still in the land of the living, though 
I can scarcely say in the place of hope. I 
have no news to tell you that will give me 
any pleasure to mention, or you to hear. 

Poor ill - advised, ungrateful Armour came 
home on Friday last.|| You have heard all the 
particulars of that affair, and a black affair it 
is. What she thinks of her conduct now, I 
don't know; one thing I do know— she has 
made me completely miserable. Never man 
loved, or rather adored, a woman more than 
I did her ; and, to confess a truth be- 
tween you and me, I do still love her to dis- 
traction after all, though I won't tell her so if 
I were to see her, which I don't want to do. 
My poor dear unfortunate Jean ! how happy 
have I been in thy arms ! It is not the losing 
her that makes me so unhappy, but for her 
sake I feel most severely : I foresee she is in 
the road to, I am afraid, eternal ruin. 

May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude 
and perjury to me, as I from my very soul for- 
give her ; and may His grace be with her and 
bless her in all her future life ! I can have no 
nearer idea of the place of eternal punishment 
than what I have felt in my own breast on her 
account. I have tried often to forget her ; I 
have run into all kinds of dissipation and riots, 
mason-meetings, drinking-matches, and other 
mischief, to drive her out of my head, but all 
in vain. And now for a grand cure ; the ship 
is on her way home that is to take me out to 



tear their names away from the unlucky certificate. Burns 
now alludes to Mr. Aiken as his quondam friend. Old Ar- 
mour, by his bigoted pride, and foolish scruples, seems to 
have inflicted unnecessary anguish on two hearts warmly 
attached to each other.] 

§ [David Brice was a shoe-maker in Glasgow, and, like 
most of his craft, shrewd and intelligent. He shared with 
Smith and Richmond the confidence of the Poet in love mat- 
ters, and seems to have been fully acquainted with all the 
particulars which inspired that melancholy poem " The 
Lament." — Cunningham.] 

II [From Paisley, whither she had gone to reside for some 
time, at the request of her parents.] 






GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



597 



Jamaica; and then, farewell, dear old Scot- 
land ! and farewell, dear ungrateful Jean ! for 
never, never will I see you more. 

You will have heard that I am going to com- 
mence poet in print ; and to-morrow my works 
go to the press. I expect it will be a volume 
of about two hundred pages — it is just the last 
foolish action I intend to do ; and then turn a 
wise man as fast as possible. 

Believe me to be, dear Brice, 

Your friend and well-wisher, 

R. B. 



No. XVIII. 
TO Mr. ROBERT AIKEN. 



Ayr-shire, Jviy 1 786. 



Sir : 



I was with Wilson, my printer, t'other day, 
and settled all our by-gone matters between 
us. .After I had paid him all demands, I made 
him the offer of the second edition, on the 
hazard of being paid out of the first and readi- 
est, which he declines. By his account, the 
paper of a thousand copies would cost about 
twenty-seven pounds, and the printing about 
fifteen or sixteen : he offers to agree to this for 
the printing, if I will advance for the paper, 
but this, you know, is out of my power ; so 
farewell hopes of a second edition 'till I grow 
richer ! an epocha which, I think, will arrive 
at the payment of the British national debt. 

There is scarcely any thing hurts me so much 
in being disappointed of my second edition as 
not having it in my power to shew my grati- 
tude to Mr. Ballantine, by publishing my poem 
of "The Brigs of Ayr." I would detest my- 
self as a wretch, if I thought I were capable 
in a very long life of forgetting the honest, 
warm, and tender delicacy with which he enters 
into my interests. I am sometimes pleased 
with myself in my grateful sensations ; but I 
believe, on the whole, I have very little merit 
in it, as my gratitude is not a virtue, the conse- 
quence of reflection ; but sheerly the instinctive 
emotion of my heart, too inattentive to allow 
worldly maxims and views to settle into selfish 
habits. 

I have been feeling all the various rotations 
and movements within, respecting the excise. 
There are many things plead strongly against 
it ; the uncertainty of getting soon into busi- 
ness 5 the consequences of my follies, which 
may perhaps make it impracticable for me to 
stay at home 5 and besides I have for some time 
been pining under secret wretchedness, from 
causes which you pretty well know — the pang 
of disappointment,, the sting of pride, with 
some wandering stabs of remorse, which never 



fail to settle on my vitals like vultures, when 
attention is not called away by the calls of so- 
ciety, or the vagaries of the muse. Even in 
the hour of social mirth, my gaiety is the mad- 
ness of an intoxicated criminal under the hands 
of the executioner. All these reasons urge me 
to go abroad, and to all these reasons I have 
only one answer — the feelings of a father. This, 
in the present mood I am in, overbalances every 
thing that can be laid in the scale against it. 

You may perhaps think it an extravagant 
fancy, but it is a sentiment which strikes home 
to my very soul : though sceptical in some 
points of our current belief, yet, I think, I have 
every evidence for the reality of a life beyond 
the stinted bourne of our present existence ; if 
so, then, how should I, in the presence of that 
tremendous Being, the Author of existence, 
how should I meet the reproaches of those who 
stand to me in the dear relation of children, 
whom I deserted in the smiling innocency of 
helpless infancy ? O, thou great unknown 
Power ! — thou almighty God ! who hast lighted 
up reason in my breast, and blessed me with 
immortality ! — I have frequently wandered from 
that order and regularity necessary for the per- 
fection of thy works, yet thou hast never left 
me, nor forsaken me ! 

Since I wrote the foregoing sheet, I have seen 
something of the storm of mischief thickening 
over my folly-devoted head. Should you, my 
friends, my benefactors, be successful in your 
applications for me,* perhaps it may not be in 
my power in that way to reap the fruit of your 
friendly efforts. What 1 have written in the 
preceding pages is the settled tenour of my 
present resolution ; but should inimical circum- 
stances forbid me closing with your kind offer, 
or enjoying it only threaten to entail farther 
misery 

To tell the truth, I have little reason for com- 
plaint ; as the world, in general, has been kind 
to me fully up to my deserts. I was, for some 
time past, fast getting into the pining distrust- 
ful snarl of the misanthrope. I saw myself 
alone, unfit for the struggle of life, shrinking 
at every rising cloud in' the chance-directed 
atmosphere of fortune, while, all defenceless, I 
looked about in vain for a cover. It never oc- 
curred to me, at least never with the force it 
deserved, that this world is a busy scene, and 
man, a creature destined for a progressive strug- 
gle ; and that, however I might possess a warm 
heart and inoffensive manners (which last, by 
the by, was rather more than I could well 
boast) ; still, more than these passive qualities, 
there was something to be done. When all my 
schoolfellows and youthful compeers (those 
misguided few excepted who joined, to use a 
Gentoo phrase, the " hallachores" of the hu- 



* [An effort was at this time being made to obtain for the 
Poet an appointment in the Excise.J 



598 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



man race) were striking off with eager hope and 
earnest intent, in some one or other of the many 
paths of busy life, I was " standing idle in the 
market-place," or only left the chase of the 
butterfly from flower to flower, to hunt fancy 
from whim to whim. 

You see, Sir, that if to know one's errors 
were a probability of mending them, I stand a 
fair chance : but, according to the reverend 
Westminster divines, though conviction must 
precede conversion, it is very far from always 
implying it.* R. B. 
^ 

No. XIX. 

TO Mrs. DUNLOP, 

OF DUNLOP. f 

Ayr-shire, July 1786. 

Madam . 
I am truly sorry I was not at home yester- 
day, when I was so much honoured with your 



* [This letter was written under the distress of mind oc- 
casioned by the Poet's separation from his bonny Jean. 
Robert Aiken, to whom it is addressed, was one of the bard's 
best patrons : he praised his performances and encouraged 
him to persevere in song, when friends were few and the 
world far from smiling. By inscribing to him " The Cotter's 
Saturday Night," Burns paid a compliment — a merited one 
— to the accuracy of his taste, and the rectitude of his life. 
But the patron and the Poet were of different opinions re- 
garding the situation in which he stood with Jean Armour — 
opposition begat coldness — and they became, for a time at 
least, estranged. — Cunningham.] 

t Mrs. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP. 
[This excellent person died 24th May, 1815, full of days 
and honour, in the 85th year of her age ; leaving a numerous 
offspring, many of whom have distinguished themselves in 
various parts of the British dominions. The Dunlop family was 
afterwards represented by her son, General James Dunlop, who 
was severely wounded commanding the left wing of the army 
at the siege of Seringapatam ; the climate of the West Indies 
having proved fatal to his elder brother, General Andrew 
Dunlop, while obeying the call of his professional duty, 1819- 
Frances Wallace, the only daughter and ultimately the 
heiress of Sir Thomas Wallace, of Craigie, in Ayr-shire, was 
born about the year 1731, and at the age of seventeen became 
the wife of John Dunlop, Esq., of Dunlop, in the same county. 
Although she brought her husband a very large fortune, to- 
gether with the mansion of Craigie, beautifully situated on 
the Ayr, she was content to spend the whole of her married 
and dowager life, with the exception of occasional visits, in 
retirement at Dunlop. She there became the mother of five 
sons and five daughters, all of whom, except one, survived 
her. Her eldest son succeeded, under the name of Sir Thomas 
Wallace, to her paternal estate of Craigie, which, however, is 
not now the property of the family. Mr. Dunlop settled his 
own estate upon the second son, James Dunlop, a Lieutenant- 
General in the Army ; and at one time representative of the 
Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, in parliament, whose son, John 
Dunlop, Esq., of Dunlop, was in 1838 member for Ayr- 
shire. 

Without the least tincture of the pretension and parade 
which too often distinguish literary ladies, Mrs. Dunlop was 
a lady of highly cultivated understanding — fond of books, and 
extensively acquainted with them, and also disposed to be the 
kind and zealous friend of their authors. While she treated 
Burns with uniform affability and kindness, there was an 
unaffected dignity in her whole character, which seems to 
have at once exercised a salutary restraint over him, and 
raised his mind, when in communication with her's, to the 
exercise of its best powers. The mind of Mrs. Dunlop, over- 
flowing with benevolent feelings, delighted in those fine 
emotions of the Ayr-shire poet, which found expression in 
the verses to a Mouse, the stanzas on a Winter Night, and 
the noble poem — The Cotter's Saturday Night, which first 
attracted her attention to the Bard. Burns, on the other 



order for my copies, and incomparably more b\ 
the handsome compliments you are pleased to 
pay my poetic abilities. I am fully persuaded 
that there is not any class of mankind so feel- 
ingly alive to the titillations of applause as the 
sons of Parnassus : nor is it easy to conceive 
how the heart of the poor bard dances with 
rapture, when those, whose character in life 
gives them a right to be polite judges, honour 
him with their approbation. Had you been 
thoroughly acquainted with me, Madam, you 
could not have touched my darling heart-chord 
more sweetly than by noticing my attempts to 
celebrate your illustrious ancestor, the Saviour 
of his Country. 

" Great patriot hero ! ill-requited chief !" 

The first book I met with in my early years, 
which I perused with pleasure, was "The Life 
of Hannibal ;" the next was " The History of 
Sir William Wallace :" for several of my 
earlier years I had few other authors ; and 



hand, glowed at finding, in the heretrix of an ancient family 
and historical honours, a heart as warm and philanthropic as 
his own. Mrs. Dunlop never felt displeased with Burns but 
once. On a visit at her house, he asked her advice respect- 
ing his going into the Excise — a step of which she decidedly 
disapproved. He argued the point with her very strenuously 
for some time ; but, at last, finding that he could not prevail 
upon her to look favourably on the scheme, he confessed 
that further discussion was vain, as he had his commission 
in his pocket. She could not help expressing some resent- 
ment ; but soon forgave a mode of procedure but too charac- 
teristic of those who ask for advice. 

After the death of Burns, Mrs. Dunlop paid a visit to Dr. 
Currie at Liverpool, in order to consult with him respecting 
the publication of the Poet's works. Dr. Currie had already 
perused her letters to Burns, which he had found amongst 
the Poet's papers ; and he expressed an anxious wish that 
she would allow of their publication, in connection with those 
of Burns to herself. But Mrs. Dunlop entertained an insur- 
mountable repugnance to all public appearances, and, not- 
withstanding Dr. Currie's assurances of the value of her 
compositions, both on their own account, and as rendering 
Burns's Letters the more intelligible, she positively refused 
to allow them to see the light. She concluded her interview 
by half jestingly purchasing back her letters from him one 
by one, laying a letter of Burns for each of her own, till she 
obtained the whole. She then returned satisfied to Dunlop 
House. These letters still exist, but her family feel that they 
would not be fulfilling her wishes by giving them to the 
world. — Chambers. 

" Of all the friendships," says Gilbert Burns, "which 
Robert acquired in Ayr-shire, or elsewhere, none seemed 
more agreeable to him than that of Mrs. Dunlop, nor any 
which has been more uniformly and constantly exerted in 
behalf of him and his family. This lady, daughter and sole 
heiress to Sir Thomas Wallace, of Craigie, and lineal de- 
scendant of the illustrious Wallace, the first of Scottish 
warriors, possessed the qualities of mind suited to her high 
lineage. Preserving, in the decline of life, the generous affec- 
tions of youth, her admiration of the Poet was soon accom- 
panied by a sincere friendship for the man, which continued 
in after life, through good and evil report ; in poverty, in 
sickness, and in sorrow." 

Mrs. Dunlop exercised a two-fold influence over the muse 
of Burns ; she was a poetess, and had the blood of the Wal- 
laces in her veins. Her taste and station gave her great 
power in the west ; she praised the Poet wherever she went, 
and addressed letters to him remarkable not only for their 
good sense and good feeling, but for a spirit of charity and 
toleration not common in those feverish times. She now and 
then, indeed, introduced not a few of her own verses into her 
correspondence ; but she seems not to have been greedy of 
praise, nor to have resented her friend's want of courtesy 
when he forgot to commend her musings. She lived to a 
good old age ; had the satisfaction to see the ancient spirit 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



599 



many a solitary hour have I stole out, after the 
laborious vocations of the day, to shed a tear 
over their glorious, but unfortunate, stories. In 
those boyish days I remember, in particular, 
being struck with that part of Wallace's story 
where these lines occur — 

" Syne to the Leglen wood, when it was late, 
To make a silent and a safe retreat." 

I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day 
my line of life allowed, and walked half-a- 
dozen of miles to pay my respects to the Leg- 
len wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as 
ever pilgrim did to Loretto ; and, as I explored 
every den and dell where I could suppose my 
heroic countryman to have lodged, I recollect 
(for even then I was a rhymer) that my heart 
glowed with a wish to be able to make a song 
on him in some measure equal to his merits. 

R. B. 

. «. 

No. XX. 
TO Mr. DAVID BRICE, 

SHOE-MAKER, GLASGOW. 

Mossgiel, 17th July, 1786. 

I have been so throng printing my Poems 
that I could scarcely find as much time as to 
write to you. Poor Armour is come back 
again to Mauchline, and I went to call for her, 
and her mother forbade me the house, nor did 
she herself express much sorrow for what she 
has done. I have already appeared publicly 
in church, and was indulged in the liberty of 
standing in my own seat. I do this to get a 
certificate as a bachelor, which Mr. Auld has 
promised me. I am now fixed to go for the 
West Indies in October. Jean and her friends 
insisted much that she should stand along with 
me in the kirk, but the minister would not al- 
low it, which bred a great trouble, I assure you, 
and I am blamed as the cause of it, though I 
am sure I am innocent ; but I am very much 
pleased, for all that, not to have had her com- 
pany. I have no news to tell you that I re- 
member. I am really happy to hear of your 
welfare, and that you are so well in Glasgow. 
[ must certainly see you before I leave the 
country. I shall expect to hear from you soon, 
and am, 

Dear Brice, 

Yours,— R. B. 



of the Wallaces revive in her son the General, and to know 
that Scotland reverenced her for her unchanging kindness 
to the equally accomplished and unfortunate Burns. — Cun- 
ningham.] 

* [The Poet, when he wrote this letter, was skulking from 
Carrick to Kyle, and from Kyle to Carrick : "some ill-ad- 
vised persons," he said, had "uncoupled the merciless pack 
of the law at his heels." But Mr. Armour had no wish to 
detain him till he found bail : he was desirous that he should 
leave the country ; and, to accomplish this, had 



No. XXI. 
TO Mr. JOHN RICHMOND. 

Old Rome Forest, 30th July, 1786. 

My dear Richmond: 
My hour is now come — you and I will never 
meet in Britain more. I have orders, within 
three weeks at farthest, to repair a-board the 
Nancy, Captain Smith, from Clyde, to Jamaica, 
and to call at Antigua. This, except to our 
friend Smith, whom God long preserve, is a 
secret about Mauchline. Would you believe 
it ? Armour has got a warrant to throw me in 
jail till I find security for an enormous sum. 
This they keep an entire secret, but I got it by 
a channel they little dream of ; and I am wan- 
dering from one friend's house to another, and, 
like a true son of the gospel, " have no where 
to lay my head." I know you will pour an 
execration on her head, but spare the poor, ill- 
advised girl, for my sake ; though may all the 
furies that rend the injured, enraged lover's bo- 
som, await her mother until her latest hour ! I 
write in a moment of rage, reflecting on my 
miserable situation — exiled, abandoned, forlorn. 
I can write no more — let me hear from you by 
the return of coach. I will write you ere I go. 
I am, dear Sir, 

Yours, here and hereafter, 

R. B.* 



No. XXII. 



TO Mr. JAMES SMITH,f 

MAUCHLINE. 

Monday Morning, Mossgiel, August, 1/86. 

My dear Sir : 
I went to Dr. Douglas yesterday, fully re- 
solved to take the opportunity of Captain 
Smith ; but I found the Doctor with a Mr. and 
Mrs. White, both Jamaicans, and they have 
deranged my plans altogether. They assure 
him that to send me from Savannah la Mar to 
Port Antonio will cost my master, Charles 
Douglas, upwards of fifty pounds ; besides 
running the risk of throwing myself into a 
pleuritic fever, in consequence of hard travel- 
ling in the sun. On these accounts, he refuses 
sending me with Smith, but a vessel sails from 



the law. These are painful but necessary explanations. — 

Cunningham.] 

t [Of James Smith much has already been written in the 
Life of the Poet : Burns said he was small of stature, but 
large of soul ; he was a joyous and witty person. The Poet 
was a frequent visiter at his shop in Mauchline, and shared 
with him and John Richmond all his little secrets in rhyme 
and love. The world was not kinder to him than it was to 
the Poet : his speculations in Scotland failed ; he went to 
Jamaica with the hope of mending his fortune, and there 
found an early grave — Ibid.] 



600 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Greenock the first of September, right for the 
place of my destination. The Captain of her 
is an intimate friend of Mr. Gavin Hamilton, 
and as good a fellow as heart could wish : with 
him I am destined to go. Where I shall shel- 
ter, I know not, but I hope to weather the 
storm. Perish the drop of blood of mine that 
fears them ! I know their worst, and am pre- 
pared to meet it : — 



I'll laugh, a 



' sing, an' shake my leg, 
As lang's I dow." 



On Thursday morning, if you can muster as 
much self-denial as to be out of bed about seven 
o'clock, I shall see you as I ride through to 
Cumnock. After all, Heaven bless the sex ! 
I feel there is still happiness for me among 
them : — 

" O woman, lovely woman ! Heaven design'd you 
To temper man ! — we had been brutes without you !" 

R. B. 



No. XXIII. 



TO Mr. JOHN KENNEDY. 

Kilmarnock, August 1786. 

My dear. Sir, 
Your truly facetious epistle of the 3rd instant 
gave me much entertainment. I was sorry I 
had not the pleasure of seeing you as I passed 
your way, but we shall bring up all our lee way 
on Wednesday, the ] 6th current, when I hope 
to have it in my power to call on you and take 
a kind, very probably a last, adieu, before I go 
for Jamaica ; and I expect orders to repair to 
Greenock every day. — I have at last made my 
public appearance, and am solemnly inaugurated 
into the numerous class. — Could I have got a 
carrier, you should have had a score of vouchers 
for my Authorship ; but now you have them, 
let them speak for themselves. 

R. B. 

[The Poet here inserts his " Farewell," 
which will be found at page 327.] 



No. XXIV. 



TO Mr. ROBERT MUIR, 

KILMARNOCK.* 

Mossgiel, Friday noon, September, 1786. 

My Friend, my Brother : 
Warm recollection of an absent friend 
presses so hard upon my heart that I send him 



* [Robert Muir of Kilmarnock was a constant and kind 
friend to the Poet ; he promoted his interest in his own 
wide circle of acquaintance, and set the world an example 



the prefixed bagatelle (the Calf,) pleased wit;, 
the thought that it will greet the man of my 
bosom, and be a kind of distant language oi 
friendship. 

You will have heard that poor Armour has 
re-paid me double. A very fine boy and a girl 
have awakened a thought and feelings that 
thrill, some with tender pressure and some with 
foreboding anguish, through mj soul. 

The poem was nearly an extemporaneous 
production, on a wager with Mr. Hamilton, 
that I would not produce a poem on the subject 
in a given time. 

If you think it worth while, read it to 
Charles and Mr. W. Parker, and if they choose 
a copy of it, it is at their service, as they are 
men whose friendship I shall be proud to claim, 
both in this world and that which is to come. 

I believe all hopes of staying at home will 
be abortive, but more of this when, in the lat- 
ter part of next week, you shall be troubled 
with a visit from, 

My dear Sir, 

Your most devoted, 

R. B. 



No. XXV, 



TO Mr. BURNESS, 

MONTROSE. 
Mossgiel, Tuesday noon, Sept. 26, 1/86. 

My dear Sir : 

I this moment receive yours — receive it with 
the honest hospitable warmth of a friend's wel- 
come. Whatever comes from you wakens 
always up the better blood about my heart, 
which your kind little recollections of my pa- 
rental friends carries as far as it will go. 'Tis 
there that man is blest ! 'Tis there, my friend, 
man feels a consciousness of something within 
him above the trodden clod ! The grateful re- 
verence to the hoary (earthly) author of his 
being — the burning glow when he clasps the 
woman of his soul to his bosom — the tender 
yearnings of heart for the little angels to whom 
he has given existence — these nature has poured 
in milky streams about the human heart ; and 
the man who never rouses them to action, by 
the inspiring influences of their proper objects, 
loses by far the most pleasurable part of his 
existence. 

My departure is uncertain, but I do not think 
it will be till after harvest. I will be on very 
short allowance of time indeed, if I do not 
comply with your friendly invitation. When 
it will' be, I don't know, but if s I can make my 



by subscribing for forty copies of the Edinburgh edition o* 
his poems.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



wish good, I will endeavour to drop you a line 
some time before. My best compliments to 

Mrs. ; I should [be] equally mortified 

should I drop in when she is abroad ; but of 
that I suppose there is little chance. 

What I have wrote Heaven knows ; I have 
not time to review it : so accept of it in the 
beaten way of friendship. With the ordinary 
phrase — perhaps rather more than the ordinary 
sincerity — I am, dear Sir, ever yours, 

R. B. 



No. XXVI. 
TO Dr. ARCHD- LAWRIE. 



Dear Sir: 



Mossgiel, Nov. 13th, 1786. 



I have, along with this, sent the two volumes 
of Ossian, with the remaining volume of the 
songs. Ossian I am not in such a hurry about, 
but I wish the songs, with the volume of the 
Scotch Poets, returned, as soon as they can be 
conveniently dispatched. If they are left at 
Mr. Wilson's, the bookseller, Kilmarnock, they 
will easily reach me. My most respectable 
compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Lawrie, and a 
Poet's warm wishes for their happiness ; — to 
the young ladies, particularly the fair musician, 
whom I think much better qualified than ever 
David was, or could be, to charm an evil spirit 
out of Saul. Indeed, it needs not the feelings 
of a Poet to be interested in one of the sweet- 
est scenes of domestic peace and kindred love 
that ever I saw, as I think the peaceful unity 
of St. Margaret's Hill can only be excelled by 
the harmonious concord of the Apocalypse. 
I am, dear Sir, 

Yours sincerely, 

Robert Burns. 



[This truly delightful letter first appeared in 
The Land of Burns. Our Poet excelled 
all other men in well-timed compliments to 
those exalted individuals with whom it was his 
pride to associate. The family circle of Dr. 
Lawrie was indeed a pattern of domestic peace, 
harmony, and concord, rarely excelled.] 



No. XXVII. 
TO Miss ALEXANDER. 



„ l, 18th Nov. 1786. 

Madam : 

Poets are such outre beings, so much the 
children of wayward fancy and capricious whim, 
that I believe the world generally allows them 
a larger latitude in the laws of propriety than 
the sober sons of judgment and prudence. I 



mention this as an apology for the liberties that 
a nameless stranger has taken with you in the 
enclosed poem, which he begs leave to present 
you with. Whether it has poetical merit any 
way worthy of the theme, I am not the proper 
judge ; but it is the best my abilities can pro- 
duce ; and, what to a good heart will, perhaps, 
be a superior grace, it is equally sincere as 
fervent. 

The scenery was nearly taken from real life, 
though I dare say, Madam, you do not recol- 
lect it, as I believe you scarcely noticed the 
poetic reveur as he wandered by you. I had 
roved out, as chance directed, in the favourite 
haunts of my muse, on the banks of the Ayr, to 
view nature in all the gaiety of the vernal 
year. The evening sun was flaming over the 
distant western hills ; not a breath stirred the 
crimson opening blossom, or the verdant spread- 
ing leaf. It was a golden moment for a poetic 
heart. I listened to the feathered warblers, 
pouring their harmony on every hand, with a 
congenial kindred regard, and frequently turned 
out of my path, lest I should disturb their little 
songs, or frighten them to another station. 
Surely, said I to myself, he must be a wretch 
indeed who, regardless of your harmonious 
endeavour to please him, can eye your elusive 
flights to discover your secret recesses, and to 
rob you of all the property nature gives you — 
your dearest comforts, your helpless nestlings. 
Even the hoary hawthorn twig that shot across 
the way, what heart at such a time but must 
have been interested in its welfare, and wished 
it preserved from the rudely-browsing cattle, 
or the withering eastern blast ? Such was the 
scene, — and such the hour, when in a corner of 
my prospect I spied one of the fairest pieces of 
nature's workmanship that ever crowned a 
poetic landscape or met a poet's eye, those 
visionary bards excepted who hold commerce 
with aerial beings ! Had Calumny and Vil- 
lainy taken my walk, they had at that moment 
sworn eternal peace with such an object. 

What an hour of inspiration for a poet ! It 
would have raised plain dull historic prose into 
metaphor and measure. 

The enclosed song was the work of my re- 
turn home ; and perhaps it but poorly answers 
what might have been expected from such a 
scene. 

I have the honour to be, 
Madam, 
Your most obedient and very 
humble servant, 

R. B. 



[In the life of the Poet, and in the note to 
the song which this letter accompanied, much 
has been said about "The Bonnie Lass of Bal- 
lochmyle." The best excuse which can well be 



602 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



offered for her silence and coldness is that she 
lived to see how much she wronged her own 
fame and beauty in not accepting the honours 
which the muse had paid her, and to make such 
reparation as was in her power, by regarding 
the original copy of the song as an heir-loom 
of the house of Alexander. The braes of Bal- 
lochmyle are now visited like the braes of Yar- 
row and the broom of the Cowden-Knowes, by 
poetic pilgrims, and the scene is eagerly pointed 
out where the Poet saw the fair vision which 
inspired him. — Miss Alexander is still alive, 
at Ballochmyle [1840]. 



No. XXVIII. 
TO Mrs. STEWART, 



Madam : 



November, l/8( 



The hurry of my preparations for going 
abroad has hindered me from performing my 
promise so soon as I intended. I have here 
sent you a parcel of songs, &c, which never 
made their appearance, except to a friend or 
two at most. Perhaps some of them may be 
no great entertainment to you, but of that I am 
far from being an adequate judge. The song 
to the tune of " Ettrick Banks" [The bonnie 
lass of Ballochmyle] you will easily see the 
impropriety of exposing much, even in manu- 
script. I think, myself, it has some merit : 
both as a tolerable description of one of na- 
ture's sweetest scenes, a July evening ; and 
one of the finest pieces of nature's workman- 
ship, the finest indeed we know any thing of, 
an amiable, beautiful young woman ;f but I 
have no common friend to procure me that per- 
mission, without which I would not dare to 
spread the copy. 

I am quite aware, Madam, what task the 
world would assign me in this letter. The ob- 
scure bard, when any of the great condescend 



* [Mrs. Stewart of Stair, afterwards of Afton, was the first 
person of note who had the sagacity to discover in the Ayr- 
shire ploughman a genius of the first order. Two or three 
of his songs were sufficient for this : it has already been re- 
lated how his heart fluttered and his natural boldness forsook 
him as he walked through the rooms of the " towers of 
Stair" to see the fair owner for the first time. It is to be 
regretted that the political impetuosity of Burns, which in- 
creased much as he advanced in life, should have found vent 
in sarcastic sayings and sneering lampoons. Mrs. Stewart re- 
monstrated mildly with the Poet concerning these transgres- 
sions, and told him that they furnished many with a pretext 
for not aiding him in his views in life, and even threw sus- 
picion on the principles of his steadfast friends. Something 
iike a coolness followed this ; but, though Burns was nettled, 
he omitted no opportunity of intimating how much he felt 
indebted to her for her early kindness and cheering conde- 
scension.— Cunningham.] 

t Miss Alexander. 

J [The Edinburgh expedition was undertaken in conse- 
quence of the following letter, written by a critic and a poet, 
Thomas Blacklock, to the Rev. Mr. Lawrie, who communi- 



to take notice of him, should heap the altar 
with the incense of flattery. Their high an- 
cestry, their own great and god-like qualities 
and actions, should be recounted with the most 
exaggerated description. This, Madam, is a 
task for which I am altogether unfit. Besides 
a certain disqualifying pride of heart, I know 
nothing of your connexions in life, and have no 
access to where your real character is to be 
found — the company of your compeers : and 
more, I am afraid that even the most refined 
adulation is by no means the road to your good 
opinion. 

One feature of your character I shall ever 
with grateful pleasure remember ; — the recep- 
tion I got when I had the honour of waiting 
on you at Stair. I am little acquainted with 
politeness, but I know a good deal of bene- 
volence of temper and goodness of heart. — 
Surely did those in exalted stations know how 
happy they could make some classes of their 
inferiors by condescension and affability, they 
would never stand so high, measuring out with 
every look the height of their elevation, but 
condescend as sweetly as did Mrs. Stewart of 
Stair. 

R. B. 



No. XXIX. 
TO Mr. ROBERT MUIR. 

Mossgiel, 18th Nov., 1786. 

My dear Sir : 
Enclosed you have "Tarn Samson," as I 
intend to print him. I am thinking for my 
Edinburgh expedition on Monday or Tuesday, 
come se'ennight, for pos.J I will see you on 
Tuesday first. 

I am ever, 

Your much indebted, 

R. B. 



cated it to Gavin Hamilton, by whom it was shown to 
Burns : — 

" Revekend and deae Sir, — I ought to have acknow- 
ledged your favour long ago, not only as a testimony of your 
kind remembrance, but as it gave me an opportunity of 
sharing one of the finest, and, perhaps one of the most ge- 
nuine entertainments, of which the human mind is sus- 
ceptible. A number of avocations retarded my progress 
in reading the poems ; at last, however, I have finished that 
pleasing perusal. * * * It was my wish 

to have expressed my approbation in verse ; but whether 
from declining life, or a temporary depression of spirits, it is 
at present out of my power to accomplish that agreeable 
intention. 

Mr. Stewart, professor of morals in this university, had 
formerly read me three of the poems, and I had desired him 
to get my name inserted among the subscribers : but 
whether this was done or not, I never could learn. - I hare 
little intercourse with Dr. Blair, but will take care to have 
the poems communicated to him by the intervention of some 
mutual friend. * * * 

[The passages omitted have been already given in the Lifb 
of the Poet. See p. 39.] 






GENEKAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



No. XXX. 
TO Dr. MACKENZIE,* 

MAUCHLINE ; 

ENCLOSING HIM VEESES ON DINING WITH LORD DAEE. 

Wednesday Morning, November, 1786. 

Dear Sir : 

I never spent an afternoon among great 
folks with half that pleasure as when, in com- 
pany with you, I had the honour of paying my 
devoirs to that plain, honest, worthy man, the 
professor [Dugald Stewart]. I would be de- 
lighted to see him perform acts of kindness and 
friendship, though I were not the object ; he 
does it with such a grace. I think his charac- 
ter, divided into ten parts, stands thus — four 
parts Socrates— four parts Nathaniel— and two 
parts Shakspeare's Brutus. 

The accompanying verses were really extem- 
pore, but a little corrected since. They may 
entertain you a little with the help of that par- 
tiality with which you are so good as to favour 
the performances of, 
Dear Sir, 

Your very humble Servant, 

J R. B. 



No. XXXI. 
TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq.f 



MAUCHLINE. 



Edinburgh, Dec. 7th, 1786. 



Honoured Sir : 



I have paid every attention to your com- 
mands, but can only say what perhaps you will 
have heard before this reach you, that Muir- 
kirklands were bought by a Mr. John Gordon, 
W. S., but for whom I know not ; Mauchlands, 
Haugh Miln, &c, by a Mr. Frederick Fother- 
ingham, supposed to be for Ballochmyle Laird, 
and Adam-hill and Shawood were bought for 
Oswald's folks. — This is so imperfect an ac- 
count, and will be so late ere it reach you, that 



* [The kind and venerable Dr. Mackenzie is now, alas ! 
no more. He was, saving John Richmond, the sole survivor 
of the friends whom Burns numbered in the west. To him 
ihe public are indebted for much valuable information re- 
specting the household of William Burness, and the youth- 
ful days of the Poet. He introduced Burns to Dugald Stewart 
and others, and sought to extend his fame, and put him on 
the way to fortune. This excellent man afterwards practised 
for many years as a surgeon in Irvine, where he attained the 
highest honours of the magistracy. In 1827 he retired to 
Edinburgh, where he died January 11th, 1837, at an ad- 
vanced age.] 

t [Gavin Hamilton was a gentleman of old descent, and, 
what the Poet prized more, a person of wit and talent. At 
his table Burns was a frequent guest, and nasties of humour 
and snatches of joyous song, with good wine, lent wings to 
the longest nights. It is true that the Bard sat long at the 



were it not to discharge my conscience I would 
not trouble you with it ; but after all my dili- 
gence I could make it no sooner, nor better. 

For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of 
becoming as eminent as Thomas a Kempis or 
John Buuyan ; and you may expect henceforth 
to see my birth-day inserted among the won- 
derful events, in the poor Robin's and Aberdeen 
Almanacks, along with the black Monday, and 
the battle of Bothwell-bridge. — My Lord Glen- 
cairn and the Dean of Faculty, Mr. H. Erskine, 
have taken me under their wing ; and by all 
probability I shall soon be the tenth worthy, 
and the eighth wise, man of the world. Through 
my lord's influence it is inserted in the records 
of* the Caledonian Hunt that they universally, 
one and all, subscribe for the second edition. — 
My subscription bills come out to-morrow, and 
you shall have some of them next post. — I have 
met, in Mr. Dalrymple, of Orangefield, what 
Solomon emphatically calls " A friend that 
sticketh closer than a brother." — The warmth 
with which he interests himself in my affairs is 
of the same enthusiastic kind which you, Mr. 
Aiken, and the few patrons that took notice of 
my earlier poetic days shewed for the poor un- 
lucky devil of a poet. 

I always remember Mrs. Hamilton and Miss 
Kennedy in my poetic prayers, but you both 
in prose and verse. 

May cauld ne'er catch you but a Jiap,X 
Nor hunger but in plenty's lap ! 



Amen! 



R. B. 



No. XXXII. 
TO JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq.,§ 

BANKER, AYR. 

Edinburgh, 13th Dec, 1786. 

My honoured Friend : 
I would not write you till I could have it 
in my power to give you some account of my- 
self and my matters, which by the bye is often 
no easy task. — I arrived here on Tuesday was 



table, and it is also true that he hesitated not to fall in love 
with Mrs. Hamilton's servant-maids : but dreigh-drinking 
was, in those days, regarded as a mark of a man's affection 
for his neighbour ; and as for an hour's love and daffing with 
the lasses, it was expected ; — a young fellow was set down as 
a sumph if he hesitated. — Allan Cunningham.] 

t [Without a cloak or great-coat.] 

§ [To John Ballantine the Poet not only addressed " The' 
Brigs of Ayr," but resorted to him for good advice when the 
clouds of misfortune darkened above him, and fortune, in 
his own words, used him hard and sharp. He was a good 
and a wise man, and improved much the "Auld town of 
Ayr" during the period of hisprovostship. It would appear 
by this letter that the Poet was in some degree reconciled to 
Mr. Aiken : it seems not to have been cordial, for he is no 
longer numbered among his correspondents. — Cunningham 1 



604 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



se'nnight, and have suffered ever since I came 
to town with a miserable head-ache and sto- 
mach complaint, but am now a good deal bet- 
ter. — I have found a worthy, warm friend in 
Mr. Dalrymple, of Orangefield, who intro- 
duced me to Lord Glencairn, a man whose 
worth and brotherly kindness to me I shall 
remember when time shall be no more. — By his 
interest it is passed in the " Caledonian Hunt," 
and entered in their books, that they are to 
take each a copy of the second edition, for 
which they are to pay one guinea. — I have 
been introduced to a good many of the noblesse, 
but my avowed patrons and patronesses are, 
the Duchess of Gordon — the Countess of Glen- 
cairn, with my Lord, and Lady Betty* — the 
Dean of Faculty — Sir John Whitefoord. — I have 
likewise warm friends among the literati ; Pro- 
fessors Stewart, Blair, and Mr. Mackenzie — 
the Man of Feeling. — An unknown hand left 
ten guineas for the Ayr-shire bard with Mr. 
Sibbald, which I got. — I since have discovered 
my generous unknown friend to be Patrick 
Miller, Esq., brother to the Justice Clerk ; and 
drank a glass of claret with him by invitation 
at his own house y ester-night. I am nearly 
agreed with Creech to print my book, and I 
suppose I will begin on Monday. I will send 
a subscription bill or two, next post ; when I 
intend writing my first kind patron, Mr. Aiken. 
I saw his son to-day, and he is very well. 

Dugald Stewart, and some of my learned 
friends, put me in the periodical paper called the 
Lounger, f a copy of which I here enclose you. 
— I was, Sir, when I was first honoured with 
your notice, too obscure ; now I tremble lest I 
should be ruined by being dragged too suddenly 
into the glare of polite and learned observation. 

I shall certainly, my ever -honoured patron, 
write you an account of my every step ; and 
better health and more spirits may enable me 
to make it something better than this stupid 
matter-of-fact epistle. 

I have the honour to be, 

Good Sir, 

Your ever grateful humble servant, 

R, B. 

If any of my friends write me, my direction 
is, care of Mr. Creech, bookseller. 



* Lady Betty Cunningham. 

t The paper here alluded to was written by Mr. Mackenzie* 
the celebrated author of "The Man of Feeling." 

% [The kindness and generosity of Robert Muir, of Kil- 
marnock, were not unfclt by the Poet ; and we must accept 
it as a proof of Burns's powers of pleasing that he acquired, 
so early in life, the regard of so many western worthies. In 



No. XXXIII. 
TO Mb. ROBERT MUIR.J 

Edinburgh, Dec. 20th, 1780. 

My dear Friend : 

I have just time for the carrier, to tell you 
that I received your letter ; of which I shall 
say no more but what a lass of my acquaint- 
ance said of her bastard wean ; she said she 
" did na ken wha was the father exactly, but 
she suspected it was some o' thae bonny black- 
guard smugglers, for it was like them." So I 
only say your obliging epistle was like you. I 
enclose you a parcel of subscription bills. 
Your affair of sixty copies is also like you ; but 
it would not be like me to comply. 

Your friend's notion of my life has put a 
crotchet in my head of sketching it in some 
future epistle to you. My compliments to 
Charles and Mr. Parker. 

R. B. 



No. XXXIV. 



TO Mr. WILLIAM CHALMERS.§ 

WRITER, AYR. 

Edinburgh, Dec. '17 th, 1786. 

My dear Friend : 

I confess I have sinned the sin for which 
there is hardly any forgiveness — ingratitude to 
friendship — in not writing you sooner ; but of 
all men living, I had intended to have sent you 
an entertaining letter : and by all the plodding, 
stupid powers, that in nodding, conceited ma- 
jesty, preside over the dull routine of business 
— a heavily-solemn oath this ! — I am, and have 
been, ever since I came to Edinburgh, as unfit 
to write a letter of humour as to write a com- 
mentary on the Revelation of St. John the Di- 
vine, who was banished to the Isle of Patmos 
by the cruel and bloody Domitian, son to Ves- 
pasian and brother to Titus, both Emperors of 
Rome, and who was himself an emperor, and 
raised the second or third persecution, I forget 
which, against the Christians, and after throw- 
ing the said Apostle John, brother to the Apos- 
tle James, commonly called James the Greater, 
to distinguish him from another James, who 
was, on some account or other, known by the 
name of James the Less— after throwing him 



this letter we have the first intimation of that account of 
himself which he afterwards wrote and addressed to Dr. 
Moore, and we also have satisfactory evidence of the sub- 
stantial patronage of his Ayr-shire friends.] 

§ [Burns taxed his muse to propitiate with song a lady of 
the West, to whom William Chalmers was paying his ad- 
dresses : the success of the verse is not known. See page 250.] 



©--= 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



605 



into a caldron of boiling oil, from which, he 
was miraculously preserved, he banished the 
poor son of Zebedee to a desert island in the 
Archipelago, where he was gifted with the 
second sight, and saw as many wild beasts as I 
have seen since I came to Edinburgh ; which, 
a circumstance not very uncommon in story- 
telling, brings me back to where I set out. 

To make you some amends for what, before 
you reach this paragraph, you will have suffered, 
I enclose you two poems I have carded and 
spun since I past Glenbuck. 

One blank in the address to Edinburgh — 

"Fair B ," is the heavenly Miss Burnet, 

daughter of Lord Monboddo, at whose house I 
have had the honour to be more than once. 
There has not been anything nearly like her 
in all the combinations of beauty, grace, and 
goodness the great Creator has formed, since 
Milton's Eve on the first day of her existence. 

My direction is — care of Andrew Bruce, 
merchant, Bridge-street. 

R. B. 



No. XXXV. 



TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq. 



MAUCHLINE. 



Edinburgh, January 7th, 17&7- 



To tell the truth, among friends, I feel a mi- 
serable blank in my heart from the want of her 
[alluding to Jean Armour], and I don't think I 
shall ever meet with so delicious an armful 
again. She has her faults ; but so have you 
and I ; and so has every body. 

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft j 

They've ta'en me in and a' that ; 
But clear your decks, and here's the sex, 
I like the jades for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 
And twice as muckle's a' that ! 



I have met with a very pretty girl, a Lothian 
farmer's daughter, whom I have almost per- 
suaded to accompany me to the west country, 
should I ever return to settle there. — By the 
bye, a Lothian farmer is about the same as an 
Ayr-shire squire of the lower kind. — I had a 
most delicious ride from Leith to her house yes- 
ternight, in a hackney coach, with her brother 



* [When the Poet exclaimed, in his " Earnest cry and 
Prayer," 

" O could I like Montgomeries fight, 
Or gab like Boswell," 

he included Archibald, eleventh earl of Eglinton, and Colonel 
Hugh Montgomery of Coilsfield, afterwards twelfth earl, in 
the compliment. This was re-paid by subscribing ten gui- 



and two sisters, and brother's wife. We had 
dined altogether at a common friend's house, in 
Leith, and drank, danced, and sang, till late 
enough. The night was dark, the claret had 
been good, and I thirsty 



[The remainder is unfortunately wanting.] 



No. XXXVI. 



TO THE EARL OF EGLINTON.* 

Edinburgh, January, 1787- 

My Lord : 
As I have but slender pretensions to philo- 
sophy, I cannot rise to the exalted ideas of a 
citizen of the world, but have all those national 
prejudices which I believe glow peculiarly 
strong in the breast of a Scotchman. There is 
scarcely any thing to which I am so feelingly 
alive as the honour and welfare of my country : 
and, as a poet, I have no higher enjoyment 
than singing her sons and daughters. Fate 
had cast my station in the veriest shades of 
life ; but never did a heart pant more ardently 
than mine to be distinguished ; though, till very 
lately, I looked in vain on every side for a ray 
of light. It is easy then to guess how much I 
was gratified with the countenance and appro- 
bation of one of my country's most illustrious 
sons, when Mr. Wauchope called on me yes- 
terday on the part of your lordship. Your 
munificence, my lord, certainly deserves my 
very grateful acknowledgments ; but your pa- 
tronage is a bounty peculiarly suited to my feel- 
ings. I am not master enough of the etiquette 
of life to know whether there be not some im- 
propriety in troubling your lordship with my 
thanks, but my heart whispered me to do it. — ■ 
From the emotions of my inmost soul I do it. 
Selfish ingratitude I hope I am incapable of; 
and mercenary servility, I trust, I shall ever 
have so much honest pride as to detest. 

R. B. 

No. XXXVII. 
TO JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq. 

Edinburgh, Jan. 14, 1787- 

My honoured Friend : 
It gives me a secret comfort to observe in 
myself that I am not yet so far gone as Willie 
Gaw's Skate, " past redemption ;"f for I have 



neas for two copies of the Poet's works, and a promise of 
patronage. Boswell seems not, though a native of the banks 
of Lugar, to have relished his portion of the compliment ; — 
he did not subscribe, neither has he once alluded to Burns or 
his genius throughout all his writings.] 

t [This is one of a great number of old saws that Burns, 
when a lad, had picked up from his mother, who had a vast 
collection of such fraffments of traditionary wisdom.] 



606 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



still this favourable symptom of grace, that 
when my conscience, as in the case of this let- 
ter, tells me I am leaving something undone 
that I ought to do, it teases me eternally till I 
do it. 

I am still " dark as was chaos" in respect to 
futurity. My generous friend, Mr. Patrick 
Miller, has been talking with me about a lease 
of some farm or other in an estate called Dals- 
winton, which he has lately bought near Dum- 
fries. Some life-rented embittering recollections 
whisper me that I will be happier any where 
than in my old neighbourhood, but Mr. Miller 
is no judge of land ; and though I dare say he 
means to favour me, yet he may give me, in 
his opinion, an advantageous bargain that may 
ruin me. I am to take a tour by Dumfries as 
I return, and have promised to meet Mr. Miller 
on his lands some time in May. 

I went to a mason-lodge yesternight, where 
the most Worshipful Grand Master Chartres, 
and all the Grand Lodge of Scotland visited. — 
The meeting was numerous and elegant ; all the 
different lodges about town were present, in all 
their pomp. The Grand Master, who presided 
with great solemnity and honour to himself, as 
a gentleman and mason, among other general 
toasts, gave " Caledonia, and Caledonia's Bard, 
Brother Burns," — which rung through the 
whole assembly with multiplied honours and 
repeated acclamations. As I had no idea such 
a thing would happen, I was downright thun- 
derstruck, and, trembling in every nerve, made 
the best return in my power. Just as I had 
finished, some of the grand officers said, so loud 
that I could hear, with a most comforting ac- 
cent, "Very well indeed !" which set me some- 
thing to rights again. 

I have to-day corrected my 152d page. My 
best good wishes to Mr. Aiken. 

I am ever, 

Dear Sir, 

Your much indebted humble Servant, 

R. B. 



No. XXXVIII. 

TO THE SAME. 

January — , 1787. 

While here I sit, sad and solitary, by the 
side of a fire in a little country inn, and drying 
my wet clothes, in pops a poor fellow of a sod- 
ger, and tells me he is going to Ayr. By 
heavens ! say I to myself, with a tide of good 
spirits which the magic of that sound, Auld 
Toun o' Ayr, conjured up, I will send my last 
song to Mr. Ballantine. Here it is — 



©- 



Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fair ! 

How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
And I sae fu' o' care ! * &c. 



No. XXXIX. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Edinburgh, \bth January, 1787. 

Madam : 

Yours of the 9th current, which I am this 
moment honoured with, is a deep reproach to 
me for ungrateful neglect. I will tell you the 
real truth, for I am miserably awkward at a fib 
— I wished to have written to Dr. Moore be- 
fore I wrote to you ; but, though every day 
since I received yours of December 30th, the 
idea, the wish to write to him has constantly 
pressed on my thoughts, yet I could not for my 
soul set about it. I know his fame and charac- 
ter, and I am one of "the sons of little men." 
To write him a mere matter-of-fact affair, like 
a merchant's order, would be disgracing the 
little character I have ; and to write the author 
of "The View of Society and Manners" a let-* 
ter of sentiment — I declare every artery runs 
cold at the thought. I shall try, however, to 
write to him to-morrow or next day. His kind 
interposition in my behalf I have already expe- 
rienced, as a gentleman waited on me the other 
day, on the part of Lord Eglinton, with ten 
guineas, by way of subscription for two copies 
of my next edition. 

The word you object to in the mention I have 
made of my glorious countryman and your im- 
mortal ancestor, is indeed borrowed from Thom- 
son ; but it does not strike me as an improper 
epithet. I distrusted my own judgment on 
your finding fault with it, and applied for the 
opinion of some of the literati here, who honour 
me with their critical strictures, and they all 
allow it to be proper. The song you ask I can- 
not recollect, and I have not a copy of it. I 
have not composed any thing on the great Wal- 
lace, except what you have seen in print ; and 
the enclosed, which I will print in this edition, f 
You will see I have mentioned some others of 
the name. When I composed my " Vision" 
long ago, I had attempted a description of 
Kyle, of which the additional stanzas are a 
part, as it originally stood. My heart glows 
with a wish to be able to do justice to the merits 
of the " Saviour of his Country," which sooner 
or later I shall at least attempt. 

You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with 
my prosperity as a poet ; alas ! Madam, I 
know myself and the world too well. I do not 



* [See "The Banks of Doon," page 409.] 
t [See Stanzas in the "Vision," page 206, beginning 
' By stately tower or palace fair," to the end of the first Duan.J 



®- 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



607 



mean any airs of affected modesty ; I am wil- 
ling to believe that my abilities deserve some 
notice ; but in a most enlightened, informed 
age and nation, when poetry is and has been 
the study of men of the first natural genius, 
aided with all the powers of polite learning, 
polite books, and polite company — to be dragged 
forth to the full glare of learned and polite ob- 
| servation, with all my imperfections of awkward 
rusticity and crude, unpolished ideas on my head 
— I assure you, Madam, I do not dissemble 
when I tell you I tremble for the consequences. 
The novelty of a poet in my obscure situation, 
without any of those advantages which are 
reckoned necessary for that character, at least 
at this time of day, has raised a partial tide of 
public notice which has borne me to a height, 
where I am absolutely, feelingly certain my 
abilities are inadequate to support me ; and too 
surely do I see that time when the same tide 
will leave me, and recede, perhaps, as far be- 
low the mark of truth. I do not say this in 
the ridiculous affectation of self-abasement and 
modesty. I have studied myself, and know 
what ground I occupy ; and, however a friend 
or the world may differ from me in that parti- 
cular, I stand for my own opinion, in silent re- 
solve, with all the tenaciousness of property. 
I mention this to you once for all to dis-burthen 



* [John Moore, M.D., one of the first men of established 
literary reputation, who befriended the Ayr-shire Poet, was 
the sou of the Rev. Charles Moore, of Stirling. The latter, 
although born in Ireland, was a cadet of the Scotch house 
of Mure of Rowallan, in Ayr-shire ; his ancestor, Captain 
Alexander Mure, the son of Sir William Mure of Rowallan, 
having been slain in an action about the year 1648, with the 
rebels in Ireland, where his family continued to reside. The 
son of this gentleman was a military officer, who also served 
in Ireland under William III. ; and it was owing to the fa- 

i mily connexion with Scotland, as much as to his talents, and 
exemplary character, that the son of the last Captain Moore 
was, although an alien to the country, advanced in early life 
to the parochial charge at Stirling, where his son, Dr. John 

j Moore, the subject of the present notice, was born in 1730. 
The family of Mure of Rowallan is said to have been origi- 
nally of the tribe of O'More, in Ireland. Robert II., King of 

I Scotland, married Elizabeth Mure, daughter of Sir Adam 
Mure of Rowallan, and from this marriage the Royal fa- 
mily of Stuart is descended. 

While Dr. Moore was yet a child, his father died, and his 
mother removed with him to Glasgow, where she possessed 
some property, inherited from her father, Anderson of Dow- 
hill, whose family, once in great affluence in that city, had 
suffered much, according to Wodrow, from fines imposed in 
the reign of James II., for their adherence to Presbyterian- 
ism ; and the participation of the last laird of Dowhill in 
the Darien expedition reduced the family to comparative po- 
verty. On a temperament such as that of the author of 
Zeluco, the position in which his earlier years were passed 
exercised no inconsiderable influence in promoting those 
habits of industry and exertion for which, in after life, he 
was eminently distinguished. At Glasgow, Dr. Moore re- 
ceived both his elementary and academical education. So 
precocious were his talents that, in 1747, when only 17 years of 
age, he was honoured with the especial patronage of Colonel 
Campbell, afterwards fifth Duke of Argyle, by whom he was 
introduced to the hospitals connected with the British Army 
in Flanders., and brought under the notice of various distin- 
guished officers, as a young man likely to be an ornament 
to the medical profession. At the conclusion of the war, he 
was for some time an attach': to the British Embassy of Lord 
Albemarle, in Paris. He afterwards settled in practice in 
Glasgow, as the partner of Mr. Hamilton, the University 
Professor of Anatomy. While, however, the professional 



my mind, and I do not wish to hear or say 
more about it. — But, 

"When proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes," 

you will bear me witness that, when my bubble 
of fame was at the highest, I stood unintoxi- 
cated, with the inebriating cup in my hand, 
looking forward with rueful resolve to the 
hastening time when the blow of Calumny 
should dash it to the ground, with all the eager- 
ness of vengeful triumph. 

* * * * 

Your patronizing me and interesting yourself 
in my fame and character as a poet, I rejoice 
in ; it exalts me in my own idea : and whether 
you can or cannot aid me in my subscription is 
a trifle. Has a paltry subscription-bill any 
charms to the heart of a bard, compared with 
the patronage of the descendant of the immor- 
tal Wallace ? R. B. 



No. XL. 



Sir: 



TO Dr. MOORE.* 

Edinburgh, Jan., 178/. 



Mrs. Dijnlop has been so kind as to send 
me extracts of letters she has had from you, 
where you do the rustic bard the honour of 



accomplishments of Dr. >Ioore were never made the subject 
of doubt, a certain dislike to the drudgery of medical prac- 
tice prevented him from enjoying that amount of public pa- 
tronage to which, by his talents, he was entitled. It was, 
therefore, with no unwilling mind that, early in 1769, though 
for some years married and the father of several children, he 
agreed to take the charge of the young Duke of Hamilton, 
step-son of his first patron, a youth of fourteen, possessed 
of the most excellent dispositions, but whose health was 
such as to require the constant attendance of a physician. 
With this young nobleman, Dr. Moore made one short ex- 
cursion to the Continent. But the connexion was abruptly 
dissolved, in July, by the death of the Duke, upon whose 
tomb his affectionate attendant inscribed a poetical epitaph, 
testifying to the promise which was thus early blighted. 

In the following year, Dr. Moore was selected to attend 
the brother and heir of the deceased Duke — the noted 
Douglas, Duke of Hamilton, then a sickly boy, and as yet 
innocent of the vices that ultimately clouded a career which 
talent and generosity had combined with almost princely 
rank and fortune, to render illustrious. Dr. Moore and this 
young nobleman spent five years in continental travel, finally 
returning in 1778, when the Duke had attained his majority. 
In that year Dr. Moore removed his family to London, with 
the design of prosecuting his profession in a higher sphere 
than could be commanded in Glasgow. As yet, he had giveD 
no decided proof of his literary talents ; but this he did in 
the following year, by the publication of his " View of So- 
ciety and Manners in France, Switzerland, and Germany, "a 
work of so much vivacity and intelligence that it instantly 
attained a great popularity, and was translated into French, 
German, and Italian. In 1785, he produced his " Medical 
Sketches," a work which treats on several important topics, 
relative to health and disease, not without an intermixture of 
pleasant stories and humorous sarcasm. It was at the close 
of the ensuing year that his attention was drawn to the 
poetry of Burns. Some expressions of admiration, which 
he had employed regarding it, in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, and 
which that lady transmitted to Burns, led to a correspond- 
ence between the learned Physician and the comparatively 
unlettered Bard, in which the one party appears kind, with- 
out the least affectation of superiority, and the other respect- 
ful with as little display of servility. To Dr. Moore, the 
Poet, in the ensuing August, addressed a sketch of his own 
life which was published in the front of Dr Currie's memoir, 



608 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



noticing him and his works. Those who have 
felt the anxieties and solicitudes of authorship 
can only know what pleasure it gives to be no- 
ticed, in such a manner, by judges of the first 
character. Your criticisms, Sir, I receive with 
reverence : onty I am sorry they mostly came 
too late : a peccant passage or two, that I would 
certainly have altered, were gone to the press. 

The hope to be admired for ages is, in by far 
the greater part of those even who are authors 
of repute, an unsubstantial dream. For my part, 
my first ambition was, and still my strongest 
wish is, to please my compeers, the rustic in- 
mates of the hamlet, while ever-changing lan- 
guage and manners shall allow me to be re- 
lished and understood. I am very willing to 
admit that I have some poetical abilities : and 
as few, if any, writers, either moral or poetical, 
are intimately acquainted with the classes of 
mankind among whom I have chiefly mingled, 
I may have seen men and manners in a diffe- 
rent phasis from what is common, which may 



and has effectually associated the names of these very oppo- 
site men in our literary history. 

Dr. Moore, when on the verge of sixty (1/89), appeared 
for the first time as a writer of fiction. His novel of 
" Zeluco" assumed, and has ever since maintained, a high 
i rank amongst works of that class, on account of the power- 
! ful moral painting which forms the most conspicuous feature 
of its composition. The interest which he felt in the affairs 
of France induced him to proceed, late in the summer of 
1792, to Paris. He there witnessed the insurrection of the 
10th of August, the dethronement of the King, the terrific 
massacres of September, and the tremendous party struggles 
which marked the remainder of that year. He was conse- 
quently enabled to gratify the curiosity of the British public 
by a work entitled "A Journal during a Residence in 
France," &c, which is allowed by Dr. Aiken to be written 
with impartiality and discernment. After several years spent 
in ease and retirement, at Richmond, he died at his house in 
Clifford-street, London, February 29, 1802. He left five sons, 
the eldest of whom was the gallant and lamented General 
Sir John Moore. — Land of Burns. 

To the accomplished Dr. Moore the Poet seems to have 
unbosomed himself more than to most of his patronizing 
friends. Nor is this to be wondered at — Moore was not only 
a fine scholar and a man of genius, but he was one of the 
kindest and most accessible of mankind. Burns seems to 
have possessed a natural tact for discovering how far he 
might go in laying his bosom bare to his companions and 
correspondents, and he certainly hit, as if by inspiration, 
the character of Dr. Moore, who, with the secrecy of a phy- 
sician, and the prudence of a friend, received the communi- 
cations of the rustic bard, read to the London literati such 
portions of the Poet's letters as he knew would be most 
, relished ; quoted the finest passages of his poems, and 
spread his fame with a diligence which could only arise from 
a hearty appreciation of his great merit. Dr. Moore's letter, 
to which the above was a reply, is as follows : — 

Clifford-street, London, Jan. 23rd, 1787- 
" Sir, — I have just received your letter, by which I find I 
have reason to complain of my friend Mrs. Dunlop, for trans- 
mitting to you extracts from my letters to her, by much too 
freely and too carelessly written for your perusal. I must 
forgive her, however, in consideration of her good intention, 
as you will forgive me, I hope, for the freedom I use with 
certain expressions, in consideration of my admiration of the 
poems in general. If I may judge of the author's disposi- 
tion from his works, with all the other good qualities of a 
poef, he has not the irritable temper ascribed to that race of 
men by one of their own number, whom you have the hap- 
piness to resemble in ease and curious felicity of expression. 
Indeed, the poetical beauties, however original and brilliant, 
and lavishly scattered, are not all I admire in your works ; — 
the love of your native country, that feeling sensibility to all 
♦.he objects of humanity, and the independent spirit which 



assist originality of thought. Still I know very 
well the novelty of my character has by far the 
greatest share in the learned and polite notice I 
have lately had : and in a language where 
Pope and Churchill have raised the laugh, and 
Shenstone and Gray drawn the tear ; where 
Thomson and Beattie have painted the land- 
scape, and Lyttleton and Collins described the 
heart ; I am not vain enough to hope for distin 
guished poetic fame. 

R. B. 



No. XLI. 
TO THE Rev. G. LAWRIE,* 

NEWMILLS, NEAR KILMARNOCK. 

Edinburgh, Feb. 5th, 1787. 

Reverend and dear Sir : 
When I look at the date of your kind letter, 
my heart reproaches me severely with ingrati- 



breathes through the whole, give me a most favourable im- 
pression of the Poet, and have made me often regret that I 
did not see the poems, the certain effect of which would have 
been my seeing the author, last summer, when I was longer 
in Scotland than I have been for many years. 

" I rejoice very sincerely at the encouragement you receive 
at Edinburgh, and I think you peculiarly fortunate in the 
patronage of Dr. Blair, who I am informed interests himself 
very much for you. I beg to be remembered to him ; no- 
body can have a warmer regard for that gentleman than I 
have, which, independent of the worth of his character, 
would be kept alive by the memory of our common friend, 
the late Mr. George B e. 

" Before I received your letter, I sent enclosed in a letter 

to , a sonnet by Miss Williams, a young poetical 

lady, which she wrote on reading your "Mountain-daisy ;" 
perhaps it may not displease you : — 

" ' While soon 'the garden's flaunting flowers' decay, 

And scatter'd on the earth neglected lie, 
The ' Mountain-daisy,' cherish'd by the ray 

A poet drew from heaven, shall never die. 
Ah, like that lonely flower the poet rose ! 

'Mid penury's bare soil and bitter gale ; 
He felt each storm that on the mountain blows, 

Nor ever knew the shelter of the vale. 
By genius in her native vigour nurst, 

On nature with impassion'd look he gaz'd ; 
Then through the cloud of adverse fortune burst 

Indignant, and in light unborrow'd blaz'd. 
Scotia ! from rude affliction shield thy bard ; 
His heaven-taught numbers Fame herself will guard.' 

" I have been trying to add to the number of your sub- 
scribers, but find many of my acquaintance are already 
among them. I have only to add that, with every sentiment 
of esteem, and the most cordial good wishes, 
"I am 
" Your obedient humble servant, 
J. Moore."] 

* [The Rev. Dr. Lawrie was one of the Poet's earliest 
friends : the door of his manse was always open to him, a 
seat at his table was ever at his command, and he seems to 
have been fully sensible of the kindness with which he was 
treated. The letter, to which this of Burns was in answer, 
is dated 22d December, 1786, and evinces Dr. Lawrie's 
anxiety for his honest fame : — 

Dear Sir,— I last week received a letter from Dr. Black- 
lock, in which he expresses a desire of seeing you. I write 
this to you, that you may lose no time in waiting upon him, 
should you not yet have seen him. " I rejoice to hear, from 
all corners, of your rising fame, and I wish and expect it 
may tower still higher by the new publication. But, as a 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



GOO 



tude in neglecting so long to answer it. I will 
not trouble you with any account, by way of 
apology, of my hurried life and distracted at- 
tention : do me the justice to believe that my 
delay by no means proceeded from want of res- 
pect. I feel, and ever shall feel for you, the 
mingled sentiments of esteem for a friend, and 
reverence for a father. 

I thank you, Sir, with all my soul for your 
friendly hints, though I do not need them so 
much as my friends are apt to imagine. You 
are dazzled with newspaper accounts and dis- 
tant reports ; but, in reality, I have no great 
temptation to be intoxicated with the cup of 
prosperity. Novelty may attract the attention 
of mankind awhile ; to it I owe my present 
eclat ; but I see the time not far distant when 
the popular tide, which has borne me to a height 
of which I am, perhaps, unworthy, shall re- 
cede with silent celerity, and leave me a barren 
waste of sand, to descend at my leisure to my 
former station. I do not say this in the affec- 
tation of modesty ; I see the consequence is un- 
avoidable, and am prepared for it. 1 had been 
at a good deal of pains to form a just, impar- 
tial estimate of my intellectual powers before I 
came here ; I have not added, since I came to 
Edinburgh, anything to the account ; and I 
trust I shall take every atom of it back to my 
shades, the coverts of my unnoticed, early 
years. 

In Dr. Blacklock, whom I see very often, I 
have found what I would have expected in our 
friend, a clear head and an excellent heart. 

By far the most agreeable hours I spend in 
Edinburgh must be placed to the account of 
Miss Lawrie and her piano-forte. I cannot 
help repeating to you and Mrs. Lawrie a com- 
pliment that Mr. Mackenzie, the celebrated 
" Man of Feeling/ 7 paid to Miss Lawrie, the 
other night, at the concert. I had come in at 
the interlude, and sat down by him till I saw 
Miss Lawrie in a seat not very distant, and 
went up to pay my respects to her. On my re- 
turn to Mr. Mackenzie, he asked me who she 
was ; I told him 'twas the daughter of a reve- 
rend friend of mine in the west country. He 
returned, there was something very striking, to 
his idea, in her appearance. On my desiring to 
know what it was, he was pleased to say, "She 



friend, I warn you to prepare to meet with your share of de- 
traction and envy— a train that always accompanies great men. 
For your comfort I am in great hopes that the number of 
your friends and admirers will increase, and that you have 
some chance of ministerial, or even royal, patronage. Now, 
my friend, such rapid success is very uncommon, and do you 
think yourself in no danger of suffering by applause and a 
full purse ? Remember Solomon's advice, which he spoke 
from experience, ' stronger is he that conquers,' &c. Keep 
fast hold of your rural simplicity and purity, like Telema- 
chus, by Mentor's aid in Calypso's isle, or even in that of 
Cyprus. I hope you have also Minerva with you. I need 
not tell you how much a modest diffidence and invincible 
temperance adorn the most shining talents, and elevate the 
mind, and exalt and refine the imagination even of a poet; 



has a great deal of the elegance of a well-bred 
lady about her, with all the sweet simplicity of 
a country girl." 

My compliments to all the happy inmates of 
St. Margaret's. 

R, B. 



No. XLII. 



Sir: 



TO Dr. MOORE 

Edinburgh, 15th February, 17%]. 



Pardon my seeming neglect in delaying so 
long to acknowledge the honour you have done 
me, in your kind notice of me, January 23d. 
Not many months ago 1 joiew no other employ- 
ment than following the plough, nor could 
boast any thing higher than a distant acquaint- 
ance with a country clergyman. Mere great- 
ness never embarrasses me ; I have nothing to 
ask from the great, and I do not fear their 
judgment : but genius, polished by learning, 
and at its proper point of elevation in the eye 
of the world, this of late I frequently meet 
with, and tremble at its approach. I scorn the 
affectation of seeming modesty to cover self- 
conceit. That I have some merit I do not deny ; 
but I see, with frequent wringings of heart, that 
the novelty of my character, and the honest 
national prejudice of my countrymen, have 
borne me to a height altogether untenable to 
my abilities. 

For the honour Miss Williams has done me, 
please, Sir, return her in my name my most 
grateful thanks. T have more than once 
thought of paying her in kind, but have 
hitherto quitted the idea in hopeless despond- 
ency. I had never before heard of her ; but 
the other day I got her poems, which for several 
reasons, some belonging to the head, and others 
the offspring of the heart, give me a great deal 
of pleasure. I have little pretensions to critic 
lore ; there are, I think, two characteristic fea- 
tures in her poetry — the unfettered wild flight 
of native genius, and the querulous, sombre 
tenderness of " time-settled sorrow." 

I only know what pleases me, often without 
being able to tell why.* 

R. B. 



" I hope you will not imagine I speak from suspicion or 
evil report. I assure you I speak from love and good re- 
port, and good opinion, and a strong desire to see you shine 
as much in the sunshine as you have done in the shade ; and 
in the practice as you do in the theory of virtue. This is 
my prayer in return for your elegant composition in verse. 
All here join in compliments and good wishes for your further 
prosperity." 

* [The answer of Moore is characteristic of the man : the 
glimpse which it gives of the household in which the heroic 
Sir John Moore was born and bred will be acceptable to 
the world, 

" Clifford-street, 28th February, 1787. 

" Dear Sir :■ — Your letter of tbe 15th gave me a great 
deal of pleasure. It is not surprising that you improve it) 

2 R 



610 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. XLIII. 
TO JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq. 

Edinburgh, Feb. 24, 1787. 

My honoured Friend : — 
I will soon be with you now, in guid black 
prent ; — in a week or ten days at farthest. I 
am obliged, against my own wish, to print sub- 
scribers' names ; so if any of my Ayr friends 
have subscription bills, they must be sent, in to 
Creech directly. I am getting my phiz done 
by an eminent engraver, and, if it can be ready 
in time, I will appear in my book, looking, like 
all other fools, to my title page.* 

R. B. 



No. XLIV. 



TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 

Edinburgh, February, 1787* 

My Lord : 

I wanted to purchase a profile of your lord- 
ship, which I was told was to be got in town ; but 
I am truly sorry to see that a blundering painter 
has spoiled a " human face divine." The en- 
closed stanzas I intended to have written below 
a picture or profile of your lordship, could I 
have been so happy as to procure one with any 
thing of a likeness. 

As I will soon return to my shades, I wanted 
to have something like a material object for my 
gratitude ; I wanted to have it in my power to 
say to a friend, there is my noble patron, my 
generous benefactor. Allow me, my lord, to 
publish these verses. I conjure your lordship, 
by the honest throe of gratitude, by the gene- 
rous wish of benevolence, by all the powers and 
feelings which compose the magnanimous mind, 



correctness and taste, considering where you have been for 
some time past. And I dare swear there is no danger of 
your admitting any polish which might weaken the vigour 
of your native powers. 

" I am glad to perceive that you disdain the nauseous af- 
fectation of decrying your own merit as a poet, an affectation 
which is displayed with most ostentation by those who have 
the greatest share of self-conceit, and which only adds un- 
deceiving falsehood to disgusting vanity. For you to deny 
the merit of your poems would be arraigning the fixed 
opinion of the public. 

" As the new edition of my ' View of Society' is not yet 
ready, I have sent you the former edition, which I beg you 
will accept as a small mark of my esteem. It is sent by sea 
to the care of Mr. Creech, and along with these four volumes 
for yourself, I have also sent my ' Medical Sketches,' in one 
volume, for my friend Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop : this you 
will be so obliging as to transmit, or, if you chance to pass 
soon by Dunlop, to give to her. 

" I am happy to hear that your subscription is so ample, 
and shall rejoice at every piece of good fortune that befalls 
you. For you are a very great favourite in my family ; and 
this is a higher compliment than perhaps you are aware of. 
It includes almost all the professions, and of course is a proof 
that your writings are adapted to various tastes and situations 
My youngest son, who is at Winchester school, writes to me 
that he is translating some stanzas of your 'Hallowe'en' 
info Latin vense, for the benefit of his comrades. 



do not deny me this petition. I owe much to 
your lordship : and, what has not in some other 
instances always been the case with me, the 
weight of the obligation is a pleasing load. I 
trust I have a heart as independent as your 
lordship's, than which I can say nothing more ; 
and I would not be beholden to favours that 
would crucify my feelings. Your dignified 
character in life, and manner of supporting that 
character, are flattering to my pride ; and I 
would be jealous of the purity of my grateful 
attachment, where I was under the patronage 
of one of the much favoured sons of fortune. 

Almost every poet has celebrated his patrons, 
particularly when they were names clear to fame, 
and illustrious in their country ; allow me, 
then, my lord, if you think the verses have in- 
trinsic merit, to tell the world how much I have 
the honour to be, 

Your lordship's highly indebted, 
And ever grateful humble servant, 

R. B.f 



No. XLV. 



TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN. 

[Edinburgh, February, 17870 

My Lord : 
The honour your lordship has done me, by 
your notice and advice in yours of the 1st in- 
stant, I shall ever gratefully remember : — 

" Praise from thy lips 'tis mine with joy to boast, 
They best can give it who deserve it most." 

Your lordship touches the darling chord of 
my lieart, when you advise me to fire my muse 
at Scottish story and Scottish scenes. I wish 
for nothing more than to make a leisurely pil- 
grimage through my na ive country ; to sit and 
muse on those once hard contested fields, where 



" This union of taste partly proceeds, no doubt, from the 
cement of Scottish partiality with which they are all some- 
what tinctured. Even your translator, who left Scotland 
too early in life for recollection, is not without it. 

****** 
i remain, with great sincerity, 

Your obedient servant, 

J. Moore."] 

* [The original picture, from which Beugo engraved the 
portrait to which the Poet alludes, was painted by the now 
venerable Nasmyth— the eldest of living British artists. It 
is of the cabinet size, and, though deficient in that look of 
inspiration which belonged peculiarly to Burns, is regarded 
by all the North as a good likeness. The engraving by Beugo 
has a more melancholy air, and is of a swarthier hue : this 
change was made by the engraver, who caused the Poet to 
sit to him, and finished the copper from his face, in prefer- 
ence to working from the picture. This painting passed into 
the hands of Mrs. Burns, after the death of Alexander Cun- 
ningham : it is now in the possession of the Poet's son, 
Captain William Burns, in India.] 

f [The Earl of Glencairn seems to have refused, from 
motives of delicacy, the request of the Poet ; and the Poet. 
perhaps stung by the refusal, destroyed his own copy of th* 
verses, for they have been sought for in vain.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



611 



Caledonia, rejoicing, saw her bloody lion borne 
through broken ranks to victory and fame ; 
and, catching the inspiration, to pour the death- 
less names in song. But, my lord, in the 
midst of these enthusiastic reveries, a long-vi- 
saged, dry, moral - looking phantom strides 
across my imagination, and pronounces these 
emphatic words : — 

" I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence. Friend, 
I do not come to open the ill-closed wounds of 
your follies and misfortunes, merely to give you 
pain : I wish through these wounds to imprint 
a lasting lesson on your heart. I will not men- 
tion how many of my salutary advices you 
have despised : I have given you line upon line 
and precept upon precept ; and while I was 
chalking out to you the straight way to wealth 
and character, with audacious effrontery you 
have zigzagged across the path, contemning me 
to my face : you know the consequences. It is 
not yet three months since home was so hot for 
you that you were on the wing for the western 
shore of the Atlantic, not to make a fortune, 
but to hide your misfortune. 

" Now that your dear-loved Scotia puts it in 
your power to return to the situation of your 
forefathers, will you follow these will-o'-wisp 
meteors of fancy and whim, till they bring you 
once more to the brink of ruin ? I grant that 
the utmost ground you can occupy is but half 
a step from the veriest poverty ; but still it is 
half a step from it. If all that I can urge be 
ineffectual, let her who seldom calls to you in 
vain, let the call of pride prevail with you. — 
You know how you feel at the iron gripe of 
ruthless oppression : you know hov you bear 
the galling sneer of contumelious greatness. I 
hold you out the conveniences, the comforts of 
life, independence, and character, on the one 
hand; I tender you civility, dependence, and 
wretchedness, on the other. I will not insult 
your understanding by bidding you make a 
choice."* 

This, my lord, is unanswerable. I must re- 
turn to my humble station, and woo my rustic 
muse in my wonted way at the plough-tail. — 
Still, my lord, while the drops of life warm my 
heart, gratitude to that dear loved country in 
which I boast my birth, and gratitude to those 
her distinguished sons who have honoured 
me so much with their patronage and appro- 
bation, shall, while stealing through my hum- 
ble shades, ever distend my bosom, and at 
times, as now, draw forth the swelling tear.-f 

R. B. 



* [Copied from the Bee, vol. ii., p. 319, and compared 
with the author's MSS.— Curbie.] 

t [The Earl of Buchan was one of the most economical of 
patrons ; lest the object of his kindness might chance to feel 
too heavily the debt of obligation, he did not hesitate to al- 



No. XLVL 
TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

Edinburgh, March 8th, 1787. 

Dear Sir : 

Your's came safe, and I am as usual much 
indebted to your goodness. — Poor Captain 
M.[ontgomery] is cast. Yesterday it was tried 
whether the husband could proceed against the 
unfortunate lover without first divorcing his 
wife, and their Gravities on the Bench were 
unanimously of opinion that Maxwell may pro- 
secute for damages directly, and need not di- 
vorce his wife at all if he pleases ; and Max- 
well is immediately, before the Lord Ordinary, 
to prove, what I dare say will not be denied, 
the Crim. Con. — then their Lordships will mo- 
dify the damages, which I suppose will be 
pretty heavy, as their Wisdoms have expressed 
great abhorrence of my gallant Right Wor- 
shipful Brother's conduct. 

O, all ye powers of love unfortunate, and 
friendless woe, pour the balm of sympathizing 
pity on the grief- torn, tender heart of the hap- 
less Fair One ! 

My two songs on Miss W. Alexander and 
Miss P. Kennedy were likewise tried yesterday 
by a jury of literati, and found defamatory libels 
against the fastidious powers of Poesy and 
Taste ; and the author forbidden to print them 
under pain of forfeiture of character. I cannot 
help almost shedding a tear to the memory of 
two songs that had cost me some pains, and that 
I valued a good deal, but I must submit. 

My most respectful compliments to Mrs. 
Hamilton and Miss Kennedy. — 

My poor unfortunate Songs come again 
across my memory. D— n the pedant, frigid 
soul of Criticism for ever and ever ! 
I am ever, 
Dear Sir, 

Your obliged 

Robert Burns. 

[The above interesting letter was communi- 
cated to the Editor of the present edition, by 
John Hamilton, Esq., the "wee curlie John 

" of Burns's Poetical Dedication to his 

friend and patron Gavin Hamilton, Esq. It 
will be perused with interest by all admirers 
of the great Scottish Bard. The Songs so feel- 
ingly alluded to were " The Bonny Lass o' 
Ballochmyle," and "The Banks o' Bonny 
Doon" — two of the finest lyrics in the lan- 
guage. They were not long in making their 
appearance. See pp. 357 and 409. — J. C.] 



low a painter to present him with a picture, or a poet with a 
poem. He advised Burns to make a pilgrimage to the scenes 
of Scotland's battles, in the hope, perhaps, that Ancranj- 
moor would be immortalized in song, and the name of the 
" Commendator of Dryburgh " included in the strain.] 
2 R 2 



612 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. XLVII. 
TO Mr. JAMES CANDLISH.* 

Edinburgh, March 21, 1787. 

My ever dear old Acquaintance : 
I was equally surprised and pleased at your 
letter, though I dare say you will think by my 
delaying so long to write to you that I am so 
drowned in the intoxication of good fortune as 
to be indifferent to old, and once dear, con- 
nexions. The truth is, I was determined to 
write a good letter, full of argument, amplifi- 
cation, erudition, and, as Bayes says, all that. 
I thought of it, and thought of it, and, by my 
soul, I could not ; and, lest you should mistake 
the cause of my silence, I just sit down to tell 
you so. Don't give yourself credit, though, 
that the strength of your logic scares me : the 
truth is I never mean to meet you on that 
ground at all. You have shown me one thing 
which was to be demonstrated : that strong- 
pride of reasoning, with a little affectation of 
singularity, may mislead the best of hearts. I 
likewise, since you and I were first acquainted, 
in the pride of despising old women's stories, 
ventured in "the daring path Spinosa trod ;" 
but experience of the weakness, not the strength 
of human powers, made me glad to grasp at 
revealed religion. 

I am still, in the Apostle Paul's phrase, 
" The old man with his deeds," as when we 
were sporting about the " Lady Thorn." I 
shall be four weeks here yet at least ; and so I 
shall expect to hear from you \ welcome sense, 
welcome nonsense. 

I am, with the warmest sincerity, 

R. B. 



No. XLVIII. 



TO Mr. WILLIAM DUNBAR. 

Lawn-Market, Monday Morning, [March, 178".] 

Dear Sir : 
In justice to Spenser, I must acknowledge 
that there is scarcely a poet in the language 
could have been a more agreeable present to 
me ; and in justice to you, allow me to say, 
Sir, that I have not met with a man in Edin- 
burgh to whom I would so willingly have been 
indebted for the gift. The tattered rhymes I 
herewith present you, and the handsome 
volumes of Spenser for which I am so much 
indebted to your goodness, may perhaps be not 
in proportion to one another ; but be that as it 
may, my gift, though far less valuable, is as 
sincere a mark of esteem as yours. 



* [The person to whom this letter is addressed — at that 
time a student of physic in the University of Glasgow, was 
a good scholar, something of a poet, and much of a contro- 
versialist. He was, it is believed, a native of the province 
of Galloway— was well acquainted with the poetry of John 



The time is approaching when I shall return 
to my shades ; and I am afraid my numerous 
Edinburgh friendships are of so tender a con- 
struction that they will not bear carriage with 
me. Yours is one of the few that I could wish 
of a more robust constitution. It is indeed 
very probable that when I leave this city, we 
part never more to meet in this sublunary 
sphere ; but I have a strong fancy that in some 
future eccentric planet, the comet of happier 
systems than any with which astronomy is yet 
acquainted, you and I, among the harum scarum 
sons of imagination and whim, with a hearty 
shake of a hand, a metaphor and a laugh, shall 
recognise old acquaintance : 

Where wit may sparkle all its rays, 
Uncurst with caution's fears ; 

That pleasure, basking in the blaze, 
Rejoice for endless years. 

I have the honour to be, with the warmest 
sincerity, dear Sir, &c. R. B. 



[This gentleman was the subject of the 
Poet's song entitled " Rattling, Roaring. 
Willie." He was a writer to the Signet in 
Edinburgh. The letter was first published in 
Hogg and Motherwell's edition of the Poet's 
Works, and was communicated by Mr. P. 
Buchan, of Aberdeen.] 



No. XLIX. 
TO . 



on fergusson's head-stone. 

Edinburgh, March, 1787« 

My dear Sir: 
You may think, and too justly, that I am a 
selfish, ungrateful fellow, having received so 
many repeated instances of kindness from you, 
and yet never putting pen to paper to say thank 
you ; but if you knew what a devil of a life 
my conscience has led me on that account, 
your good heart would think yourself too much 
avenged. By the bye, there is nothing in the 
whole frame of man which seems to be so un- 
accountable as that thing called conscience. 
Had the troublesome yelping cur powers effici- 
ent to prevent a mischief!, he might be of use ; 
but at the beginning of the business, his feeble 
efforts are to the workings of passion as the 
infant frosts of an autumnal morning to the 
unclouded fervour of the rising sun : and no 
sooner are the tumultuous doings of the wicked 
deed over, than, amidst the bitter native con- 
sequences of folly, in the very vortex of oui 



Lowe, author of " Mary's Dream," and furnished a copy of 
the Galwegian bard's song of " Pompey's Ghoat," at the 
request of Burns, for the Musical Museum. He was one of 
the very earliest of the Poet's companions, and one of the 
cleverest ; nor was he unsuccessful in the world.} 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



613 



horrors, up starts conscience, and harrows us 
with the feelings of the damned. 

I have enclosed you, by way of expiation, 
some verse and prose, that, if they merit a 
place in your truly entertaining miscellany, 
you are welcome to. The prose extract is 
literally as Mr. Sprott sent it me. 

The inscription on the stone is as follows : — 

" HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET, 

" Born, September 5th, 1751— Died, October 16th, 1774. 

" No sculptui 'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 
' No storied urn nor animated bust ;' 
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust." 

On the other side of the stone is as follows : — 

" By special grant of the managers to Robert Burns, who 
erected this stone, this burial-place is to remain for ever 
sacred to the memory of Robert Fergusson." 



Session-house within the Kirk of Canongate , i,he 
twenty-second day of February, one thousand 
seven hundred and eighty-seven years. 

Sederunt of the Managers of the Kirk and 
Kirk Yard funds of Canongate. 
Which day, the treasurer to the said funds 
produced a letter from Mr. Robert Burns, of 
date the 6th current, which was read and ap- 
pointed to be engrossed in their sederunt book, 
and of which letter the tenor follows : — 



* [From the sinking of the ground of the neighbouring 
graves, the head-stone placed by Burns over Fergusson was 
thrown from its balance ; this was observed soon after the 
death of the Bard of Ayr, by the Esculapian Club of Edin- 
burgh, who, animated by that pious zeal for departed merit 
.vhich had before led (hem to prevent some other sepulchral 
monuments from going to ruin, re-fixed the original stone, 
and added some iron work, with an additional inscription to 
the memory of Burns. The poetical part of it is taken, 
almost verbatim, from the Elegy on Captain Matthew Hen- 
derson : — 

Dignum laude verum Masa vetat mori, 

Lo ! Genius, proudly, while to Fame she turns, 

Twines Currie's laurels with the wreath of BURNS. 



To the Memory of 
ROBERT BURNS, THE AYR-SHIRE BARD ; 

WHO WAS BORN AT DOONSIDE, 

On the 25th of January, 1759 ; 

AND DIED AT DUMFRIES, 

On the 22nd of July, 1796. 

O Robert Burns ! the Man, the Brother ! 
And art thou gone — and gone for ever ! 
And hast thou cross'd that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ! 
Like thee, where shall we find another, 

The world around ! 
Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash 0' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the sweetest Poet's fate, 

E'er liv'd on earth. 

To have raised one solid monument of masonry to both, 
vorking Ferpusson's head-stone into one side of the struc- 
are, and placing the Burns inscription on the other, would 



"To the honourable baillies of Canongate, 
Edinburgh. — Gentlemen, I am sorry to be 
told that the remains of Robert Fergusson, the 
so justly celebrated poet, a man whose ialents 
for ages to come will do honour to our Cale- 
donian name, lie in your church-yard among 
the ignoble dead, unnoticed and unknown. 

" Some memorial to direct the steps of the 
lovers of Scottish song, when they wish to shed 
a tear over the i narrow house' of the bard who 
is no more, is surely a tribute due to Fergus- 
son's memory : a tribute I wish to have the 
honour of paying. 

" I petition you then, gentlemen, to permit 
me to lay a simple stone over his revered ashes, 
to remain an unalienable property to his death- 
less fame. I have the honour to be, gentlemen, 
your very humble servant {sic subscribitur), 
Robert Burns. 

Thereafter the said managers, in considera- 
tion of the laudable and disinterested motion of 
Mr. Burns, and the propriety of his request, 
did, and hereby do, unanimously grant power 
and liberty to the said Robert Burns to erect a 
headstone at the grave of the said Robert 
Fergusson, and to keep up and preserve the 
same to his memory in all time coming.* Ex- 
tracted forth of the records of the managers, by 

William Sprott, Clerk. 



perhaps have been more judicious. — See Letter to Mr. Peter 
Hill, dated Feb. 5th, 1792, relative to this monument. 

On the subject of Fergusson' s head-stone, we find the fol- 
lowing letter in Dr. Currie's edition of the Poet's works : — 



March i 



, 1787. 



I am truly happy to know you have found a friend in 
* * * * . hj s patronage of you does him great honour. 
He is truly a good man ; by far the best I ever knew, or, 
perhaps, ever shall know, in this world. But I must not 
speak all I think of him, lest I should be thought partial. 

So you have obtained liberty from the magistrates to erect 
a stone over Fergusson' s grave ? I do not doubt it; such 
things have been, as Shakspeare says, " in the olden time ;" 

" The poet's fate is here in emblem shown, 
He ask'd for bread, and he receiv'd a stone." 

It is, I believe, upon poor Butler's tomb that this is writ- 
ten. But how many brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor 
Butler and poor Fergusson, have ask'd for bread, and been 
served with the same sauce ! 

The magistrates gave you liberty, did they ? Oh, generous 
magistrates! * * * *, celebrated over the three kingdoms 
for his public spirit, gives a poor poet liberty to raise a tomb 
to a poor poet's memory ! most generous ! * * * *, once 
upon a time, gave that same poet the mighty sum of eighteen 
pence for a copy of his works. But then it must be con- 
sidered that the poet was at that time absolutely starving, 
and besought his aid with all the earnestness of hunger. 
And over and above he received a * * * *, worth at least, 
one third of the value, in exchange ; but which, I believe, 
the poet afterwards very ungratefully expunged. 

Next week I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in 
Edinburgh ; and, as my stay will be for eight or ten days, I 
wish you or * * * * would take a snug, well-aired bed- 
room for me, where I may have the pleasure of seeing you 
over a morning cup of tea. But by all accounts it will be a 
matter of some difficulty to see you at all, unless your com- 
pany is bespoke a week before hand. There is a great rumour 
here concerning your great intimacy with the Ducheaa of 



614 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. L. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Edinburgh, March 22d, 1787. 

Madam : 

I head your letter with watery eyes. A 
ittle, very little while ago, I had scarce a friend 
but the stubborn pride of my own bosom ; now 
[ am distinguished, patronized, befriended by 
you. Your friendly advices — I will not give 
them the cold name of criticisms, I receive 
with reverence. I have made some small al- 
terations in what I before had printed. I have 
the advice of some very judicious friends among 
the literati here, but with them I sometimes find 
it necessary to claim the privilege of thinking 
for myself. The noble Earl of Glencairn, to 
whom I owe more than to any man, does me 
the honour of giving me his strictures : his hints 
with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I 
follow implicitly. 

You kindly interest yourself in my future 
views and prospects j there I can give you no 
light. It is all 

" Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun 
Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams 
Athwart the gloom profound." 

The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far 
my highest pride ; to continue to deserve it is 
my most exalted ambition. Scottish scenes and 
Scottish story are the themes I could wish to 
sing. I have no dearer aim than to have it in 
my power, unplagued with the routine of busi- 
ness, for which heaven knows I am unfit enough, 
to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledo- 
nia 5 to sit on the fields of her battles ; to wan- 
der on the romantic banks of her rivers ; and 
to muse by the stately towers or venerable 
ruins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes. 

But these are all Utopian thoughts : I have 
dallied long enough with life ; 'tis time to be in 
earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to 
care for : and some other bosom ties perhaps 
equally tender. Where the individual only 

— , and other ladies of distinction. I am really told 



that 

" Cards to invite fly by thousands each night ;" 

and if you had one, I suppose there would also be " bribes to 
your old secretary." It seems you are resolved to make hay 
while the sun shines, and avoid, if possible, the fate of poor 
Fergusson, *****. Quosrenda pecunia primum est, 
vii-tus post nummos, is a good maxim to thrive by : you 
seemed to despise it while in this part of the country, but 
probably some philosopher in Edinburgh has taught you 
better sense. 

Pray are you yet engraving as well as printing — are you 
yet seized 

" With itch of picture in the front, 
With bays and wicked rhyme upon't?" 

But I must give up this trifling, and attend to matters 
that more concern myself; so, as the Aberdeen wit says, 
" Adieu, dryly ; we sal drink phan we meet." 



sutlers by the consequences of his own thought- 
lessness, indolence, or folly, he may not be ex- 
cusable ; nay shining abilities, and some of the 
nobler virtues, may half sanctify a heedless 
character ; but where God and nature have en- 
trusted the welfare of others to his care ; where 
the trust is sacred, and the ties are dear, that 
man must be far gone in selfishness, or strangely 
lost to reflection, whom these connexions will 
not rouse to exertion. 

I guess that I shall clear between two and 
three hundred pounds by my authorship !* with 
that sum I intend, so far as I may be said to 
have any intention, to return to my old ac- 
quaintance, the plough, and, if I can meet 
with a lease by which I can live, to commence 
farmer. I do not intend to give up poetry ; 
being bred to labour, secures me independence, 
and the muses are my chief, sometimes have 
been my only, enjoyment. If my practice se- 
cond my resolution, I shall have principally at 
heart the serious business of life ; but while fol- 
lowing my plough, or building up my shocks, 
I shall cast a leisure glance to that dear, that 
only feature of my character, which gave me 
the notice of my country, and the patronage of 
a Wallace. 

Thus, honoured Madam, I have given you 
the bard, his situation, and his views, native as 
they are in his own bosom. 

K. B. 



No. LI. 
TO THE SAME. 

Edinburgh, 15th April, 1787. 

Madam : 
There is an affectation of gratitude which 
I dislike. The periods of Johnson and the 
pauses of Sterne may hide a selfish heart. For 
my part, Madam, I trust I have too much pride 
for servility, and too little prudence for selfish- 
ness. I have this moment broken open your 
letter, but 

" Rude am I in speech, 
And therefore little can I grace my cause 
In speaking for myself — ' ' 



"The above extract," says Dr. Currie, "is from a letter 
of one of the ablest of our Poet's correspondents, which 
contains some interesting anecdotes of Fergusson. The 
writer is mistaken in supposing the magistrates of Edinburgh 
had any share in the transaction respecting the monument 
erected for Fergusson by our Bard ; this, it is evident, passed 
between Burns and the Kirk Session of the Canongate. Nei- 
ther at Edinburgh, nor any where else, do magistrates usually 
trouble themselves to inquire how the house of a poor poet 
is furnished, or how his grave is adorned." 

See additional letter on this subject, dated September, 
1789-] 

* [It has not hitherto been stated accurately how much 
the Poet made by the subscription copy of his poems : the 
clear profit has indeed been calculated at seven hundred 
pounds ; but such calculations can be at the best but lucky 
guesses, in the absence of a correct subscription-paper. Some 
put down their names for ten copies and took but one, while 
others subscribed for one and paid a guinea.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



so I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches 
and hunted figures. I shall just lay my hand 
on my heart and say, I hope I shall ever have 
the truest, the warmest, sense of your goodness. 

I come abroad in print, for certain on Wed- 
nesday. Your orders I shall punctually attend 
to ; only, by the way, I must tell you that I 
was paid before for Dr. Moore's and Miss Wil- 
liams' copies, through the medium of Commis- 
sioner Cochrane in this place, but that we can 
settle when I have the honour of waiting on 
you. 

Dr. Smith* was just gone to London the 
morning before I received your letter to him. 

R. B. 



No. LII. 
TO Dr. MOORE. 

Edinburgh, 23d. April, 1787- 

I received the books, and sent the one you 
mentioned to Mrs. Dunlop. I am ill skilled in 
beating the coverts of imagination for metaphors 
of gratitude. I thank you, Sir, for the honour 
you have done me ; and to my latest hour will 
warmly remember it. To be highly pleased 
with your book is what I have in common with 
the world ; but to regard these volumes as a 
mark of the author's friendly esteem is a still 
more supreme gratification. 

I leave Edinburgh in the course of ten days 
or a fortnight, and, after a few pilgrimages 
over some of the classic ground of Caledonia, 
Cowden Knowes, Banks of Yarrow, Tweed, &c, 
I shall return to my rural shades, in all likeli- 
hood never more to quit them. I have formed 
many intimacies and friendships here, but I am 
afraid they are all of too tender a construction 
to bear carriage a hundred and fifty miles. To 
the rich, the great, the fashionable, the polite, 
I have no equivalent to offer ; and I am afraid 
my meteor appearance will by no means entitle 
me to a settled correspondence with any of you, 
who are the permanent lights of genius and 
literature. 

My most respectful compliments to Miss 
Williams. If once this tangent flight of mine 
were over, and I were returned to my wonted 
leisurely motion in my old circle, I may pro- 
bably endeavour to return her poetic compli- 
ment in kind. 

R. B. 



[The answer of Dr. Moore was as follows : — 

" Clifford Street, May 23, 1787. 

" Dear Sir — I had the pleasure of your 
etter by Mr. Creech, and soon after he sent me 



♦ [Adam Smith, the distinguished author of " The Wealth 

of Nations," &c] 



the new edition of your poems. You seem to 
think it incumbent on you to send to each sub- 
scriber a number of copies proportionate to his 
subscription money, but you may depend upon 
it, few subscribers expect more than one cop} r , 
whatever they subscribed ; I must inform you, 
however, that I took twelve copies for those 
subscribers, for whose money you were so ac- 
curate as to send me a receipt, and Lord 
Eglinton told me he had sent for six copies for 
himcolf, as he wished to give five of them as 
presents. 

" Some of the poems you have added in this 
last edition are very beautiful, particularly the 
'Winter Night,' the ' Address to Edinburgh,' 
1 Green grow the Rashes,' and the two songs 
immediately following — the latter of which is 
exquisite. By the way, I imagine, you have 
a peculiar talent for such compositions, which 
you ought to indulge. No kind of poetry 
demands more delicacy or higher polishing. 
Horace is more admired on account of his 
Odes than all his other writings. But nothing 
now added is equal to your " Vision" and 
" Cott?r's Saturday Night." In these are 
uniied fine imagery, natural and pathetic de- 
scription, with sublimity of language and 
thought. It is evident that you already possess 
a great variety of expression and command of 
the English language ; you ought, therefore, to 
deal more sparingly, for the future, in the pro- 
vincial dialect — why should you, by using that, 
limit the number of your admirers to those who 
understand the Scottish, when you can extend 
it to all persons of taste who understand the 
English language ? In my opinion you should 
plan some larger work than any you have as 
yet attempted. I mean, reflect upon some 
proper subject, and arrange the plan in your 
mind, without beginning to execute any part 
of it till you have studied most of the best 
English poets, and read a little more of history. 
The Greek and Roman stories you can read in 
some abridgment, and soon become master of 
the most brilliant facts, which must highly 
delight a poetical mind. You should also, and 
very soon may, become master of the heathen 
mythology, to which there are everlasting allu- 
sions in all the poets, and which in itself is 
charmingly fanciful. What will require to be 
studied with more attention is modern history ; 
that is, the history of France and Great Britain, 
from the beginning of Henry the Seventh's 
reign. I know very well you have a mind 
capable of attaining knowledge by a shorter 
process than is commonly used, and I am 
certain you are capable of making a better use 
of it, when attained, than is generally done. 

I beg you will not give yourself the trouble 
of writing to me when it is inconvenient, and 
make no apology when you do write for having 
postponed it — be assured of this, however, that 
I shall always be happy to hear from you. I 

§> 



616 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



think my friend Mr. told me that you 

had some poems in manuscript by you, of a 
satirical and humorous nature (in which, by the 
way, I think you very strong), which your 
prudent friends prevailed on you to omit, par- 
ticularly one called ' Somebody's Confession :' 
if you will entrust me with a sight of any of 
these, I will pawn my word to give no copies, 
and will be obliged to you for a perusal of 
them. 

I understand you intend to take a farm, and 
make the useful and respectable business of 
husbandry your chief occupation : this I hope 
will not prevent your making occasional ad- 
dresses to the nine ladies who have shown you 
such favour, one of whom visited you in the 
' auld clay biggin.' Virgil, before you, proved 
to the world that there is nothing in the busi- 
ness of husbandry inimical to poetry ; and I 
sincerely hope that you may afford an example 
of a good poet being a successful farmer. I 
fear it will not be in my power to visit Scotland 
this season ; when I do, I'll endeavour to find 
you out, for 1 heartily wish to see and converse 
with you. If ever your occasions call you to 
this place, T make no doubt of your paying me 
a visit, and you may depend on a very cordial 
welcome from this family. I am, dear Sir, 
your friend and obedient servant, 

J. Moore."] 



No. LIIL 



TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Edinburgh, 30th April, 1787. 

Your criticisms, Madam, I under- 
stand very well, and could have wisl?ed to have 
pleased you better. You are right in your 
guess that I am not very amenable to counsel. 
Poets, much my superiors, have so flattered 
those who possessed the adventitious qualities 
of wealth and power, that I am determined to 
flatter no created being, either in prose or verse. 

I set as little by princes, lords, clergy, critics, 
&c, as all these respective gentry io by my 
hardship. I know what I may expect from the 
world, by and bye — illiberal abuse, and perhaps 
contemptuous neglect. 

I am happy, Madam, that some of my own 
favourite pieces are distinguished by your parti- 
cular approbation. For my " Dream,"* which 
has unfortunately incurred your loyal displea- 
sure, I hope in four weeks, or less, to have the 
honour of appearing, at Dunlop, in its defence 
in person. 

R. B. 

* [The well-known poem, beginning, " Guid morning to 
your majesty." (See p. 254.) Mrs. Dunlop had probably 
recommended its being' omitted in the second edition, on the 
score of prudence.] 



No. LIV. 
TO THE Rev. Dr. HUGH BLAIR. 

Lawn-market, Edinburgh, 3rd May, 1787. 

Reverend & much-respected Sir : 

I leave Edinburgh to-morrow morning, but 
could not go without troubling you with half a 
line, sincerely to thank you for the kindness, 
patronage, and friendship you have shown me. 
I often felt the embarrassment of my singular 
situation ; drawn forth from the veriest shades 
of life to the glare of remark ; and honoured 
by the notice of those illustrious names of my 
country whose works, while they are applauded 
to the end of time, will ever instruct and mend 
the heart. HoAvever the meteor-like novelty 
of my appearance in the world might attract 
notice, and honour me with the acquaintance 
of the permanent lights of genius and literature, 
those who are truly benefactors of the immortal 
nature of man, I knew very well that my ut- 
most merit was far unequal to the task of pre- 
serving that character when once the novelty 
was over ; I have made up my mind that abuse, 
or almost even neglect, will not surprise me in 
my quarters. 

I have sent you a proof impression of Beugo's 
workf for me, done on Indian paper, as a 
trifling but sincere testimony with what heart- 
warm gratitude I am, &c. 

R. B. 



[The answer of Blair to this letter contains a 
full refutation of all those who asserted that 
the Poet's life in Edinburgh was wild and 
irregular : — 

" Ar gyle-square, Edinburgh, 4th May, 17$7» 

" Dear Sir : — I was favoured this forenoon 
with your very obliging letter, together with 
an impression of your portrait, for which I re- 
turn you my best thanks. The success you 
have met with I do not think was beyond your 
merits ; and if I have had any small hand in 
contributing to it, it gives me great pleasure. 
I know no way in which literary persons who 
are advanced in years can do more service to 
the world than in forwarding the efforts of 
rising genius, or bringing forth unknown merit 
from obscurity. I was the first person who 
brought out to the notice of the world the 
poems of Ossian ; first, by the ' Fragments of 
ancient Poetry,' which I published, and after- 
wards, by my setting on foot the undertaking 
for collecting and publishing the ' Works of 
Ossian ;' and I have always considered this as 
a meritorious action of my life. 

" Your situation, as you say, was indeed very 
singular : and in being brought out, all at once, 



t The portrait of the Poet after Nasmyth. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



617 



from the shades of deepest privacy to so great 
a share of public notice and observation, you 
had to stand a severe trial. I am happy that 
you have stood it so well ; and, as far as I have 
known or heard, though in the midst of many 
temptations, without reproach to your character 
and behaviour. 

" You are now, I presume, to retire to a more 
private walk of life ; and I trust will conduct 
yourself there with industry, prudence, and 
honour. You have laid the foundation for just 
public esteem. In the midst of those employ- 
ments, which your situation will render proper, 
you will not, I hope, neglect to promote that 
esteem, by cultivating your genius, and attend- 
ing to such productions of it as may raise your 
character still higher. At the same time be not 
in too great a haste to come forward. Take 
time and leisure to improve and mature your 
talents. For on any second production, you 
give the world, your fate, as a poet, will very 
much depend. There is no doubt a gloss of 
novelty, which time wears off. As you very 
properly hint yourself, you are not to be sur- 
prised if in your rural retreat you do not find 
yourself surrounded with that glare of notice 
and applause which here shone upon you. No 
man can be a good poet without being some- 
what of a philosopher. He must lay his ac- 
count that any one, who exposes himself to 
public observation, will occasionally meet with 
the attacks of illiberal censure, which it is 
always best to overlook and despise. He will 
be inclined sometimes to court retreat, and to 
disappear from public view. He will not affect 
to shine always ; that he may at proper seasons 
come forth with more advantage and energy. 
He will not think himself neglected if he be 
not always praised. I have taken the liberty, 
you see, of an old man to give advice and make 
reflections, which your own good sense will I 
dare say render unnecessary. 

When you return, if you come this way, I 
will be happy to see you, and to know concern- 
ing your future plans of life. You will find 
me by the 22nd of this month, not in my house 
in Argyle-square, but at a country-house at 
Restalrig, about a mile east from Edinburgh, 
near the Musselburgh-road. Wishing you all 
success and prosperity, I am, with real regard 
and esteem, 

" Dear Sir, 

" Yours sincerely, 

" Hugh Blair."] 



* [Mr. Peter Hill, afterwards in business for himself as a 
bookseller, and honoured by the poet's correspondence. 
Reared with Mr. Creech, he was in his turn master to Mr. 
Constable. He died at an advanced age, in 1838.] 

t [This letter first appeared in Hogg and Motherwell's 



No LV. 
TO Mr. PATISON, 

BOOKSELLER, PAISLEY. 

Berry-well, near Dunse, May llth, I787» 

Dear Sir : 

I am sorry I was out of Edinburgh, making 
a slight pilgrimage to the classic scenes of this 
country, when I was favoured with yours of 
the llth instant, enclosing an order of the 
Paisley banking company on the Royal bank, 
for twenty-two pounds seven shillings sterling, 
payment in full, after carriage deducted, for 
ninety copies of my book I sent you. Accord- 
ing to your motions, I see you wixl have left 
Scotland before this reaches you, otherwise I 
would send you " Holy Willie" with all my 
heart. I was so hurried that I absolutely for- 
got several things I ought to have minded, 
among the rest, sending books to Mr. Cowan ; 
but any order of yours will be answered at 
Creech's shop. You will please remember that 
non-subscribers pay six shillings ; this is Creech's 
profit ; but those who have subscribed, though 
their names have been neglected in the printed 
list, which is very incorrect, they are supplied 
at the subscription price. 

I was not at Glasgow, nor do I intend for 
London ; and I think Mrs. Fame is very idle 
to tell so many lies on a poor Poet. When you 
or Mr. Cowan write for copies, if you should 
want any, direct to Mr. Hill,* at Mr. Creech's 
shop, and I write to Mr. Hill by this post, to 
answer either of your orders. Hill is Mr. 
Creech's first clerk, and Creech himself is pre- 
sently in London. I suppose I shall have the 
pleasure, against your return to Paisley, of as- 
suring you how much I am, 
Dear Sir, 

Your obliged humble Servant, 

R. B.f 

No. LVI. 
TO Mr. W. NICOL, 

MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH. 
Carlisle, June 1, 1787. 

Kind, honest-hearted Willie : 

I'm sitten down here, after seven and forty 

miles ridin', e'en as forjesket and forniaw'd as a 

forfoughten cock, to gie you some notion o' my 

land lowper-like stravaguin sin the sorrowfu' 



edition of Burns's works, and is valuable inasmuch as it 
shews the number of the Poet's works which were sub- 
scribed for in Paisley. The original MS. is in the hands of 
Charles Hutcheson, Esq. of Glasgow,] 



618 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



hour that I slieuk hands and parted wi' auld 
Reekie. 

My auld, ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huch- 
yall'd up hill and down brae, in Scotland and 
England, as teugh and birnie as a vera devil wi' 
me. * It's true, she's as poor's a sang-maker 
and as hard's a kirk, and tipper- taipers when she 
taks the gate, first like a lady's gentlewoman 
in a minuwae, or a hen on a het girdle ; but 
she's a yauld, poutherie girran for a' that, and 
has a stomack like Willie Stalker's meere that 
wad hae disgeested tumbler-wheels, for she'll 
whip me aft' her five stimparts o' the best aits 
at a down-sittin and ne' er fash her thumb. — 
When ance her ringbanes and spavies, her 
cracks and cramps, are fairly soupl'd, she beets 
to, beets to, and aye the hindmost hour the 
tightest. I could wager her price to a thretty 
pennies, that for twa or three wooks ridin' at 
fifty mile a day, the deil-sticket a five gallopers 
acqueesh Clyde and Whithorn could cast saut 
on her tail. 

I hae dander'd owre a' the kintra frae Dum- 
bar to Selcraig, and hae foregather'd wi' mony 
a guid fallow, and monie a Aveelfar'd hizzie. — 
I met wi' twa dink quines in particlar, ane o' 
them a sonsie, fine, fodgel lass, baith braw and 
bonnie ; the titlier was a clean-shankit, straught, 
tight, weelfar'd winch, as blythe's a lintwhite 
on a flowerie thorn, and as sweet and modest's 
a new blawn plunirose in a hazle shaw. They 
were baith bred to mainers by the beuk, and 
onie ane o' them had as muckie smeddum and 
rumblegumption as the half o' some presbytries 
that you and I baith ken. They play'd me sic 
a deevil o' a shavie that I daur say, if my hari- 
gals were turn'd out, ye wad see twa nicks i' 
the heart o' me like the mark o' a kail-whittle 
in a castock. 

I was gaun to write you a lang pystle, but, 
Gude forgie me, I gat mysel sae noutouriously 
bitchify'd the day, after kail-time, that I can 
hardly stoiter but and ben. 

My best respecks to the guidwife and a' our 
common friens, especiall Mr. and Mrs. Cruik- 
shank, and the honest guidman o' Jock's Lodge. 

I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be 
to the fore, and the branks bide hale. 

Gude be wi' you, Willie ! Amen ! 

R. B.f 



* [This mare was the Poet's favourite, Jenny Oeaaes. 
She w;.s named by him, says Cromek, after the old woman 
who, in her zeal against religious innovation, threw a stool 
at the Dean of Edinburgh's head, when he attempted, in 
1637, to introduce the Scottish Liturgy. — " On Sunday, the 
twenty-third of July, the Dean of Edinburgh prepared to 
officiate in St. Giles's. The congregation continued quiet 
till the service began, whei, an old woman, impelled by 
sudden indignation, started up, and exclaiming aloud, 
'Villain! dost thou say the mass at my lug?' threw the 
stool on which she had been sitting at the Dean's head. A 
wild uproar commenced that instant. The service was in- 
terrupted. The woman invaded the desk with execrations 
and outcries, and the Dean disengaged himself from his 
surplice to escape from her hands."] 

t [This letter cannot be otherwise than obscure to many a 



No. LVII. 
TO Mr. JAMES SMITH, 

AT MILLER AND SMITH'S OFFICE, 
LINLITHGOW. 

Mauchline, 11th June, 1787- 

My dear Sir: 
I date this from Mauchline, where I ar- 
rived on Friday evening last. I slept at John 
Dow's, and called for my daughter ; Mr. Ha- 
milton and family ; your mother, sister, and 
brother; my quondam Eliza, &c, all — all well. 
If any thing had been wanting to disgust me 
completely at Armour's family, their mean ser- 
vile compliance would have done it. Give me 
a spirit like my favourite hero, Milton's Satan : 

" Hail, horrors ! hail, 
Infernal wcrld ! and thou, profoundest Hell, 
Receive thy new possessor f one who brings 
A mind not to be chang'd by place or time I" 

I cannot settle to my mind. — Farming — the 
only thing of which I know anything, and 
Heaven above knows but little do I under- 
stand even of that, I cannot, dare not risk on 
farms as they are. If I do not fix, I will go 
for Jamaica. Should I stay, in an unsettled 
state at home, I would only dissipate my little 
fortune, and ruin what I intend shall compen- 
sate my little ones for the stigma I have brought 
on their names. 

I shall write you more at large soon ; as this 
letter costs you no postage, if it be worth read- 
ing you cannot complain of your pennyworth. 
I am ever, 



My dear Sir, 

Yours, 



R. B. 



[The above letter now appears for the first 
time in a complete edition of the Poet's works.] 



No. LVIII. 
TO Mr. WILLIAM NICOL. 

Mauchline, June 18, 1787. 

My dear Friend : 
I am now arrived safe in my native country, 
after a very agreeable jaunt, and have the 

reader ; nor can we hope, by a mere explanation of the words 
individually, to let English light in upon northern darkness. 
The gentleman to whom it was addressed understood it well : 
he was of humble parentage, and, like our Poet, forced his 
way to distinction by his talents and his learning: having 
achieved eminence, he sat quiet for a time, and seemed to be 
satisfied with himself. His love for pleasant company, and 
lively sallies of humour or of wit, led him to indulge in the 
pleasures of the table, and carried him to an early grave. 
He died in 1797- — Cunningham. 

[" No man had ever more command of the ancient Doric 
dialect than Burns. He has left a curious testimony of his skill l 
in the above letter — an attempt to read a sentence of which 
would break the teeth of most modern Scotchmen." -Sib 
Walter Scott. It is written in the west-country dialect, and 
does not present any difficulty to a native.— Motherwell.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



619 



pleasure to find all my friends well. I break- 
fasted with your grey-headed, reverend friend, 
Mr. Smith ; and was highly pleased both with 
the cordial welcome he gave me, and his most 
excellent appearance and sterling good sense. 

I have been with Mr. Miller at Dalswinton, 
and am to meet him again in August. From 
my view of the lands, and his reception of my 
hardship, my hopes in that business are rather 
mended ; but still they are but slender. 

I am quite charmed with Dumfries folks — 
Mr. Burnside, the clergyman, in particular, is 
a man whom I shall ever gratefully remember ; 
and his wife, Gude forgie me ! I had almost 
broke the tenth commandment on her account. 
Simplicity, elegance, good sense, sweetness of 
disposition, good humour, kind hospitality, are 
the constituents of her manner and heart : in 
short — but if I say one word more about her, 
I shall be directly in love with her. 

I never, my friend, thought mankind very 
capable of anything generous ; but the state- 
jj liness of the patricians in Edinburgh, and the 
1 1 servility of my plebeian brethren (who perhaps 
!j formerly eyed me askance) since I returned 
|| home, have nearty put me out of conceit alto- 
gether with my species. I have bought a 
pocket Milton, which I carry perpetually about 
with me, in order to study the sentiments — the 
dauntless magnanimity, the intrepid, unyield- 
ing independence, the desperate daring, and 
noble defiance of hardship, in that great 
personage, Satan. 'Tis true, I have just now 
a little cash ; but I am afraid the star that 
hitherto has shed its malignant, purpose-blast- 
ing rays full in my zenith ; that noxious planet, 
so baneful in its influences to the rhyming tribe, 
I much dread it is not yet beneath my horizon. 
— Misfortune dodges the path of human life ; 
the poetic mind finds itself miserably deranged 
in, and unfit for, the walks of business ; add 
to all, that thoughtless follies and hare-brained 
whims, like so many ignes fatui, eternally 
diverging from the right line of sober discre- 
tion, sparkle with step-bewitching blaze in the 
idly-gazing eyes of the poor heedless Bard, 
till, pop, " he falls like Lucifer, never to hope 
again." God grant this may be an unreal 
picture with respect to me ! but should it not, 
I have very little dependence on mankind. I 



* Johnson, the publisher and proprietor of the Musical 
Museum. 

t [The reply to the Poet's letter bears testimony to the 
taste and talents of one of Burns's early companions. 

" Your kind letter came to hand, and I would have an- 
swered it sooner, had I not delayed, in expectation of finding 
some person who could enable me to comply with your re- 
quest. Being myself unskilled in music as a science, I made 
an attempt to get the song you mentioned, set by some other 
hand ; but as I could not accomplish this, I must send you 
the words without the music. Some of Edina's fair nymphs 
may perhaps be able to do you a piece of service which I 
would have done with the greatest pleasure had it been in 
tny power. It is with the greatest sincerity I applaud your 
attempt to give the world a more correct and more elegant 
collection of Scottish songs than has hitherto appeared. They 



will close my letter with this tribute my heart 
bids me pay you — the many ties of acquaint- 
ance and friendship which I have, or think I 
have in life, I have felt along the lines, and, 
damn them, they are almost all oi them of 
such frail contexture that I am sure they 
would not stand the breath of the least adverse 
breeze of fortune ; but from you, my ever dear 
Sir, I look with confidence for the Apostolic 
love that shall wait on me "through good 
report and bad report," — the love which 
Solomon emphatically says " is strong as 
death." My compliments to Mrs. Nicol, and 
all the circle of our common friends. 

P.S. I shall be in Edinburgh about the 
latter end of July. 

R. B. 



No. LIX. 



TO Mr. JAMES CANDLISH. 



Edinburgh, 1787. 



My dear Friend : 



If once I were gone from this scene of 
hurry and dissipation, I promise myself the 
pleasure of that correspondence being renewed 
which has been so long broken. At present I 
have time for nothing. Dissipation and busi- 
ness engross every moment. I am engaged in 
assisting an honest Scotch enthusiast,* a friend 
of mine, who is in engraver, and has taken it 
into his head to publish a collection of all our 
songs set to music, of which the words and 
music are done by Scotsmen. This, you will 
easily guess, is an undertaking exactly to my 
taste. I have collected, begged, borrowed, and 
stolen, all the songs I could meet with. Pom- 
pey's Ghost, words and music, 1 beg from you 
immediately, to go into his second number — 
the first is already published. I shall shew you 
the first number when I see you in Glasgow, 
which will be in a fortnight or less. Do be so 
kind as to send me the song in a day or two : 
you cannot imagine how much it will oblige me. 

Direct to me at Mr. W. Cruickshank's, 
St. James's Square, New Town, Edinburgh. f 

R. B. 



have been long and much admired, and yet perhaps no poeti- 
cal compositions ever met with approbation more dispropor- 
tioned to their merit. Many, from an affectation perhaps of 
a more than usual knowledge of ancient literature, extol, 
with the most extravagant praises, the pastoral productions 
of the Greek and Roman poets ; and attempt to persuade 
us that in them alone is to be found that natural simplicity, 
and that tenderness of sentiment, which constitute the true 
excellence of that species of writing. For my own part, 
though I cannot altogether divest myself of partiality to the 
ancients, whose merit will cease only to be admired with the 
universal wreck of men and letters, yet I am persuaded that 
in many of the songs of our own nation, there are beauties 
which it would be vain to look for in the most admired 
poetical compositions of antiquity. They are the offspring 
of nature ; they are expressed in the language of simplicity 



620 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. LX. 
TO WILLIAM NICOL, Esq. 

Auchtertyre,* Monday, June, 1787. 

My dear Sir : 

I find myself very comfortable here, neither 
oppressed by ceremony, nor mortified by neg- 
lect. Lady Augusta is a most engaging woman, 
and very happy in her family, which makes 
one's out-goings and in-comings very agreeable. 
I called at Mr. Ramsay's of Auchtertyre f as 
I came up the country, and am so delighted 
with him that I shall certainly accept of his 
invitation to spend a day or two with him as I 
return. I leave this place on "Wednesday or 
Thursday. 

Make my kind compliments to Mr. and Mrs. 
Cruikshank and Mrs. Nicol, if she is returned. 
I am ever, dear Sir, 

Your deeply indebted, — R. B. 



[Burns was now on his first tour in the High- 
lands : he set out in no pleasant mood, for lie 
scattered sharp epigrams and bitter lampoons 
on all and sundry as he travelled along. _ The 
verses on the window of the inn at Stirling — 
on Carron Foundry, and on Inverary, belong 
to this jaunt : nor had the witchery of beauty 
or the presence of learning any influence over 
his muse. The following complimentary verse 
is said to have been composed about this period 
— it is an epitaph on Nicol himself: — 

Ye maggots feast on Willie's brain, 
For few sic feasts ye've gotten ; 

And fix your claws on Willie's heart, 
For de'il a bit o't 's rotten.] 



No. LXI. 
TO WILLIAM CRUIKSHANK, 

st. james's square, Edinburgh.]: 

Auchtertyre, Monday, June 1787* 

I have nothing, my dear Sir, to write to 



and the love songs, breathing sentiments that are inspired 
by the most tender and exquisite feelings, are in unison with 
the human heart. There is no one in whose veins the smallest 
drop of Scottish blood circulates but must feel the most 
heartfelt pleasure when he reflects that those songs, which 
do such honour to both the genius and to the feelings of his 
countrymen ; which, in simplicity of language, and in the 
sensibility that pervades them, have never been equalled by 
those of any nation ; and which have been so much admired 
by foreigners, will continue to be sung with delight by both 
sexes, while Scots men and the Scots language remain. — If 
the collection is to be published by subscription, put down 
my name for a copy. My time this winter is very much em- 
ployed — no less than ten hours a day. Expecting to see you 
soon, I am yours most sincerely. — James Candlish."] 

* [The seat of Sir William Murray, Bart.— delightfully 
situated in Strathearn, two miles from Crieff. Sir W. and 
Lady Augusta Murray were the parents of Sir George Mur- 
ray, at one time Secretary for the Colonies.] 

t [Auchtertyre, on the Teith, near Stirling. Mr. Ramsay 
« T as an enthusiast in classical literature, somewhat after the 



you, but that I feel myself exceedingly com- 
fortably situated in this good family: just 
notice enough to make m.e easy, but not to em- 
barrass me. I was storm-staid two days at the 
foot of the Ochill-hills, with Mr. Tait of Her- 
veyston and Mr. Johnston of Alva, but was so 
well pleased that I shall certainly spend a day 
on the banks of the Devon as I return. I leave 
this place I suppose on Wednesday, and shall 
devote a day to Mr. Ramsay at Auchtertyre, 
near Stirling : a man to whose worth I cannot 
do justice. My respectful kind compliments to 
Mrs. Cruikshank, and my dear little Jeanie, 
and, if you see Mr. Masterton, please remember 
me to him. 

I am ever, 

My dear Sir, &c— R. B. 



No. LXII.S 

TO Miss 



My dear Countrywoman : 

I am so impatient to show you that I am 
once more at peace with you that I send you 
the book I mentioned directly, rather than wait 
the uncertain time of seeing you. I am afraid 
I have mislaid or lost Collins' Poems, which I 
promised to Miss Irvin. If I can find them, I 
will forward them by you ; if not, you must 
apologize for me. 

I know you will laugh at it when I tell you 
that your piano and you together have played 
the deuce somehow about my heart. My breast 
has been widowed these many months, and I 
thought myself proof against the fascinating 
witchcraft; but I am afraid you will "feel- 
ingly convince me what I am." I say, I am 
afraid, because I am not sure what is the matter 
with me. I have one miserable bad symptom ; 
when you whisper, or look kindly to another, 
it gives me a draught of damnation. I have a 
kind of wayward wish to be with you ten mi- 



manner of the Baron Bradwardine, joining to it a keen 
relish of the homely literature of his native country.] 

t [William Cruikshank, one of the masters of the high 
school of Edinburgh, was kind and obliging, and, as his 
station required, a good scholar. At his house Burns resided 
in the latter part of 1787, and passed manypleasant evenings. 
The house was the uppermost floor of the building, marked 
No. 30 (then No. 2) in St. James's-square ; Burns's apart- 
ment looked into the green inclosure behind the Register 
House. The "dear little Jeanie" o f this letter was the 
" Rose-bud" of one of his sweetest poems : she was not only 
beautiful, but sang with feeling, and played on various mu- 
sical instruments with such grace as called forth, on several 
occasions, the commendations of the Bard. The letter is 
chiefly valuable as a record of his friendships and of his line 
of march into the Highlands. 

§ [The letter, dated June 30th, 1787, addressed to Mr. 
James Smith, Linlithgow, and forming No. LVIII. of the 
General Correspondence, in the former edition of Cunning- 
ham's Burns, is omitted here, as the whole of it is inserted 
in the LIFE, pp. 60 and til, of the present edition. 



5>= 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



621 



nutes by yourself, though what I would say 
Heaven above knows, for I am sure I know 
not, I have no formed design in all this ; but 
just, in the nakedness of my heart, write you 
down a mere matter-of-fact story. You may 
perhaps give yourself airs of distance on this, 
and that will completely cure me ; but I wish 
you would not : just let us meet, if you please, 
in the old beaten way of friendship. 

I will not subscribe myself your humble ser- 
vant, for that is a phrase, I think, at least fifty 
miles off from the heart ; but I will conclude 
with sincerely wishing that the Great Protector 
of innocence may shield you from the barbed 
dart of calumny, and hand you by the covert 
snare of deceit. 

R. B. 

[" This letter," says Cromek, in his MS. 
Memoranda, "appears to have been written 
during the year 1784, and was probably ad- 
dressed to the Peggy mentioned in the Poet's 
common-place book." 

There are reasons for doubting this, and, 
amongst others, the allusion to the piano, which 
instrument, we are told by Gilbert Burns, Robert 
did not hear played till autumn 1786, when he 
was spending an evening in the house of Dr. 
Lawrie, at Loudon. It seems more likely that this 
letter was addressed, in 1787, to the lady whom 
the poet alludes to in his letter to James Smith, 
[dated June 30th of that year] descriptive of 
his first Highland tour. See Life. p. 61.] 



No. LXIII. 
TO Mr. JOHN RICHMOND. 

Mossgiel, 7th July, 1/87. 

My dear Richmond : 

I am all impatience to hear of your fate 
since the old confounder of right and wrong 
has turned you out of place, by his journey to 
answer his indictment at the bar of the other 
world. He will find the practice of the court 
so different from the practice in which he has 
for so many years been thoroughly hackneyed, 
that his friends, if he had any connections 
truly of that kind, which I rather doubt, may 
well tremble for his sake. His chicane, his 
left-handed wisdom, which stood so firmly by 
him, to such good purpose, here, like other ac- 
complices in robbery and plunder, will, now 
the piratical business is blown, in all probability 
turn king's evidences, and then the devil's bag- 
piper will touch him off " Bundle and go !" 

If he has left you any legacy, I beg your 
pardon for all this ; if not, I know you will 
swear to every word I said about him. 



* [A short letter to Mr. Ainsiie, dated Arrachar, June 
28th, 1787, will be found in the LIFE, p. 60.] 



I have lately been rambling over by Dum- 
barton and Inverary, and running a drunken 
race on the side of Loch Lomond with a wild 
Highlandman ; his horse, which had never 
known the ornaments of iron or leather, zig- 
zagged across before my old spavin' d hunter, 
whose name is Jenny Geddes, and down camt 
the Highlandman, horse and all, and down 
came Jenny and my hardship ; so I have got 
such a skinful of bruises and wounds that I 
shall be at least four weeks before I venture on 
my journey to Edinburgh. 

Not one new thing under the sun has hap- 
pened in Mauchline since you left it. I hope 
this will find you as comfortably situated as 
formerly, or, if Heaven pleases, more so ; but, 
at all events, I trust you will let me know, of 
course, how matters stand w r ith you, well or ill. 
'Tis but poor consolation to tell the world when 
matters go wrong ; but you know very well 
your connection and mine stands on a different 
footing. 

I am ever, my dear friend, yours, 

R. B. 



No. LXIV. 



TO ROBERT AINSLIE, Esq.* 



My dear Sir : 



Mauchline, July, 1787. 



My life, since J saw you last, has been one 
continued hurry ; that savage hospitality which 
knocks a man down with strong liquors is the 
devil. I have a sore warfare in this world; 
the devil, the world, and the flesh, are three 
formidable foes. The first I generally try to 
fly from ; the second, alas ! generally flies 
from me ; but the third is my plague, worse 
than the ten plagues of Egypt. 

I have been looking over several farms in 
this country ; one in particular, in Nithsdale, 
pleased me so well that, if my offer to the 
proprietor is accepted, I shall commence farmer 
at Whit - Sunday. If fanning do not appear 
eligible, I shall have recourse to my other 
shift ;f but this to a friend. 

I set out for Edinburgh on Monday morn- 
ing ; how long I stay there is uncertain, but 
you will know so soon as I can inform you 
myself. However I determine, poesy must be 
laid aside for some time ; my mind has been 
vitiated with idleness, and it will take a good 
deal of effort to habituate it to the routine of 
business. 

1 am, my dear Sir, 

Yours sincerely, 

R. B. 

t [The Excise.] 



622 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



[The poet makes a similar complaint of the 
" savage hospitality" of his admirers to Mrs. 
Dunlop : he lived in days of hard drinking, 
when all glasses which were raised to the lips 
full were not set down till empty. — " Here I 
am," he says, in one of his letters, " sitting 
with an atmosphere of hypochondriac vapours 
about me, like the thickening fogs of an 
October morning. Job cursed his day, but I 
go farther ; I curse my day and doubly curse, 
my night : by night I get myself fou' j by 
night I sing merry songs ; by night 

' I moop wi' the servant hizzie ;' 

in short, by night, as Sir John FalstafF says, 
' I am, as one may say, little better than one 
of the wicked.' To-day has been a day of 
sackcloth and ashes. The parliamentary powers 
of my mind have had a solemn meeting to 
consider on a bill of reform : I dread an oppo- 
sition in the lower house, but I am determined 
to carry it through."] 



No. LXV. 
TO Dr. MOORE. 



Sir: 



Mauchline, 2nd August, 1787- 



For some months past I have been rambling 
over the country, but I am now confined with 
some lingering complaints, originating, as I 
take it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits a 
little in this miserable fog of ennui, I have 
taken a whim to give you a history of myself. 
My name has made some little noise in this 
country ; you have done me the honour to in- 
terest yourself very warmly in my behalf ; and 
I think a faithful account of what character of 
a man I am, and how I came by that character, 
may perhaps amuse you in an idle moment. T 
will give you an honest narrative, though I 
know it will be often at my own expense ; for 
I assure you, Sir, I have, like Solomon, whose 
character, excepting in the trifling affair of 
wisdom, I sometimes think I resemble, — I 
have, I say, like him turned my eyes to behold 
madness and folly, and like him, too, frequently 
shaken hands with their intoxicating friendship. 
After you have perused these pages, should you 
think them trifling and impertinent, I only beg 
leave to tell you that the poor author wrote 
them under some twitching qualms of con- 
science, arising from a suspicion that he was 
doing what he ought not to do ; a predicament 
he has more than once been in before. 

I have not the most distant pretensions to as- 
sume that character which the pye-coated guar- 
dians of escutcheons call a gentleman. When 
at Edinburgh last winter, I got acquainted in 
the herald's office ; and, looking through that 
granary of honours, I there found almost every 
name in the kingdom ; but for me, 



" My ancient but ignoble blood 
Has cre,pt thro' scoundrels ever since the flood." 

Gules, purpure, argent, &c, quite disowne« 
me. 

My father was of the north of Scotland, the 
son of a farmer, and was thrown by early mis- 
fortunes on the world at large ; where, after 
many years' wanderings and sojournings, he 
picked up a pretty large quantity of observation 
and experience, to which I am indebted for 
most of my little pretensions to wisdom. — I \ 
have met with few who understood men, their 
manners, and their ways, equal to him ; but 
stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, 
ungovernable irascibility, are disqualifying cir- 
cumstances ; consequently, I was born a very 
poor man's son. For the first six or seven 
years of my life, my father was gardener to a 
worthy gentleman of small estate in the neigh- 
bourhood of Ayr. Had' he continued in that 
station, I must; have marched off to be one of 
the little underlings about a farm-house ; but 
it was his dearest wish and prayer to have it in j 
his power to keep his children under his own 
eye, till they could discern between good and 
evil ; so, with the assistance of his generous 
master, my father ventured on a small farm on 
his estate. 

At those years, I was by no means a favour- 
ite with any body. I was a, good deal noted 
for a retentive memory, a sturdy something 
in my disposition, and an enthusiastic idiot 
[idiotic] piety. I say idiot piety, because I 
was then but a child. Though it cost the 
schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excel- 
lent English scholar; and, by the time I was 
ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in 
substantives, verbs, and particles. In my in- 
fant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an 
old woman who resided in the family, remark- 
able for her ignorance, credulity, and supersti- 
tion. She had, I suppose, the largest collection 
in the country of tales and songs concerning 
devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, war- 
locks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, 
wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, enchan- 
ted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. — 
This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry ; but 
had so strong an effect on my imagination that 
to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I some- 
times keep a sharp look out in suspicious places ; 
and, though nobody can be more sceptical than 
I am in such matters, yet it often takes an ef- 
fort of philosophy to shake off these idle ter- 
rors. The earliest composition that I recollect 
taking pleasure in was The Vision of Mirza, 
and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, " How 
are thy servants blest, O Lord !" I particularly 
remember one half-stanza which was music to 
my boyish ear — 

" For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
High on the broken wave — " 



I met with these pieces in Mason's English Col- 
lection, one of my school-books. The first two 
books I ever read in private, and which gave 
me more pleasure than any two books I ever 
read since, were The Life of Hannibal, and The 
History of Sir William Wallace. Hannibal 
gave my young ideas such a turn that I used to 
strut in raptures up and down after the recruit- 
ing drum and bagpipe, and wish myself tall 
enough to be a soldier , while the story of 
Wallace poured a Scottish prejudice into my 
veins, which will boil along there till the flood- 
gates of life shut in eternal rest. 

Polemical divinity about this time was put- 
ting the country half mad, and I, ambitious of 
shining in conversation parties on Sundays, be- 
tween sermons, at funerals, &c, used a few 
years afterwards to puzzle Calvinism with so 
much heat and indiscretion that I raised a hue 
and cry of heresy against me, which has not 
ceased to this hour. 

My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage 
to me. My social disposition, when not 
checked by some modifications of spirited pride, 
was, like our catechism definition of infinitude, 
without bounds or limits. I formed several 
connexions with other younkers, who possessed 
superior advantages ; the youngling actors who 
were busy in the rehearsal of parts, in which 
they were shortly to appear on the stage of 
life, where, alas ! I was destined to drudge 
behind the scenes. It is not commcnly at this 
green age that our young gentry have a just 
sense of the immense distance between them 
and their ragged play-fellows. It takes a few 
dashes into the world to give the young great 
man that proper, decent, unnoticing disregard 
for the poor, insignificant, stupid devils, the 
mechanics and peasantry around him, who 
were, perhaps, born in the same village. My 
young superiors never insulted the clouterly 
appearance of my plough-boy carcase, the two 
extremes of which were often exposed to all 
the inclemencies of all the seasons. They 
would give me stray volumes of books ; among 
them, even then, I could pick up some obser- 
vations, and one, whose heart, I am sure, not 
even the " Munny Begum" scenes have tainted, 
helped me to a little French. Parting with 
these my young friends and benefactors, as 
they occasionally went off for the East or 
West Indies, was often to me a sore affliction ; 
but I was soon called to more serious evils. 
My father's generous master died ; the tarm 
proved a ruinous bargain ; and, to clench the 
misfortune, we fell into the hands of a factor, 
who sat for the picture I have drawn of on in 
my tale of " The Twa Dogs." My father was 
advanced in life when he married ; I was the 
eldest of seven children, and he, worn out by 
early hardships, was unfit for labour. My- 
father's spirit was soon irritated, but not easily 
broken. There was a freedom in his lease in 



two years more, and, to weather these two 
years, we retrenched our expenses. We lived 
very poorly : I was a dexterous ploughman for 
my age ; and the next eldest to me was a 
brother (Gilbert), who could drive the plough 
very well, and help me to thrash the corn. A 
novel-writer might, perhaps, have viewed these 
scenes with some satisfaction, but so did not I ; 
my indignation yet boils at the recollection of 
the scoundrel factor's insolent threatening 
letters, which used to set us all in tears. 

This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of a 
hermit, with the unceasing moil of a galley- 
slave, brought me to my sixteenth year ; a 
little before which period I first committed the 
sin of rhyme. You know our country custom 
of coupling a man and woman together as 
partners in the labours of harvest. In my 
fifteenth autumn, my partner was a bewitching- 
creature, a year younger than myself. My 
scarcity of English denies me the power of 
doing her justice in that language, but you 
know the Scottish idiom : she was a " bonnie, 
sweet, sonsie lass." In short, she, altogether un- 
wittingly to herself, initiated me in that delicious 
passion which, in spite of acid disappointment, 
gin-horse prudence, and book-worm philosophy, 
I hold to be the first of human joys, our dearest 
blessing here below ! How she caught the 
contagion I cannot tell ; you medical people 
talk much of infection from breathing the same 
air, the touch, &c. ; but I never expressly said 
I loved her. — Indeed, I did not know myself 
why I liked so much to loiter behind with her, 
when returning in the evening from our labours ; 
why the tones of her voice made my heart- 
strings thrill like an iEolian harp ; and par- 
ticularly why my pulse beat such a furious 
ratan, when I looked and fingered over her 
little hand to pick out the cruel nettle-stings 
and thistles. Among her other love-inspiring 
qualities, she sung sweetly ; and it was her 
favourite reel to which I attempted giving an 
embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not so pre- 
sumptuous as to imagine that I could make 
verses like printed ones, composed by men who 
had Greek and Latin ; but my girl sung a song 
which was said to be composed by a small 
country laird's son, on one of his father's maids 
with whom he was in love ; and I saw no 
reason why I might not rhyme as well as he ; 
for, excepting that he could smear sheep, and 
cast peats, his father living in the moorlands, 
he had no more scholar-craft than myself. 

Thus with me began love and poetry ; which 
at times have been my only, and, till within the 
last twelve months, have been my highest, en- 
joyment. My father struggled on till he 
reached the freedom in his lease, when he 
entered on a larger farm, about ten miles 
farther in the country. The nature of the 
bargain he made was such as to throw a little 
ready money into his hands at the commence- 



624 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



ment of his lease, otherwise the affair would 
have been impracticable. For four years we 
lived comfortably here, but a difference com- 
mencing between him and his landlord as to 
terms, after three years' tossing and whirling in 
the vortex of litigation, my father was just 
saved from the horrors of a jail by a consump- 
tion, which, after two years' promises, kindly 
stepped in, and carried him away, to where the 
wicked cease from troubling, and where the 
weary are at rest ! 

It is during the time that we lived on this 
farm that my little story is most eventful. I 
was, at the beginning of this period, perhaps, 
the most ungainly awkward boy in the parish — 
no solitaire was less acquainted with the ways 
of the world. What I knew of ancient story 
was gathered from Salmon's and Guthrie's 
Geographical Grammars ; and the ideas I had 
formed of modern manners, of literature, and 
criticism, I got from the Spectator. These, with 
Pope's Works, some Plays of Shakspeare, Tull 
and Dickson on Agriculture, The Pantheon, 
Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, 
Stackhouse's History of the Bible, Jus- 
tice's British Gardener's Directory, Boyle's 
Lectures, Allan Ramsay's Works, Taylor's 
Scripture Doctrine of Original Sin, A Select 
Collection of English Songs, and Hervey's 
Meditations, had formed the whole of my 
reading. The collection of songs was my vade 
mecum. I pored over them, driving my cart, 
or walking to labour, song by song, verse by 
verse ; carefully noting the true tender, or sub- 
lime, from affectation and fustian. I am con- 
vinced I owe to this practice much of my 
critic-craft, such as it is. 

In my seventeenth year, to give my manners 
a brush, I went to a country dancing-school. 
My father had an unaccountable antipathy 
against these meetings, and my going was, 
what to this moment I repent, in opposition to 
his wishes.* My father, as I said before, was 
subject to strong passions ; from that instance 
of disobedience in me, he took a sort of dislike 
to me, which, I believe, was one cause of the 
dissipation which marked my succeeding years. 
I say dissipation, comparatively with the strict- 
ness, and sobriety, and regularity of presbyte- 
rian country life ; for though the will-o'-wisp 
meteors of thoughtless whim were almost the 
sole lights of my path, yet early ingrained 
piety and virtue kept me for several years after- 
wards within the line of innocence. The great 



* [" I wonder," says Gilbert Burns, "how Robert could 
attribute to our father that lasting resentment of his going 
to a dancing school against his will, and of which he was 
incapable. I believe the truth was that about this time he 
began to see the dangerous impetuosity of my brother's 
passions, as well as his not being amenable to counsel, which 
often irritated my father, and which, he would naturally 
think, a dancing-school was not likely to correct. But he 
was proud of Robert's genius, which he bestowed more ex- 



misfortune of my life was to want an aim. I 
had felt early some stirrings of ambition, but 
they were the blind gropings of Homer's Cy- 
clops round the walls of his cave. I saw my 
father's situation entailed on me perpetual la- 
bour. The only two openings, by which I could 
enter the temple of fortune, were the gate of 
niggardly economy, or the path of little chi- 
caning bargaining. The first is so contracted 
an aperture I never could squeeze myself into 
it — the last I always hated — there was contami- 
nation in the very entrance ! Thus abandoned of 
aim or view in life, with a strong appetite for 
sociability, as well from native hilarity as from 
a pride of observation and remark ; a constitu- 
tional melancholy or hypochondriacism that 
made me fly solitude ; add to these incentives 
to social life my reputation for bookish know- 
ledge, a certain wild logical talent, and a 
strength of thought, something like the rudi- 
ments of good sense ; and it will not seem sur- 
prising that I was generally a welcome guest 
where I visited, or any great wonder that 
always, where two or three met together, there 
was I among them. But far beyond all other 
impulses of my heart was un penchant a 
V adorable moitie die genre humain. My heart 
was completely tinder, and was eternally lighted 
up by some goddess or other ; and, as in every 
other warfare in this world, my fortune was va- 
rious ; sometimes I was received with favour, 
and sometimes I was mortified with a repulse. 
At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I feared 
no competitor, and thus I set absolute want at 
defiance ; and, as I never cared farther for my 
labours than while I was in actual exercise, I 
spent the evenings in the way after my own 
heart. A country lad seldom carries on a love 
adventure without an assisting confidant. 

I possessed a curiosity, zeal, and intrepid 
dexterity that recommended me as a proper 
second on these occasions ; and, I dare say, I 
felt as much pleasure in being in the secret of 
half the loves of the parish of Tarbolton as 
ever did statesman in knowing the intrigues of 
half the courts of Europe. The very goose- 
feather in my hand seems to know instinctively 
the well - worn path of my imagination, the 
favourite theme of my song ; and is with 
difficulty restrained from giving you a couple 
of paragraphs on the love-adventures of my 
compeers, the humble inmates of the farm-house 
and cottage ; but the grave sons of science, 
ambition, or avarice baptize these things by 



pense on cultivating than on the rest of the family — and he 
was equally delighted with his warmth of heart and conver- 
sational powers. He had indeed that dislike of dancing- 
schools which Robert mentions ; but so far overcame it 
during Robert's first month of attendance that he permitted 
the rest of the family that were fit for it to accompany him 
during the second month. Robert excelled in dancing, and 
was for some time distractedly fond of it."] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



625 



the name of follies. To the sons and daughters 
of labour and poverty they are matters of the 
most serious nature : to them the ardent hope, 
the stolen interview, the tender farewell, are 
the greatest and most delicious parts of their 
enjoyments. 

Another circumstance in my life which made 
some alteration in my mind and manners, wac 
that I spent my nineteenth summer on a smug- 
gling coast, a good distance from home, at a 
noted school, to learn mensuration, surveying, 
dialling, &c, in which I made a pretty good 
progress. But I made a greater progress in 
the knowledge of mankind. The contraband 
trade was at that time very successful, and it 
sometimes happened to me to fall in with those 
who carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot 
and roaring dissipation were, till this time, new 
to me ; but I was no enemy to social life. 
Here, though I learnt to fill my glass, and to 
mix Avithout fear in a drunken squabble, yet I 
went on with a high hand with my geometry, 
till the sun entered Virgo, a month which is 
I always a carnival in my bosom, when a charm- 
' ingjillette, who lived next door to the school, 
overset my trigonometry, and set me off at a 
tangent from the spheres of my studies. I, 
however, struggled on with my sines and 
co-sines for a few days more ; but stepping into 
the garden one charming noon to take the 
sun's altitude, there I met my angel 

" Like Proserpine gathering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower ' ' 

It was in vain to think of doing any more 
good at school. The remaining week I staid I 
did nothing but craze the faculties of my soul 
about her, or steal out to meet her ; and the 
two last nights of my stay in the country, had 
sleep been a mortal sin, the image of this 
modest and innocent girl had kept me guiltless. 

I returned home very considerably improved. 
j My reading was enlarged with the very im- 
portant addition of Thomson's and Shenstone's 
Works ; I had seen human nature in a new 
phasis ; and I engaged several of my school- 
fellows to keep up a literary correspondence 
with me. This improved me in composition. 
I had met with a collection of letters by the 
wits of Queen Anne's reign, and I pored over 
them most devoutly. I kept copies of any of 
my own letters that pleased me, and a com- 
parison between them and the composition of 
most of my correspondents flattered my vanity. 
I carried this whim so far that, though I had 
not three-farthings' worth of business in the 
world, yet almost every post brought me as 
many letters as if I had been a broad plodding 
son of the day-book and ledger. 

My life flowed on much in the same course 



* [The individual here alluded to was named Richard 
Brown. His mature life was an improvement upon his 



till my twenty-third year. Vive V amour, et 
vive la bagatelle, were my sole principles of 
action. The addition of two more authors to 
my library gave me great pleasure ; Sterne and 
Mackenzie — Tristram Shandy and the Man of 
Feeling were my bosom favourites. Poesy was 
still a darling walk for my mind, but it was 
only indulged in according to the humour of 
the hour. I had usually half a dozen or more 
pieces on hand ; I took up one or other, as it 
suited the momentary tone of the mind, and 
dismissed the work as it bordered on fatigue. 
My passions, when once lighted up, raged like 
so many devils, till they got vent in rhyme ; 
and then the conning over my verses, like a 
spell, soothed all into quiet ! None of the 
rhymes of those days are in print, except 
" Winter, a dirge," the eldest of my printed 
pieces; "The Death of poor Mailie," " John 
Barleycorn," and songs first, second, and third. 
Song second was the ebullition of that passion 
which ended the forementioned school-business. 

My twenty-third year was to me an import- 
ant sera. Partly through whim, and partly 
that I wished to set about doing something in 
life, I joined a flax-dresser in a neighbouring 
town (Irvine), to learn his trade. This was an 
unlucky affair. My * * * and to finish 
the whole, as we were giving a welcome ca- 
rousal to the new year, the shop took fire and 
burnt to ashes, and I was left, like a true poet, 
not worth a sixpence. 

I was obliged to give up this scheme ; the 
clouds of misfortune were gathering thick round 
my father's head ; and, what was worst of all, 
he was visibly far gone in a consumption ; and 
to crown my distresses, a belle Jille, whom I 
adored, and who had pledged her soul to meet 
me in the field of matrimony, jilted me, with 
peculiar circumstances of mortification. The 
finishing evil that brought up the rear of this 
infernal file, was my constitutional melancholy 
being increased to such a degree, that for three 
months I was in a state of mind scarcely to be 
envied by the hopeless wretches who have got 
their mittimus — " Depart from me, ye accursed !" 

From this adventure I learned something of 
a town life ; but the principal thing which gave 
my mind a turn was a friendship I formed with 
a young fellow, a very noble character, but a 
hapless son of misfortune.* He was the son of 
a simple mechanic ; but a great man in the 
neighbourhood, taking him under his patronage, 
gave him a genteel education, with a view of 
bettering his situation in life. The patron dying 
just as he was ready to launch out into the 
world, the poor fellow in despair went to sea ; 
where, after a variety of good and ill-fortune, 
a little before I was acquainted with him he had 



youth, and he died, in the enjoyment of general respect, 
within the last few years, at Greenock.] 

2 S 



626 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



been set on shore by an American privateer, on 
the wild coast of Connaught, stripped of every- 
thing. I cannot quit this poor fellow's story 
without adding that he is at this time master 
of a large West-Indiaman belonging to the 
Thames. 

His mind was fraught with independence, 
magnanimity, and every manly virtue. I loved 
and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, 
and of course strove to imitate him. In some 
measure, I succeeded ; I had pride before, but 
he taught it to flow in proper channels. His 
knowledge of the world was vastly superior to 
mine, and I was all attention to learn. He 
was the only man I ever saw who was a greater 
fool than myself where woman was the presiding 
star ; but he spoke of illicit love with the levity 
of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with 
horror. Here his friendship did me a mischief, 
and the consequence was that, soon after I re- 
sumed the plough, I wrote the " Poet's Wel- 
come, "f My reading only increased while in 
this town by two stray volumes of Pamela, and 
one of Ferdinand Count Fathom, which gave 
me some idea of novels. Rhyme, except some 
religious pieces that are in print, I had given 
up ; but meeting with Fergusson's Scottish 
Poems, I strung anew my wildly-sounding lyre 
with emulating vigour. When n^ father died, 
his all went among the hell-hounds that growl 
in the kennel of justice ; but we made a shift 
to collect a little money in the family amongst 
us, with which, to keep us together, my brother 
and I took a neighbouring farm. My brother 
wanted my hair-brained imagination, as well 
as my social and amorous madness ; but in good 
sense, and every sober qualification, he was far 
my superior. 

I entered on this farm with a full resolution, 
" come, go to, I will be wise !" I read farm- 
ing books, I calculated crops ; I attended mar- 
kets ; and in short, in spite of the devil, and 
the world, and the flesh, I believe I should have 
been a wise man ; but the first year, from un- 
fortunately buying bad seed, the second from a 
late harvest, we lost half our crops. This over- 
set all my wisdom, and I returned, " like the 
log to his vomit, and the sow that was washed 
to her wallowing in the mire." 

I now began to be known in the neighbour- 
hood as a maker of rhymes. The first of my 
poetic offspring that saw the light was a bur- 
lesque lamentation on a quarrel between two 
reverend Calvinists, both of them dramatis per- 
sona in my "Holy Fair." I had a notion 
myself that the piece had some merit ; but, to 
prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it to a 
triend, who was very fond of such things, and 
told him that I could not guess who was the 
author of it, but that I thought it pretty clever. 



t " Rob the Rhymer's Welcome to his Bastard Child.' 



With a certain description of the clergy, as weli 
as laity, it met with a roar of applause. 
" Holy Willie's Prayer" next made its appear- 
ance, and alarmed the kirk-session so much thai 
they held several meetings to look over their 
spiritual artillery, if haply any of it might be 
pointed against profane rhymers. Unluckily 
for me, my wanderings led me on another side, 
within point-blank shot of their heaviest metal. 
This is the unfortunate story that gave rise to 
my printed poem, " The Lament." This was- 
a most melancholy affair, which I cannot yet 
bear to reflect on, and had very nearly giver 
me one or two of the principal qualifications for 
a place among those who have lost the chart, 
and mistaken the reckoning of rationality. ] 
gave up my part of the farm to my brother 
in truth it was only nominally mine 5 and mad( 
what little preparation was in my power for 
Jamaica. But, before leaving my native coun- 
try for ever, I resolved to publish my poems. 
I weighed my productions as impartially as war 
in my power ; I thought they had merit ; and 
it was a delicious idea that I should be callec 
a clever fellow, even though it should never 
reach my ears — a poor negro-driver — or perhap^ 
a victim to that inhospitable clime, and gone 
to the world of spirits ! I can truly say that. 
pauvre inconnu as I then was, I had prett\ 
nearly as high an idea of myself and of my 
works as I have at this moment, when the pub- 
lic has decided in their favour. It ever was- 
my opinion that the mistakes and blunders, 
both in a rational and religious point of view, of 
which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing 
to their ignorance of themselves. — To know 
myself had been all along my constant study. 
I weighed myself alone ; I balanced myseli 
with others ; I watched every means of in- 
formation, to see how much ground I occupied 
as a man and as a poet ; I studied assiduously 
Nature's design in my formation — where the 
lights and shades in my character were intended. 
I was pretty confident my poems would meet 
with some applause ; but at the w r orst, the roar 
of the Atlantic would deafen the voice of 
censure, and the novelty of West Indian scenes 
make me forget neglect. I threw off six hun- 
dred copies, of which I had got subscriptions 
for about three hundred and fifty. — My vanity 
was highly gratified by the reception I met with 
from the public ; and, besides, I pocketed, all 
expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This 
sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking 
of indenting myself, for want of money to pro- 
cure my passage. As soon as I was master of 
nine guineas, the price of wafting me to the 
torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in the 
first ship that was to sail from the Clyde, for 

" Hungry ruin had me in the wind.' 

I had been for some days skulking from 
covert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail; 



GENERAL COKKESPONDENCE. 



as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the 
merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had 
taken the last farewell of my few friends ; my 
chest was on the road to Greenock ; I had 
composed the last song I should ever measure 
in Caledonia — " The gloomy night is gathering 
fast/' when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a 
Mend of mine overthrew all my schemes, by 
opening new prospects to my poetic ambition. 
The doctor belonged to a set of critics, for 
whose applause I had not dared to hope. His 
opinion, that I would meet with encouragement 
in Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so 
much that away I posted for that city, without 
a single acquaintance, or a single letter of in- 
troduction. The baneful star that had so long 
shed its blasting influence in my zenith for 
once made a revolution to the nadir ; and a 
kind Providence placed me under the patronage 
of one of the noblest of men, the Earl of 
Glencairn. Oublie moi, grand Dieu, si jamais 
je V oublie! 

I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I 
was in a new world ; I mingled among many 
classes of men, but all of them new to me, and 
I was all attention to " catch" the characters 
md " the manners living as they rise." 
Whether I have profited, time will shew.* 
* * * * 

My most respectful compliments to Miss 
Williams. Her very elegant and friendly letter 
I cannot answer at present, as my presence is 
requisite in Edinburgh, and I set out to- 
morrow. R. B. 



No. LXVI. 
TO Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE, Jun. 

BERRYWELL, DUNSB. 

Edinburgh, 23rd August, \787- 

" As I gaed U p to Danse, 
To warp a pickle yarn, 
Robin, silly body, 
He gat me wi' bairn." 

From henceforth, My dear Sir, I am deter- 
mined to set off with my letters like the pe- 
riodical writers, viz., prefix a kind of text, 
quoted from some classic of undoubted authority, 



* [The first intimation which the Poet gives of his- inten- 
tion to write an account of himself is contained in his letter 
to Robert Muir : that he might do it more at his leisure, he 
retired for a while to Mauchline, and in the scenes that for- 
merly inspired him, composed this most valuable biography. 
— " I mentioned to you," he says, to an Edinburgh beauty, 
[Clarinda] " my letter to Dr. Moore, giving an account of my 
life : it is truth, every word of it ; and will give you the just 
idea of a man whom you have honoured with your friend- 
ship. I am afraid you will hardly be able to make sense of 
so torn a piece." To the same lady, he says, on the same 
interesting subject, " I have been this morning taking a peep 
through, as Young finely says, 

1 The dark postern of time long elapsed.' 



such as the author of the immortal piece of 
which my text is a part. What I have to say 
on my text is exhausted in chatter I wrote yor, 
the other day, before I had the pleasure of re- 
ceiving yours from Inverleithing ; and sure 
never was any thing more lucky, as I have but 
the time to write this, that Mr. Nicol on the 
opposite side of the table takes to correct a 
proof sheet of a thesis. They are gabbling 
Latin so loud that I cannot hear what my own 
soul is saying in my own skull, so must just 
give you a matter-of-fact sentence or two, 
and end, if time permit, with a verse de rei 
generatione. 

To-morrow I leave Edinburgh in a chaise : 
Nicol thinks it more comfortable than horse- 
back, to which I say Amen ; so Jenny Geddee 
goes home to Ayr-shire, to use a phrase of my 
mother's, " wi' her finger in her mouth." 

Now for a modest verse of classical autho- 
rity :— 

The cats like kitchen , 
The dogs like broo ; 
The lasses like the lads weel, 
And th' auld wives too. 



And we're a' noddin, 
Nid, nid, noddin, 
We're a noddin fou at e'en.f 

If this does not please you, let me hear from 
you : if you write any time before the first of 
September, direct to Inverness, to be left at 
the post-office till called for ; the next week at 
Aberdeen ; the next at Edinburgh. 

The sheet is done, and I shall just conclude 
with assuring you that I am, and ever with 
pride shall be ; my dear Sir, yours, &c. 

Robert Burns. 

Call your boy what you think proper, only 
interject Burns. What do you say to a scrip- 
ture name ; for instance, Zimri Burns Ainslie, 
or Archetophel, &c. Look your Bible for 
these two heroes — if you do this, I will repay 
the compliment. 



[The above humourous epistle from the Poet 
was originally inserted in Pickering's edition of 
the ooetical works of Robert Burns. It is 



And you will easily guess it was a rueful prospect. What a 
tissue of thoughtlessness, weakness, and folly ! My life re- 
minded me of a ruined temple ! what proportion in some 
parts ! what unsightly gaps, what prostrate ruins in others ! 
I knelt down before The Father of mercies, and said, ' Father, 
I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no 
more worthy to be called thy son !' I rose eased .md strength- 
ened. I despise the superstition of a fanatic, but I love the 
religion of a man. The future, said I to myself, is stiL' 
before me— there let me — 

' On reason build resolve, 
That column of true majesty in man.' "] 
f [See song commencing " Gude E'en to you Kimmer,"! 



628 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



extremely characteristic, and will be read with 
great interest by every admirer of the Poet. 
It is printed from the original MS. in the 
hand- writing of Burns.] 



No. LXVII. 



TO Mr. ROBERT MUIR. 



Stirling, 26th August, 1787. 



My dear Sir: 



I intended to have written you from Edin- 
burgh, and now write you from Stirling to 
make an excuse. Here am I, on my way to 
Inverness, with a truly original, but very 
worthy man, a Mr. Nicol, one of the masters 
of the High-school in Edinburgh. I left Auld 
Reekie yesterday morning, and have passed, 
besides b) T -excursions, Linlithgow, Borrow- 
stouness, Falkirk, and here am I undoubtedly. 
This morning I knelt at the tomb of Sir John 
the Graham, the gallant friend of the immortal 
Wallace ; and two hours ago I said a fervent 
prayer for old Caledonia over the hole in a blue 
whinstone, where Robert de Bruce fixed his 
royal standard on the banks of Bannockburn ; 
and just now, from Stirling Castle, I have seen 
by the setting sun the glorious prospect of the 
windings of Forth through the rich carse of 
Stirling, and skirting the equally rich carse of 
Falkirk. The crops are very strong, but so 
very late that there is no harvest, except a 
ridge or two perhaps in ten miles, all the way 
I have travelled from Edinburgh. 

I left Andrew Bruce* and family all well. — 
I will be at least three weeks in making my 
tour, as I shall return by the coast, and have 
many people to call for. 

My best compliments to Charles, our dear 
kinsman and fellow saint ; and Messrs. W. and 
H. Parkers. I hope Hughocf is going on and 
prospering with God and Miss M'Causlin. 

If I could think on any thing sprightly, I 
should let you hear every other post ; but a 
dull, matter-of-fact business like this scrawl, 
the less and seldomer one writes, the better. 

Among other matters- of-fact I shall add this 
that I am and ever shall be, 



My dear Sir, 

Your obliged, 



R. B4 



* [Of the North Bridge, Edinburgh.] 
t [The Hughoc of poor Mailie.] 

J [This is the first letter which the Poet wrote during his 
excursion northward with Nicol. No Scotsman will read 



No. LXV1I1. 
TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq. 

Stirling, 28th August, 1787. 

My dear Sir: 

Here I am on my way to Inverness. 1 
have rambled over the rich, fertile carses oi 
Falkirk and Stirling, and am delighted with 
their appearance : richly waving crops of 
wheat, barley, &c, but no harvest at all yet, 
except, in one or two places, an old-wife's 
ridge. Yesterday morning I rode from this 
town up the meandering Devon's banks, to pay 
my respects to some Ayr-shire folks at Harvies- 
ton. After breakfast, we made a party to go 
and see the famous Caudron-linn, a remarkable 
cascade in the Devon, about five miles above 
Harvieston ; and, after spending one of the 
most pleasant days I ever had in my life, I re- 
turned to Stirling in the evening. They are a 
family, Sir, though I had not had any prior 
tie — though they had not been the brother and 
sisters of a certain generous friend of mine — I 
would never forget them. I am told you have 
not seen them these several years, so you can 
have very little idea of what these young folks 
are now. Your brother is as tall as you are, 
but slender rather than otherwise ; and I have 
the satisfaction to inform you that he is getting 
the better of those consumptive symptoms which 
I suppose you know were threatening him. — 
His make, and particularly his manner, resem- 
ble you, but lie will still have a finer face. (I 
put in the word still, to please Mrs. Hamilton.) 
Good sense, modesty, and at the same time a 
just idea of that respect that man owes to man, 
and has a right in his turn to exact, are striking 
features in his character ; and, what with me is 
the Alpha and the Omega, he has a heart that 
might adorn the breast of a poet ! Grace has 
a good figure, and the look of health and 
cheerfulness, but nothing else remarkable in 
her person. I scarcely ever saw so striking a 
likeness as is between her and your little Bee- 
nie ; the mouth and chin particularly. She is 
reserved at first; but, as we grew better ac- 
quainted, I was delighted with the native frank- 
ness of her manner, and the sterling sense of 
her observation. Of Charlotte I cannot speak 
in common terms of admiration : she is not 
only beautiful, but lovely. Her form is elegant ; 
her features not regular, but they have the 
smile of sweetness, and the settled complacency 
of good nature in the highest degree ; and her 
complexion, now that she has happily recovered 
her wonted health, is equal to Miss Burnet's. 
After the exercise of our riding to the Falls, 



without emotion what he says about Bannockburn : nor will 
these who are interested in his poetry fail to see that " Wee 
Hughoc," who figures in " Poor Mailie," is not forgotten, 
the Bard hopes he is prospering with God and Misa 
M'Causlin.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



629 



Charlotte was exactly Dr. Donne's mistress :- 

-" Her pure and eloquent blood 



Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought 
That one would almost say her body thought." 

Her eyes are fascinating ; at once expressive of 
good sense, tenderness, and a noble mind.§ 

I do not give you all this account, my good 
Sir, to flatter you. I mean it to reproach you. 
Such relations the first peer in the realm might 
own with pride ; then why do you not keep up 
more correspondence with these so amiable 
young folks ? I had a thousand questions to 
answer about you. I had to describe the little 
ones with the minuteness of anatomy. They 
were highly delighted when I told them that 
John* was so good a boy, and so fine a scho- 

! lar, and that Willie Avas going on still very 
pretty ; but I have it in commission to tell her 

, from them that beauty is a poor silly bauble 
without she be good. Miss Chalmers I had 

j left in Edinburgh, but I had the pleasure of 
meeting with Mrs. Chalmers, only Lady Mac- 
kenzie being rather a little alarmingly ill of a 
sore throat, somewhat marred our enjoyment. 

I shall not be in Ayr-shire for four weeks. — 
My most respectful compliments to Mrs. Ha- 
milton, Miss Kennedy, and Doctor Mackenzie. 
I shall probably write him from some stage or 
other. 

I am ever, Sir, 

Yours most gratefully, 
R. B. 



No. LXIX. 
TO Mr. WALKER, 

BLAIR OF ATHOLE. 



Inverness, 5th September, 1787- 

My dear Sir : 

I have just time to write the foregoing,t and 
to tell you that it was (at least most part of it) 
the effusion of a half-hour I spent at Bruar. 
I do not mean it was extempore, for I have en- 
deavoured to brush it up as well as Mr. Nicol's 
chat and the jogging of the chaise would allow. 
It eases my heart a good deal, as rhyme is the 
coin with which a poet pays his debts of honour 
or gratitude. What I owe to the noble family 
of Athole, of the first kind, I shall ever proudly 
boast ; what I owe of the last, so help me God 
in my hour of need ! I shall never forget. 

The " little an gel-band !" I declare I prayed 



§ [Miss Charlotte Hamilton was celebrated by Burns in 
his charming song, "The Banks of the Devon." She be- 
came the wife of Dr. Adair, physician in Harrowgate, and 
las been dead for some years ] 

* [Son of Mr. Gavin Hamilton — the "wee curlie Johnnie" 
>f The Dedication, now [l?iO] residing in London. 

t iTbe Humble Petition of Bruar-water. See page 275.] 



for them very sincerely to-day at the Fall of 
Fyers. I shall never forget the fine family- 
piece I saw at Blair ; the amiable, the truly 
noble duchess,! with her smiling little seraph 
in her lap, at the head of the table : the lovely 
" olive plants," as the Hebrew bard finely says, 
round the happy mother : the beautiful Mrs. 
G — ; the lovely, sweet Miss C. &c. I wish I 
had the powers of Guido to do them justice ! 
My Lord Duke's kind hospitality — markedly 
kind indeed. Mr. Graham of Fintray's charms 
of conversation — Sir W. Murray's friendship. 
In short, the recollection of all that polite, 
agreeable company raises an honest glow in 
my bosom. 

R. B. 



[Mr. Walker, to whom this letter is addressed, 
was Tutor to the children of the Duke of 
Athol. He afterwards became Professor of 
Humanity (Classical Literature) in the Univer- 
sity of Glasgow. He was a native of Ayr- 
shire, and an accomplished scholar and gentle- 
man. Happening to be in Edinburgh when 
Burns made his first appearance there, he 
sought his acquaintance, and was his frequent 
companion at the tables of Blair and Stewart. 
On his third and last excursion into the High- 
lands, the Poet found Walker an useful and 
prudent friend. With considerable tact he se- 
parated Burns from Nicol ; and, having pro- 
vided the latter with a fishing-rod and some 
choice wine to drink by the secluded pools of 
the Bruar, carried the bard into the company 
of the ladies of the house of Athole, and made 
him acquainted with Graham of Fintray. He 
visited him, too, at Dumfries, and, when the 
copyright of Currie's edition had expired, he 
wrote, with considerable taste and feeling, his 
life anew, and edited his poems. All that 
passed under his own eye the Professor related 
with dramatic truth and ease : his account of 
Bums at the table of Dr. Blair, and of his two 
days' conversation with him in 1795, are fine 
specimens of his talents. He died in 1831. — 
Cunningham.] 

<* 

No. LXX. 

TO Mr. GILBERT BURNS 

Edinburgh, l~th September, 1787. 

My dear Brother : 
I arrived here safe yesterday evening, after 
a tour of twenty-two days, and travelling near 



.+. [Jane, daughter of Charles, ninth Lord Cathcart. The 
"little angel band" consisted of Lady Charlotte Murray, 
aged twelve, afterwards the wife of Sir John Menzies of 
Castle-Menzies ; Lady Amelia, aged seven, now Viscountess 
Strathallan ; and Lady Elizabeth, an infant of five month*, 
now Lady Macgregor Murray of Lanrick.] 



630 



THE W011K3 OF BUttiNS. 



six hundred miles, windings included. My 
farthest stretch was about ten miles beyond In- 
verness. I went through the heart of the High- 
lands by Crieff, Tay mouth, the famous seat of 
Lord Breadalbane, down the Tay, among cas- 
cades and Druidical circles of stones, to Dun- 
keld, a seat of the Duke of Athole ; thence 
across Tay, and up one of his tributary streams 
to Blair of Athole, another of the duke's seats, 
where I had the honour of spending nearly two 
days with his Grace and family ; thence many 
miles through a wild country among cliffs grey 
with eternal snows and gloomy savage glens, 
till I crossed Spey and went down the stream 
through Strathspey, so famous in Scottish 
music ; ;if Badenoch, &c, till I reached Grant 
Castle, where I spent half a day with Sir James 
Grant and family ; and then crossed the coun- 
try for Fort George, but called by the way at 
Cawdor, the ancient seat of Macbeth ; there I 
saw the identical bed in which tradition says 
king Duncan was murdered : lastly, from Fort 
George to Inverness. 

I returned by the coast, through Nairn, 
Forres, and so on, to Aberdeen, thence to 
Stonehive,f where James Burness, from Mont- 
rose, met me by appointment. I spent two 
days' among our relations, and found our aunts, 
Jean and Isabel, still alive, and hale old women. 
John Cairn, though born the same year with 
our father, walks as vigorously as I can — they 
have had several letters from his son in New 
York. William Brand is likewise a stout old 
fellow ; but further particulars I delay till I see 
you, which will be in two or three weeks. The 
rest of my stages are not worth rehearsing : 
warm as I was from Ossian's country, where I 
had seen his very grave, what cared I for fish- 
ing-towns or fertile carses ? I slept at the 
famous Brodie of Brodie's one night, and dined 
at Gordon Castle next day, with the duke, 
duchess, and family. I am thinking to cause 
my old mare to meet me, by means of John 
Ronald, at Glasgow ; but you shall hear far- 
ther from me before I leave Edinburgh. My 
duty and many compliments from the north to 
my mother ; and my brotherly compliments to 
the rest. I have been trying for a berth for 
William, but am not likely to be successful. 
Farewell. 

R. B. 

[The Bard's own account of this Highland 
Tour to his brother, as communicated in the 

* [A quick kind of dancing tunes are called Strathspeys, 
from this vale, the place of their nativity.] 

t [Stonehaven.] 

t [To this young lady the Poet addressed twelve or four- 
teen letters, most of them in his happiest manner. They 
contained it seems so many allusions to the beauty and so 
many compliments to the acquirements of Charlotte Hamil- 
ton, as was displeasing to 

"The fairest maid on Devon's banks." 
In a moment of prejudice or passion, she threw the origi- 



above letter, is highly characteristic and ex- 
pressive of his feelings at that time. He well 
knew in what light the prudent Gilbert would 
view those dashing expensive journeys. Gilbert 
was a calm, considerate, and sensible man, with 
next to nothing of the enthusiast or the Poet in 
his nature : he was as unlikely to enter into the 
high musings and raptures of Robert as to carry 
conviviality to excess. As a critic and editor, 
he displayed considerable taste, feeling, and 
knowledge : his merits as a farmer stand on a 
sure foundation, though some men of the west 
aver that he was too much of an arm-chair 
agriculturist. The fame of his brother, as well 
as his own merits, helped him onwards : he died 
in 1827, much and widely respected. 

" The letters that passed between Gilbert and 
his brother are among the most precious of the 
series — here there could be no disguise. That 
the brothers had entire knowledge of, and con- 
fidence in, each other, no one can doubt ; and 
the plain, manly, affectionate language in which 
they both write is truly honourable to them 
and to the parents who reared them." — Lock- 
hart.] 



No. LXXI. 



TO Miss MARGARET CHALMERS,! 

[NOW MRS. HAY, OF EDINBURGH.] 

Sept. 26, 1787- 

I send Charlotte the first number of tin 
songs ; I would not wait for the second num- 
ber ; I hate delays in little marks of friendship, 
as I hate dissimulation in the language of the 
heart. I am determined to pay Charlotte a 
poetic compliment, if I could hit on some glo- 
rious old Scotch air, in number second. § You 
will see a small attempt on a shred of paper in 
the book; but though Dr. Blacklock com- 
mended it very highly, I am not just satisfied 
with it myself. I intend to make it a descrip- 
tion of some kind : the whining cant of love, 
except in real passion, and by a masterly hand, 
is to me as insufferable as the preaching cant oi 
old Father Smeaton, whig-minister at Kilmaurs. 
Darts, flames, Cupids, loves, graces, and all 
that farrago, are just a Mauchline * * 
a senseless rabble. 

I got an excellent poetic epistle yesternight 
from the old, venerable author of " Tulloch- 
goruni," " John of Badenyon," &c.|| I sup- 



nals into the fire ; and nothing was saved except such frag- 
ments as were found among the Bard's memoranda. They 
appear in the order of their dates. Miss Margaret Chalmers 
was the youngest daughter of the deceased James Chalmers, 
Esq., of Fingland. She married, December 9th, 1788, Lewis 
Hay, Esq. of the banking firm of Sir William Forbes, James 
Hunter, and Company, Edinburgh. Mrs. Hay afterwards 
resided at Pau, in the South of France.] 

§ Of the Scots Musical Museum. 

|| [The Rev. John Skinner, episcopal minister at Longside, 
near Peterhead.] 



GENERAL CORRESPO N D ENCE. 



631 



pose you know lie is a clergyman. It is by far 
die finest poetic compliment I ever got. I will 
send you a copy of it. 

I go on Thursday or Friday to Dumfries, to 
wait on Mr. Miller about bis farms. — Do tell 
that to Lady Mackenzie, that she may give me 
credit for a little wisdom. " I wisdom dwell 
with Prudence." What a blessed fire-side ! — 
How happy should I be to pass a winter even- 
ing under their venerable roof! and smoke a 
pipe of tobacco, or drink water-gruel with 
them ! What solemn, lengthened, laughter- 
quashing gravity of phiz ! What sage re- 
marks on the good-for-nothing sons and daugh- 
ters of indiscretion and folly ! And what fru- 
gal lessons, as we straitened the fire-side circle, 
on the uses of the poker and tongs ! 

Miss N. is very well, and begs to be remem- 
bered in the old way to you. I used all my 
eloquence, all the persuasive flourishes of the 
hand, and heart-melting modulation of periods 
in my power, to urge her out of Harvieston, but 
all in vain. My rhetoric seems quite to have 
lost its effect on the lovely half of mankind. — 
I have seen the day — but that is a " tale of 
other years." — In my conscience I believe that 
my heart has been so oft on fire that it is abso- 
lutely vitrified. I look on the sex with some- 
thing like the admiration with which I regard 
the starry sky in a frosty December night. I 
admire the beauty of the Creator's workman- 
ship ; I am charmed with the wild but graceful 
eccentricity of their motions, and — wish them 
good night. I mean this with respect to a 
certain passion dontfai eu Vhonneur d'etre un 
miserable esclave : as for friendship, you and 
Charlotte have given me pleasure, permanent 
pleasure, "which the world cannot give, nor 
take away," I hope ; and which will outlast the 
heavens and the earth . 

R. B. 



No. LXXII. 
TO THE SAME. 

Without date. 

I have been at Dumfries, and at one visit 
more shall be decided about a farm in that 
country, I am rather hopeless in it ; but as 
my brother is an excellent farmer, and is, besides, 
an exceedingly prudent, sober man (qualities 
svhich are only a younger brother's fortune in 
)ur family), I am determined, if my Dumfries 
business fail me, to return into partnership with 
him, and at our leisure take another farm m 
the neighbourhood. 

I assure you I look for high compliments 
from you and Charlotte on this very sage in- 
stance of my unfathomable, incomprehensible 
wisdom. Talking of Charlotte, I must tell her 
'hat I have, to the best of my power, paid her 



a poetic compliment, now completed. The air 
is admirable : true old Highland. It was the 
tune of a Gaelic song, which an Inverness 
lady sang me when I was there; and I was 
so charmed with it that I begged her to write 
me a set of it from her singing ; for it had ne- 
ver been set before. I am fixed that it shall go 
in Johnson's next number ; so Charlotte and 
you need not spend your precious time in contra- 
dicting me. I won't say the poetry is first- 
rate ; though I am convinced it is very well ; 
and, what is not always the case with compli- 
ments to ladies, it is not only sincere, but just. 

[Here follows the song of "The Banks of the Devon."— 
See page 368.] 

R. B. 



No. LXXIII. 

TO JAMES HOY, Esq. 

GORDON CASTLE. 



Edinburgh, 20th October, 1787. 



Sir: 



I will defend my conduct in giving you this 
trouble, on the best of Christian principles — 
" Whatsoever ye would that men should do 
unto you, do ye even unto them." — I shall 
certainly, among my legacies, leave my latest 
curse on that unlucky predicament which 
hurried — tore me away from Castle Gordon. 
May that obstinate son of Latin prose [Nicol] 
be curst to Scotch mile periods, and damned' to 
seven league paragraphs ; while Declension 
and Conjugation, Gender, Number, and Time, 
under the ragged banners of Dissonance and 
Disarrangement, eternally rank against him in 
hostile array. 

Allow me, Sir, to strengthen the small claim 
I have to your acquaintance, by the following 
request. An engraver, James Johnson, in 
Edinburgh, has, not from mercenary views, but 
from an honest Scotch enthusiasm, set about 
collecting all our native songs and setting them 
to music ; particularly those that have never 
been set before. Clarke, the well known 
musician, presides over the musical arrangement, 
and Drs. Beattie and Blacklock, Mr. Tytler 
of Woodhouselee, and your humble servant to 
the utmost of his small power, assist in collect- 
ing the old poetry, or sometimes for a fine air 
make a stanza, when it has no words. The 
brats, too tedious to mention, claim a parental 
pang from my hardship. I suppose it will 
appear in Johnson's second number — the first 
was published before my acquaintance with 
him. My request is — ' v Cauld Kail in Aber- 
deen" is one intended for this number, and 1 
beg a copy of his Grace of Gordon's words to 



632 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



it, which you were so kind as to repeat to me.* 
You may be sure we won't prefix the author's 
name, exeept you like, though I look on it as 
no small merit to this work that the names of 
many of the authors of our old Scotch songs, 
names almost forgotten, will be inserted. I do 
not well know where to write to you — I rather 
write at you ; but if you will be so obliging, 
immediately on receipt of this, as to write me 
a few lines, I shall perhaps pay you in kind, 
though not in quality. Johnson's terms are : — 
each number a handsome pocket volume, to 
consist at least of a hundred Scotch songs, with 
basses for the harpsichord, &c. The price to 
subscribers, 5s. ; to non-subscribers 6s. He 
will have three numbers, I conjecture. 

My direction for two or three weeks will be 
at Mr. William Cruikshank's, St. Jarnes's- 
square, New-town Edinburgh. 

I am. — 

Sir, 

Your's to command, 

R. B. 

The answer to the above letter is as follows : — 

Gordon Castle, October 31st, 1/87 ■ 

[Sir: 
If you were not sensible of your fault as 
well as of your loss, in leaving this place so 
suddenly, I should condemn you to starve upon 
cauld kail for ae towmont at least ; and as for 
Dick Latine [Mr. Nicol], your travelling com- 
panion, without banning him icV a? the curses 
contained in your letter (which he'll no value 
a bawbee) I should give him nought but Stra' 
bogie castocks to chew for sax ouks, or aye 
until he was as sensible of his error as you 
seem to be of yours. 

* * * * 

Your song [Bonnie Castle Gordon] I shewed 
without producing the author ; and it was 
judged by the Duchess to be the production of 
Dr. Beattie. I sent a copy of it by her Grace's 
desire to a Mrs. M'Pherson, in Badenoch, who 
sings Morag, and all other Gaelic songs, in 
great perfection. I have recorded it likewise, 
by Lady Charlotte's desire, in a book belonging 
to her Ladyship ; where it is in company with 
a great many other poems and verses, some of 
the writers of which are no less eminent for 
their political than for their poetical abilities. 
When the Duchess was informed that you were 
the author, she wished you had written the 
verses in Scotch. 

Any letter directed to me here will come to 
hand safely ; and, if sent under the Duke's 



* [Alexander, fourth Duke of Gordon, who entertained 
Burns at Gordon Castle, possessed considerable abilities for 
aong writing, though few of his verses have been ma4e pub- 



cover, it will likewise come free ; that is, as 
long as the Duke is in this country. 

I am, Sir, yours sincerely, 

James Ho\.] 
. + 

No. LXXIV. 
TO Rev. JOHN SKINNER. 

Edinburgh, October 25, 1787. 

Reverend and Venerable Sir: 
Accept, in plain dull prose, my most sincere 
thanks for the best poetical compliment I ever 
received. I assure you, Sir, as a poet, you 
have conjured up an airy demon of vanity in 
my fancy, which the best abilities in your other 
capacity would be ill able to lay. I regret, 
and while I live I shall regret, that, when I 
was in the north, I had not the pleasure of 
paying a younger brother's dutiful respect to 
the author of the best Scotch song ever 
Scotland saw — " Tullochgorum's my delight !" 
The world may think slightingly of the craft 
of song-making, if they please, but, as Job 
says — " O ! that mine adversary had written 
a book !" — let them trjr. There is a certain 
something in the old Scotch songs, a wild hap- 
piness of thought and expression, which pecu- 
liarly marks them, not only from English songs, 
but also from the modern efforts of song- 
wrights, in our native manner and language. 
The only remains of this enchantment, these 
spells of the imagination, rest with you. Our 
true brother, Ross of Lochlea, was likewise 
" owre canine"— a " wild warlock" — but now 
he sings among the " sons of the morning." 

I have often wished, and will certainly en- 
deavour, to form a kind of common acquaint- 
ance among all the genuine sons of Caledonian 
song. The world, busy in low prosaic pursuits, 
may overlook most of us ; but " reverence 
thyself." The world is not our -peers, so we 
challenge the jury. We can lash that world, 
and find ourselves a very great source of 
amusement and happiness independent of that 
world. 

There is a work going on in Edinburgh, just 
now, which claims your best assistance. An 
engraver in this town has set about collecting 
and publishing all the Scotch songs, with the 
music, that can be found. Songs in the 
English language, if by Scotchmen, are ad- 
mitted, but the music must all be Scotch. 
Drs. Beattie and Blacklock are lending a hand, 
and the first musician in town presides over 
that department. I have been absolutely crazed 
about it, collecting old stanzas, and every in- 
formation remaining respecting their origin, 
authors, &c. &c. This last is but a very frag- 
ment business ; but at the end of his second 
number — -the first is already published — a small 

lie. The song alluded to by Burns seems to have been ob- 
tained from Mr. Hoy, as it appears in the second volume uf 
the Museum.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



633 



account will be given of the authors, particu- 
larly to preserve those of latter times. Your 
three songs, " Tullochgorum," li John of 
Badenyon," and " Ewie wi' the crookit 
Horn/' go in this second number. I was 
determined, before I got your letter, to write 
you, begging that you would let me know 
where the editions of these pieces may be 
found, as you would wish them to continue in 
future times ; and if you would be so kind to 
this undertaking as send any songs, of your 
own or others, that you would think proper to 
publish, your name will be inserted among the 
other authors, — " Nill ye, will ye." One half 
of Scotland already give your songs to other 
authors. Paper is done. I beg to hear from 



* [The Poet summoned almost all the Bards of Caledonia 
to aid him in providing words for the Scottish airs in John- 
son's Musical Museum. The songs of "Tullochgorum" 
and "John of Badenyon" have made the name of Skinner 
dear to all the lovers of Scottish poetry. He was a man 
cheerful and pious, and performed his duties as episcopal 
pastor of Longside for nearly sixty-five years. Burns met 
his son, afterwards Bishop of Aberdeen, during his last tour 
in the north, and lamented that he did not know where Lin- 
shart — his father's residence — lay, as he would have gone 
twenty miles out of his way to have seen the author of " Tul- 
lochgorum." The poetical works of Skinner were collected 
soon after his death, on the l6th of June, 1807, and published 
in Edinburgh. He was a wit as well as a priest and poet. 
His grandson, John, paid less regard to his lessons than he 
wished : he suddenly desisted from instructing him, and said 
—"Oh! I forgot the old prophecy — Thomas the Rhymer 
has settled the matter — I shall trouble myself no farther." 
The boy turned to his grandfather, and said, " What has he 
said of me, grandpapa ?" — " O ! more than I like ; ye shall 
hear — 

" ' The world shall four John Skinners see, 

The first shall teach a school ; 
The other two shall parsons be, 

The fourth shall be a fool.' " 

John Skinner the fourth flew to his task, and became a 
learned man. -Cunningham. 

The following is Mr. Skinner's reply to Burns : — 

Linshart, November 14th, 1787. 
Sir, 

Your kind letter, without date, but of post-mark October 
25th, came to hand only this day ; and, to testify my punc- 
tuality to my poetic engagement, I sit down immediately to 
answer it in kind. 

Your acknowledgment of my poor but just encomiums on 
your surprising genius, and your opinion of my rhyming ex- 
cursions, are both, I think, by far too high. The difference 
between our two tracts of education and ways of life is en- 
tirely in your favour, and gives you the preference every 
manner of way. I know a classical education will not create 
a versifying taste, but it mightily improves and assists it ; — 
and though, where both these meet, there may sometimes be 
ground for approbation, yet where taste appears single, as it 
were, and neither cramped nor supported by acquisition, I 
will always sustain the justice of its prior claim to applause. 
A small portion of taste, this way, I have had almost from 
childhood, especially in the old Scottish dialect ; and it is as 
old a thing as I remember, my fondness for " Christ's-kirk 
on the green," which I had by heart ere I was twelve years 
of age, and which some years ago I attempted to turn into 
Latin verse. While I was young, I dabbled a good deal in 
these things : but on getting the black gown I gave it pretty 
much over, 'till my daughters grew up, who, being all good 
singers, plagued me for words to some of their favourite 
tunes, and so extorted these effusions, which have made a 
public appearance beyond my expectations, and contrary to 
my intentions, at the same time that I hope there is nothing 
to be found in them uncharacteristic, or unbecoming the 
cloth, which I would always wish to see respected. 

As to the assistance you propose from me in the under- 
taking you are engaged in [his collection of Scottish songs], 
" am sorry I cannot give it so far as I could wish, and you, 



you ; the sooner the better, as I leave Edin- 
burgh in a fortnight or three weeks.* — I am, 
With the warmest sincerity, Sir, 

Your obliged humble servant, — R. B. 



No. LXXV. 
TO JAMES HOY, Esq, 

GORDON CASTLE. f 

Edinburgh, Qch November, 17$7- 

Dear Sir : 

I would have wrote you immediately on 
receipt of your kind letter, but a mixed impulse 



perhaps, expect. My daughters, who were my only intelli- 
gencers, are all foris familiate, and the old woman, their 
mother, has lost that taste. There are two from my own pen, 
which I might give you, if worth the while. One to the old 
Scottish tune of Dumbarton drums. The other, perhaps, 
you have met with, as your noble friend, the Duchess, has, 1 
am told, heard of it. It was squeezed out of me by a brother 
parson in her neighbourhood, to accommodate a new High- 
land reel for the Marquis's birth-day, to the stanza of 

"Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly, "&c. 

If this last answer your purpose, you may have it from a 
brother of mine, Mr. James Skinner, Writer, in Edinburgh, 
who I believe can give the music too. 

There is another humourous thing, I have heard said to 
be done by the Catholic priest, Geddes, and which hit my 
taste much. 

" There was a wee wifiekie, was coming frae the fair, 
Had gotten a little drapikie, which bred her meikle care ; 
It took upo' the wifie's heart, and she began to spue, 
And quo' the wee wifiekie, ' I wish I binna fou,' " &c. 

I have heard of another new composition, by a young 
ploughman of my acquaintance, that I am vastly pleased 
with, to the tune of The humours of Glen, which I fear 
won't do, as the music, I am told, is of Irish original. I 
have mentioned these, such as they are, to show you my rea- 
diness to oblige you, and to contribute my mite, if I could, 
to the patriotic work you have in hand, and which I wish all 
success to. You have only to notify your mind, and what 
you want of the above shall be sent 3'ou. 

Meantime, while you are thus employed, do not sheath 
your own proper and piercing weapon. From what I have 
seen of yours already, I am inclined to hope for much good. 
One lesson of virtue and morality delivered in your amusing 
style, and from such as you, will operate more than dozens 
would do from such as me, who shall be told it is our em- 
ployment, and be never more minded : whereas, from a pen 
like yours, as being one of the many, what comes will be 
admired. Admiration will produce regard, and regard will 
leave an impression, especially when example goes along. 

Now binna saying I'm ill-bred, 
Else, by my troth, I'll no be glad ; 
For cadgers, ye have heard it said, 

And sic like fry, 
Maun ay be harland in their trade, 

And sae maun I. 

Wishing you, from my poet-pen, all success, and in my 
other character, all happiness and heavenly direction, 
I remain, with esteem, 

Your sincere friend, 

John Skinner."] 

f [" James Hoy, librarian to the Duke of Gordon, was i. 
all respects a very remarkable character : in singleness c< 
heart and simplicity of manners he rivalled Dominie Samp- 
son ; nor did a forty years' intercourse with the wealthy and 
the far-descended work any change in his manners — the ori- 
ginality of the man was neither smoothed nor softened, no» 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



of gratitude and esteem whispered to me that I 
ought to send you something by way of return. 
When a poet owes anything, particularly when 
he is indebted for good offices, the payment that 
usually recurs to him — the only coin indeed in 
which he is probably conversant — is rhyme. 
Johnson sends the books by the fly, as directed, 
and begs me to enclose his most grateful thanks : 
my return I intended should have been one or 
two poetic bagatelles which the world have 
not seen, or, perhaps, for obvious reasons, can- 
not see. These I shall send you before I leave 
Edinburgh. They may make you laugh a little, 
which, on the whole, is no bad way of spend- 
ing one's precious hours and still more precious 
breath : at any rate, they will be, though a 
small, yet a very sincere mark of my respectful 
esteem for a gentleman whose farther acquaint- 
ance I should look upon as a peculiar obligation. 

The duke's song, independent totally of his 
dukeship, charms me. There is I know not 
what of wild happiness of thought and expres- 
sion peculiarly beautiful in the old Scottish song 
style, of which his Grace, old venerable Skin- 
ner, the author of " Tullochgorum," &c, and 
the late Ross, of Lochlea, of true Scottish 
poetic memory, are the only modern instances 
that I recollect, since Ramsay with his contem- 
poraries, and poor Bob Fergusson went to the 
world of deathless existence and truly immortal 
song. The mob of mankind, that many-headed 
beast, would laugh at so serious a speech about 
an old song ; but, as Job says, " O that mine 
adversary had written a book !" Those who 
think that composing a Scotch song is a trifling 
business — let them try. 

I wish my Lord Duke would pay a proper 
attention to the Christian admonition — " Hide 
not your candle under a bushel," but " Let 
your light shine before men." I could name 
half a dozen dukes that I guess are a devilish 
deal worse employed ; nay, I question if there 
are half a dozen better : perhaps there are not 
half that scanty number whom Heaven has fa- 
voured with the tuneful, happy, and, I will say, 
glorious gift. 

I am, dear Sir, 
Your obliged humble servant, 

R. B. 



did it lessen in the least his stoical indifference to riches. 
His love of learning, and the example of simplicity and vir- 
tue which he exhibited, gained him respect far and wide : — 
the Duke's library was to him a castle, nor did he love to 
leave his command, save when on Sunday he rode to Elgin, 
to attend the Seceder meeting-house, for he was a zealous 
lissenter from the established kirk It was the business of 
tfoy, during the day, to store his mind with all such know- 
edge as the publications of the time supplied, and then over 
i bottle of claret, after dinner, impart to his Grace of Gordon 



No. LXXVI. 



TO Miss M- 



-N. 



November, 17S7. 
Saturday Noon, No. 2, St. James's Square, 
New Town, Edinburgh. 

Here have I sat, my dear Madam, in the 
stony altitude of perplexed study for fifteen 
vexatious minutes, my head askew, bending 
over the intended card ; my fixed eye insensible 
to the very light of day poured around ; my 
pendulous goose-feather, loaded with ink, hang- 
ing over the future letter, all for the important 
purpose of writing a complimentary card to 
accompany your trinket. 

Compliment is such a miserable Greenland 
expression, lies at such a chilly polar distance 
from the torrid zone of my constitution, that I 
cannot, for the very soul of me, use it to any 
person for whom I have the twentieth part of 
the esteem every one must have for you who 
knows you. 

As I leave town in three or four days, I can 
give myself the pleasure of calling on you only 
for a minute. Tuesday evening, some time 
about seven or after, I shall wait on you for 
your farewell commands. 

The hinge of your box I put into the hands 
of the proper connoisseur ; but it is, like Willy 
Gaw's Skate, past redemption. The broken 
glass, likewise, went under review ; but delibe- 
rative wisdom thought it would too much 
endanger the whole fabric. 

I am, dear Madam, 

With all the sincerity of enthusiasm, 
Your very obedient servant, 

R. B. 

[Concerning the name of this lady inquiries 
have been made in vain. The communication 
appeared, for the first time, in " Burns' Letters 
to Clarinda." The import of those celebrated 
letters has been much misrepresented ; they are 
sentimental flirtations chiefly — a sort of Cory- 
don-and-Phillis affair, with here and there 
passages over-warm, and expressions too gra- 
phic, such as all had to endure who were 
honoured with the correspondence of Burns. — 
Cunningham.] 



all that he reckoned valuable or important. He studied 
astronomy, entomology, and botany, and made valuable ob- 
servations on each : if he despised wealth, he was equally 
indifferent about fame ; his self-denial regarding all things 
that worldly men valued was wonderful. Burns was delighted 
with his blunt straight-forward manner ; and the librarian 
strove, it is said, to re-pay it by giving the postboy a crown ■ 
contrive, no matter how, to stop the Bard's departure from 
Fochabers. The fierce impetuosity of Nicol prevented 
this." — Robert Carruthers.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



335 



No. LXXVII. 
TO Miss CHALMERS. 

Edinburgh, Nov. 21, 1787. 

I have one vexatious fault to the kindly- 
welcome, well-filled sheet which I owe to your 
and Charlotte's * goodness — it contains too 
much sense, sentiment, and good-spelling. It 
is impossible that even you two, whom I de- 
clare to my God I will give credit for any 
degree of excellence the sex are capable of 
attaining, it is impossible you can go on to 
correspond at that rate ; so, like those who, 
Shenstone says, retire because they have made 
a good speech, I shall, after a few letters, hear 
no more of you. I insist that you shall write 
whatever comes first : what you see, what you 
read, what you hear, what you admire, what 
you dislike, trifles, bagatelles, nonsense ; or to 
fill up a corner, e'en put down a laugh at full 
length. Now none of your polite hints about 
flattery : I leave that to your lovers, if you 
have or shall have any ; though, thank heaven, 
I have found at last two girls who can be luxu- 
riantly happy in their own minds and with one 
another, without that commonly necessary ap- 
pendage to female bliss — a lover. 

Charlotte and you are just two favourite 
resting-places for my soul in her wanderings 
through the weary, thorny wilderness of this 
world. God knows I am ill-fitted for the 
struggle : I glory in being a Poet, and I want 
to be thought a wise man — I would fondly be 
generous, and I wish to be rich. After all, I 
am afraid I am a lost subject. " Some folk hae 
a hantle o' fauts, an' I'm but a ne'er-do-weel." 

Afternoon — To close the melancholy reflec- 
tions at the end of last sheet, I shall just add a 
piece of devotion commonly known in Carrick 
by the title of the " Wabster's grace :" — 

" Some say we're thieves, and e'en sae are we, 
Some say we lie, and e'en sae do we ! 
Gude forgie us, and I hope sae will he ! 

Up and to your looms, lads." 

R. B. 
& 

No. LXXVIII. 

TO Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE, 

EDINBURGH. 

Edinburgh, Sunday Morning, 
Nov. 23, 1787. 

I beg, my dear Sir, you would not make 
any appointment to take us to Mr. Ainslie's to- 
night. On looking over my engagements, 
constitution, present state of my health, some 
little vexatious soul concerns, &c, I find I 
can't sup abroad to-night. I shall be in to-day 
till one o'clock if you have a leisure hour. 



1 [Miss Hamilton.] 



You will think it romantic when I tell you 
that I find the idea of your friendship almost 
necessary to my existence. — You assume a pro- 
per length of face in my bitter hours of blue- 
devilism, and you laugh fully up to my highest 
wishes at my good things. — I don't know, upon 
the whole, if you are one of the first fellows in 
God's world, but you are so to me. 1 tell yon 
this just now in the conviction that some ine- 
qualities in my temper and manner may perhaps- 
sometimes make you suspect that I am not so 
warmly as I ought to be your friend. 

R. B. 



No. LXXIX. 
TO ROBERT AINSLIE. 

Mauchline, 

My dear Aijnislie : 



1787. 



There is one thing for which I set great store 
by you as a friend, and it is this : "I have not 
a friend upon earth, besides yourself, to whom 
I can talk nonsense without forfeiting some 
degree of esteem. Now, to one like me, who 
never weighs what he says, such a friend is a 
valuable treasure. I was never a knave, but I 
have been a fool all my life, and, in spite of all 
my endeavours, I see now plainly that I shall 
never be wise. Now it rejoices my heart to 
have met with such a fellow as you, who, 
though you are not just such a hopeless fool as 
I, yet I trust you will never listen so much to 
the temptation of the devil, as to grow so very 
wise that you will in the least disrespect an 
honest fellow, because he is a fool. In short, I 
have set you down as the staff of my old age, 
when the whole host of my friends will, after i\ 
decent show of pity, have forgot me. 

' Though in the morn comes sturt and strife, 

Yet joy may come ere noon ; 
And I hope to live a merry, merry life, 
When a' their days are done.' 

Write me soon, were it but a few lines, jusi 
to tell me how that good sagacious man you 
father is — that kind dainty body your mother- 
that strapping child your brother Douglas— 
and my friend Rachael, who is as far before 
Rachael of old as she was before her blear- 
eyed sister Leah. 

R. B. 



No. LXXX. 



TO JAMES DALRYMPLE, Esq., 

ORANGEFIELD. 

Edinburgh, 1787. 

Dear Sir : 
I suppose the devil is so elated with his 
success with you that he is determined by a 



036 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



coup de main to complete his purposes on you 
all at once, in making you a poet. I broke 
open the letter you sent me ; hummed over the 
rhymes ; and, as I saw they were extempore, 
said to myself, they were very well ; but when 
I saw at the bottom a name that I shall ever 
value with grateful respect, " I gapit wide, but 
nae thing spak. ;; I was nearly as much struck 
as the friends of Job, of affliction-bearing 
memory, when they sat down with him seven 
days and seven nights, and spake not a word. 

I am naturally of a superstitious cast, and as 
soon as my wonder-scared imagination regained 
its consciousness, and resumed its functions, I 
cast about what this mania of yours might 
portend. My foreboding ideas had the wide 
stretch of possibility : and several events, great 
In their magnitude, and important in their con- 
sequences, occurred to my fancy. The downfal 
of the conclave, or the crushing of the Cork 
rumps ; a ducal coronet to Lord George Gordon, 
and the protestant interest ; or St. Peter's 
keys, to ***** *. 

You want to know how I come on. I am 
just in statu quo, or, not to insult a gentleman 
with my Latin, in " auld use and wont." The 
noble Earl of Glencairn took me by the hand 
to-day, and interested himself in my concerns, 
with a goodness like that benevolent being, 
whose image he so richly bears. He is a 
Wronger proof of the immortality of the soul 
than any that philosophy ever produced. A 
mind like his can never die. Let the worshipful 
squire H. L., or the reverend Mass J. M. go 
into their primitive nothing. At best, they are 
but ill-digested lumps of chaos, only one of 
them strongly tinged with bituminous particles 
and sulphureous effluvia. But my noble patron, 
eternal as the heroic swell of magnanimity, and 
the generous throb of benevolence, shall look 
on with princely eye at " the war of elements, 
the wreck of matter, and the crash of 
worlds."* R. B. 



No. LXXXI. 
TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 

Edinburgh, December, 1787. 

My Lord : 
I know your lordship will disapprove of my 
ideas in a request I am going to make to you : 
but I have weighed, long and seriously weighed, 
ny situation, my hopes and turn of mind, and 
im fully fixed to my scheme if I can possibly 
effectuate it. I wish to get into the Excise ; 
I am told that your lordship's interest will 
easily procure me the grant from the commis- 

* [James Dalrymple, Esq. of Orangefield, interested 
nmself in the fortunes of Burns : he was a gentleman by 
'irth, and, as this letter intimates, something of a poet. 



sioners ; and your lordship's patronage and 
goodness, which have already rescued me from j 
obscurity, wretchedness, and exile, embolden j 
me to ask that interest. You have likewise 
put it in my power to save the little tie of 
home that sheltered an aged mother, two 
brothers, and three sisters from destruction. 
There, my lord, you have bound me over to 
the highest gratitude. 

My brother's farm is but a Avretched lease, 
but I think he will probably weather out the j 
remaining seven years of it ; and, after the ; 
assistance which I have given and will give 
him, to keep the family together, I think, by 
my guess, I shall have rather better than two 
hundred pounds, and instead of seeking, what 
is almost impossible at present to find, a farm 
that I can certainly live by, with so small a 
stock, I shall lodge this sum in a banking- 
house, a sacred deposit, excepting only the. 
calls of uncommon distress or necessitous old 
age. 

These, my lord, are my views : I have re- 
solved from the maturest deliberation ; and now 
I am fixed, I shall leave no stone unturned to 
carry my resolve into execution. Your lord- 
ship's patronage is the strength of my hopes ; 
nor have I yet applied to any body else. In- 
deed my heart sinks within me at the idea of 
applying to any other of the great who have 
honoured me with their countenance. I am 
ill-qualified to dog the heels of greatness with 
the impertinence of solicitation, and tremble 
nearly as much at the thought of the cold 
promise as the cold denial; but to your lordship 
I have not only the honour, the comfort, but 
the pleasure of being 

Your lordship's much obliged 

And deeply indebted humble servant, 

R. B. 

[For some notice of this nobleman, see " The 
Poet's Lament," page 309.] 



No. LXXXII. 

TO Miss CHALMERS. 

Edinburgh, Dee. 12, 1787. 

I am here under the care of a surgeon, with 
a bruised limb extended on a cushion ; and the 
tints of my mind vying with the livid horror 
preceding a midnight thunder-storm. A drunk- 
en coachman was the cause of the first, and 
incomparably the lightest evil ; misfortune, bo- 
dily constitution, hell, and myself, have formed 
a " quadruple alliance" to guarantee the other. 



Who the worshipful squire H. L. was we have not been 
told: Mass J. M. was probably Mr. Moodie, minister of 
Liiivarton. — Cunningham.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



637 



I got my fall on Saturday, and am getting 
slowly better. 

I have taken tooth and nail to the Bible, and 
am got through the five books of Moses, and 
half way in Joshua. It is really a glorious 
book. I sent for my book-binder to-day, and 
ordered him to get me an octavo Bible in 
sheets, the best paper and print in town ; and 
bind it with all the elegance of his craft. 

I would give my best song to my worst ene- 
my, I mean the merit of making it, to have 
you and Charlotte by me. You are angelic 
creatures, and would pour oil and wine into my 
wounded spirit. 

I enclose you a proof copy of the " Banks 
of the Devon," which present with my best 
wishes to Charlotte. The " Ochil-hills"* you 
shall probably have next week for yourself. — 
None of your fine speeches ! 

R. B. 



No. LXXXIII. 



TO THE SAME. 

Edinburgh, Dec. 19, 1787- 

I begin this letter in answer to your's of the 
17 th current, which is not yet cold since I read 
it. The atmosphere of my soul is vastly clearer 
than when I wrote you last. For the first 
time, yesterday I crossed the room on crutches. 
It would do your heart good to see my bard- 
ship, not on my poetic, but on my oaken, stilts ; 
throwing my best leg with an air ! and with as 
much hilarity in my gait and countenance as a 
May frog leaping across the newly harrowed 
ridge, enjoying the fragrance of the refreshed 
earth, after the long-expected shower ! 

I can't say I am altogether at my ease when 
I see any where in my path that meagre, squa- 
lid, famine-faced spectre, poverty ; attended, as 
he always is, by iron - fisted oppression, and 
leering contempt; but I have sturdily with- 
stood his bufferings many a hard-laboured day 
already, and still my motto is — I dare ! My 
worst enemy is moi-meme. I lie so miserably 
open to the inroads and incursions of a mis- 
chievous, light-armed, well-mounted banditti, 
under the banners of imagination, whim, ca- 
price, and passion : and the heavy-armed vete- 
ran regulars of wisdom, prudence, and fore- 
thought move so very, very slow, that I am 
almost in a state of perpetual warfare, and, 
alas ! frequent defeat. There are just two 
creatures I would envy, a horse in his wild 
state, traversing the forests of Asia, or an oyster 



* [The song in honour of Miss Chalmers, beginning 
; Where braving angry winter's storms. See p. 3/4.] 
+ [Ultimately a judge, under the designation of Lord 



on some of the desert shores of Europe. The 
one has not a wish without enjoyment, the 
other has neither wish nor fear. 

R. B. 



No. LXXX1V. 

TO CHARLES HAY, Esq., 

ADVOCATE,| 
ENCLOSING VERSES ON THE DEATH OF 



THE LORD PRESIDENT. 



Sir: 



December, 1/87. 



The enclosed poem was written in conse- 
quence of your suggestion, last time I had the 
pleasure of seeing you. It cost me an hour oi 
two of next morning's sleep, but did not please 
me ; so it lay by, an ill-digested effort, till the 
other day that I gave it a critic brush. 

These kind of subjects are much hackneyed; 
and, besides, the wailings of the rhyming tribe 
over the ashes of the great are cursedly suspi- 
cious, and out of all character for sincerity. — 
These ideas damped my muse's fire; however, 
I have done the best I could, and, at all events, 
it gives me an opportunity of declaring that 1 
have the honour to be, 

Sir, 
Your obliged humble Servant, 

R. B. 



LXXXV. 



TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD. 



Sir: 



Edinburgh, December, 1J87. 



Mr. Mackenzie, in Mauchline, my very 
warm and worthy friend, has informed me how 
much you are pleased to interest yourself in 
my fate as a man, and (what to me is incom- 
parably dearer) my fame as a poet. I have, 
Sir, in one or two instances, been patronized by 
those of your character in life, when I was in- 
troduced to their notice by ***** friends to 
them, and honoured acquaintances to me ; but 
you are the first gentleman in the country 
whose benevolence and goodness of heart has 
interested himself for me, unsolicited and 
unknown. 

I am not master enough of the etiquette oi 
these matters to know, nor did I stay to inquire, 
whether formal duty bade, or cold propriety 
disallowed, my thanking you in this manner 
as I am convinced, from the light in which you 
kindly view me, that you will do me the justice 



Newton. He died October 19th, 1811, leaving a strong rcr 
tation for his bacchanalianism, of which many whimsh 
anecdotes are told.] 



iv:^< 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



to believe this letter is not the manoeuvre of the 
needy, sharping author, fastening on those in 
upper life who honour him with a little notice 
of him or his works. Indeed, the situation of 
poets is generally such, to a proverb, as may, 
in some measure, palliate that prostitution of 
heart and talents they have at times been guilty 
of. I do not think prodigality is, by any 
means, a necessary concomitant of a poetic turn, 
but I believe a careless, indolent attention to 
economy is almost inseparable from it ; then 
(here must be, in the heart of every bard of 
Nature's making, a certain modest sensibility, 
mixed with a kind of pride, that Avill ever keep 
him out of the way of those windfalls of for- 
tune which frequently light on hardy impu- 
dence and foot-licking servility. It is not easy 
to imagine a more helpless state than his whose 
poetic fancy unfits him for the world, and whose 
character as a scholar gives him some preten- 
sions to the politesse of life — yet is as poor as 
I am. 

For my part, I thank Heaven my star has 
been kinder ; learning never elevated my ideas 
above the peasant's shed, and I have an inde- 
pendent fortune at the plough-tail. 

I was surprised to hear that any one who 
pretended in the least to the manners of the 
gentleman should be so foolish, or worse, as to 
stoop to traduce the morals of such a one as I 
am, and so inhumanly cruel, too, as to meddle 
with that late most unfortunate, unhappy part 
of my story. With a tear of gratitude, I thank 
you, Sir, for the warmth with which you in- 
terposed in behalf of my conduct. I am, I 
acknowledge, too frequently the sport of whim, 
caprice, and passion, but reverence to God, and 
integrity to my fellow-creatures, I hope I shall 
ever preserve. I have no return, Sir, to make 
you for your goodness but one — a return which, 
[ am persuaded, will not be unacceptable — the 
honest, warm wishes of a grateful heart for 
your happiness, and every one of that lovely 
flock, who stand to you in a filial relation. If 
ever calumny aim the poisoned shaft at them, 
may friendship be by to ward the blow ! 

R. B. 



No. LXXXVI. 
TO Miss WILLIAMS,* 

ON READING THE POEM OF THE SLAVE TRADE. 
Edinburgh, Dec. 1787- 

I know very little of scientific criticism, so 

* [Miss Williams had in the previous June addressed a 
complimentary epistle to Burns, which appeared in the 
Edinburgh Magazine for Sept. 18 17, when the above letter 
ilso appeared for the first time, along with the following note 
by the Editor — the late Thomas Pringle. 

" The Critique, though not without some traits of the 
•ooet's usual sound judgment and discrimination, appears on 
the whole to be much in the strain of those gallant and 
lattering responses which men of genius sometimes find it 
ncumbent to issue when consulted upon the productions 
*f their female admirers." In one of her letters to Burns, 



all I can pretend to in that intricate art i? 
merely to note, as I read along, what passages- 
strike me as being uncommonly beautiful, and 
where the expression seems to be perplexed or 
faulty. 

The poem opens finely. There are none of 
these idle prefatory lines which one ma} r skip 
over before one comes to the subject. Verses 
9th and 10th in particular, 

" Where ocean's unseen bound 
Leaves a drear world of waters round," 

are truly beautiful. The simile of the hurricane 
is likewise fine ; and, indeed, beautiful as the 
poem is, almost all the similes rise decidedly 
above it. From verse 31st to verse 50th is a 
pretty eulogy on Britain. Verse 36th, " That 
foul drama deep with wrong," is nobly expres- 
sive. Verse 46th, I am afraid, is rather un- 
worthy of the rest : " to dare to feel" is an 
idea that I do not altogether like. The con- 
trast of valour and mercy, from the 46th verse 
to the 50th, is admirable. 

Either my apprehension is dull, or there is 
something a little confused in the apostrophe 
to Mr. Pitt. Verse 55th is the antecedent to 
verses 57th and 58th, but in verse 58th the 
connection seems ungrammatical : — 



With no gradations mark'd their flight, 
But rose at once to glory's height." 

Ris'n should be the word instead of rose. Try 
it in prose. Powers, — their flight marked by 
no gradations, but [the same powers] risen at 
once to the height of glory. Likewise, verse 
53rd, " For this," is evidently meant to lead on 
the sense of the verses 59th, 60th, 61st, and 
62nd : but let us try how the thread of connec- 
tion runs : — 

'' For this* * * * * 

***** 

The deeds of mercy that embrace 
A distant sphere, an alien race, 
Shall virtue's lips record, and claim 
The fairest honours of thy name.' ' 

I beg pardon if I misapprehend the matter, 
but this appears to me the only imperfect pas- 
sage in the poem. The comparison of the sun- 
beam is fine. 

The compliment to the Duke of Richmond 
is, I hope, as just as it is certainly elegant. 
The thought, 

the poetess, after expressing her admiration of " The 
Vision," "The Cotter's Saturday Night," and "The 
Mouse," says — " My mother's family is Scotch, and thi 
dialect has been familiar to me from my infancy; I am. 
therefore, qualified to taste the charms of your native poetry, 
and, as I feel the strongest attachment for Scotland, I share 
the triumph of your country in producing your laurels." 
The merits of Miss Williams are widely known ; nor is it 
little honour to her muse that her fine song of " Evan 
Banks" has been imputed to Burns by Cromek and othei 
good judges. — ] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



639 



Sends from her unsullied source 

The gems of thought their purest force," 

is exceeding beautiful. The idea, from verse 
81st to the 85th, that the " blest degree" is like 
the beams of morning ushering in the glorious 
day of liberty, ought not to pass unnoticed or 
anapplauded. From verse 85th to verse 108th, 
is an animated contrast between the unfeeling 
selfishness of the oppressor on the one hand, 
and the misery of the captive on the other. 
Verse 88th might perhaps be amended thus : 
" Nor ever quit her narrow maze." We are 
said to pass a bound, but we quit a maze. 
Verse 100th is exquisitely beautiful : — 

"They, whom wasted blessings tire." 

Verse 110th is I doubt a clashing of metaphors ; 
"to load a span" is, I am afraid, an unwar- 
rantable expression. In verse 114th, "Cast 
the universe in shade," is a fine idea. From 
the 115th verse to the 142nd is a striking de- 
scription of the wrongs of the poor African. 
Verse 120th, " The load of unremitted pain," 
is a remarkable, strong expression. The ad- 
dress to the advocates for abolishing the slave- 
trade, from verse 143rd to verse 208th is ani- 
mated with the true life of genius. The picture 
of oppression, — 

" While she links her impious chain, 
And calculates the price of pain ; 
Weighs agony in sordid scales, 
And marks if death or life prevails,"— 

is nobly executed. 

What a tender idea is in verse 180th ! In- 
deed, that whole description of home may vie 
with Thomson's description of home, some- 
where in the beginning of his Autumn. I do 
not remember to have seen a stronger expression 
of misery than is contained in these verses : — 

" Condemned, severe extreme, to live 
When all is fled that life can give." 

The comparison of our distant joys to distant 
objects is equally original and striking. 

The character and manners of the dealer in 
the infernal traffic is a well done, though a hor- 
rid, picture. I am not sure how far introducing 
the sailor was right ; for, though the sailor's 
common characteristic is generosity, yet, in this 
case, he is certainly not only an unconcerned 
witness, but, in some degree, an efficient agent 
in the business. Verse 224th is a nervous .... 
expressive — " The heart convulsive anguish 



* [Richard Brown was the individual whom Burns, in his 
autobiographical letter to Dr. Moore, describes as his com- 
panion at Irvine — whose mind was fraught with every manly 
virtue, and who, nevertheless, was the means of making him 
regard illicit love with levity. The morning of his life was 
indeed changeable and stormy ; but fortitude, perseverance, 
and prudence carried him over the troubled waters, and the 
afternoon of his existence was tranquil and sunny. He 



breaks." The description of the captive wretch 
when he arrives in the West Indies is carried 
on with equal spirit. The thought that the 
oppressor's sorrow, on seeing the slave pine, is 
like the butcher's regret when his destined lamb 
dies a natural death, is exceedingly fine. 

I am got so much into the cant of criticism 
that I begin to be afraid lest I have nothing 
except the cant of it ; and, instead of elucidating 
my author, am only benighting myself. For 
this reason, I will not pretend to go through 
the whole poem. Some few remaining beauti- 
ful lines, however, I cannot pass over. Verse 
280th is the strongest description of selfishness 
I ever saw. The comparison in verses 285th 
and 286th is new and fine ; and the line, 
" Your arms to penury you lend," is excellent. 

In verse 317th, " like" should certainly be 
" as" or " so ;" for instance — 

" His sway the hardened bosom leads 
To cruelty's remorseless deeds ; 
As (or, so) the blue lightning when it springs 
With fury on its livid wings, 
Darts on the goal with rapid force, 
Nor heeds that ruin marks its course." 

If you insert the word " like" where I have 
placed " as," you must alter " darts" to " dart- 
ing," and "heeds" to "heeding," in order to 
make it grammar. A tempest is a favourite 
subject with the poets, but I do not remember 
anything even in Thomson's Winter superior to 
your verses from the 347th to the 351 st. In- 
deed, the last simile, beginning with " Fancy 
may dress, &c," and ending with the 350th 
verse, is, in my opinion, the most beautiful pas- 
sage in the poem ; it would do honour to the 
greatest names that ever graced our profession. 

I will not beg your pardon, Madam, for 
these strictures, as my conscience tells me thai 
for once in my life I have acted up to the 
duties of a Christain, in doing as I would be 
done by. 

R. B. 



No. LXXXVII. 
TO Mr. RICHARD BROWN,* 

IRVINE. 

Edinburgh, 30ta Dec. 1787. 

My dear Sir : 
I have met with few things in life which 
have given me more pleasure than Fortune's 



corresponded for a time, as will be seen, with the Poet, and 
even threatened a visit to Ellisland; but on learning how 
freely he had been written about in the memoir, he changed 
his mind, and for many years loved not to allude to the 
Bard of Kyle. He died lately much respected and regretted 
in Greenock. 

It was in December of this year, as intimated by the above 
letter that the poet became acquainted with Mrs. Mac Lehose. 



040 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



kindness to you since those days in which we 
met in the vale of misery ; as I can honestly 
say that I never knew a man who more truly 
deserved it, or to whom my heart more truly 
wished it. I have been much indebted since 
that time to your story and sentiments for steel- 
ing my mind against evils, of which I have had 
a pretty decent share. My will-o'-wisp fate 
you know : do you recollect a Sunday we spent 
together in Eglinton woods ? You told me, on 
my repeating some verses to you, that you won- 
dered I could resist the temptation of sending 
verses of such merit to a magazine. It was 
from this remark I derived that idea of my own 
pieces, which encouraged me to endeavour at 
the character of a poet. I am happy to hear 
that you will be two or three months at home. 
As soon as a bruised limb will permit me, I 
shall return to Ayr-shire, and we shall meet ; 
" and faith, I hope we'll not sit dumb, nor yet 
cast out !" 

I have much to tell you "of men, their man- 
ners, and their ways," perhaps a little of the 
other sex. Apropos, I beg to be remembered 
to Mrs. Brown. There I doubt not, my dear 
friend, but you have found substantial happi- 
ness. I expect to find you something of an 
altered, but not a different, man ; the wild, bold, 
generous young fellow composed into the steady 
affectionate husband, and the fond careful 
parent. For me, I am just the same will-o'- 
wisp being I used to be. About the first and 
fourth quarters of the moon, I generally set in 
for the trade wind of wisdom ; but about the 
full and change, I am the luckless victim of 
mad tornadoes, which blow me into chaos. 
Almighty love still reigns and revels in my 
bosom ; and I am at this moment ready to hang 
myself for a young Edinburgh widow,* who 
has wit and wisdom more murderously fatal 
than the assassinating stiletto of the Sicilian 
bandit, or the poisoned arrow of the savage 
African. My highland dirk, that used to hang 
beside my crutches, I have gravely removed 
into a neighbouring closet, the key of which I 
cannot command in case of spring-tide pa- 
roxysms. You may guess of her wit by the 
following verses, which she sent me the other 
day. [See note To Clarinda p. 270.] 

My best compliments to our friend Allan. — 
Adieu ! 

R. B. 



a young, beautiful, and talented woman, residing with an 
infant family in Edinburgh, while her husband was pushing 
his fortune in the West Indies. She first met the poet in 
the house of a common friend in Alison's Square, Potterrow, 
at tea. The sprightly and intelligent character of the lady 
made a powerful impression on the poet, and she was in turn 
pleased to meet a man of such extraordinary genius. A 
friendship of the intellect and the more refined sentiments 



No. LXXXVIII. 
TO GAVIN HAMILTON. 



My dear, Sir, 



Edinburgh, Dec. 1787- 



It is indeed with the highest pleasure that 1 
congratulate you on the return of days of ease 
and nights of pleasure, after the horrid hours of 
misery in which I saw you suffering existence 
when last in Ayr-shire. I seldom pray for any- 
body — " I'm baith dead-sweer and wretched ill 
o't;" but most fervently do I beseech the 
Power that directs the world that you may 
live long and be happy, but live no longer than 
you are happy. It is needless for me to advise 
you to have a reverend care of your health. I 
know you will make it a point never at one 
time to drink more than a pint of wine (I mean 
an English pint), and that you will never be 
witness to more than one bowl of punch at 
a time, and that cold drams you will never more 
taste ; and, above all things, I am convinced, 
that after drinking perhaps boiling punch, you 
will never mount your horse and gallop home 
in a chill late hour. Above all things, as I 
understand you are in habits of intimacy with 
that Boanerges of Gospel powers, Father Auld, 
be earnest with him that he will wrestle in 
prayer for you, that you may see the vanity of 
vanities in trusting to, or even practising the 
casual moral works of charity, humanity, gene- 
rosity, and forgiveness of things, which you 
practised so flagrantly that it was evident you 
delighted in them, neglecting, or perhaps pro- 
fanely despising, the wholesome doctrine of 
faith without works, the only author of salva- 
tion. A hymn of thanksgiving would, in my 
opinion, be highly becoming from you at pre- 
sent, and, in my zeal for your well-being, I 
earnestly press on you to be diligent in chaunt- 
ing over the two enclosed pieces of sacred poesy. 
My best compliments to Mrs. Hamilton and 
Miss Kennedy. 

Yours, &c , 

R. B. 



t 



[The memory of Burns is warmly cherished 
by the descendants of the gentleman to whom 
this letter is addressed. Dr. Hamilton, of 
Mauchline, bought at the sale of the furniture 
of " Auld Nanse Tinnock" the arm-chair in 
which the Bard was accustomed to sit when he 
visited her howff, and presented it to the Mason 



took place between them, and gave rise to a series of letters 
from Burns, of a peculiarly ardent and eloquent character, 
which he addressed to the fair lady under the name of 
Clarinda.] 

* [This was a slip of the pen — Burns knew well enouffb 
she was a married woman, and that her husband was tber 
in Jamaica.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



611 



Lodge, where it is now the seat for the grand 
master. 

1 ne worthy Doctor, the eldest son of Gavin 
Hamilton, died in the month of Nov. 1839.] 



No. LXXXIX. 
TO Miss CHALMERS. 



My dear Madam : 



Edinburgh, Dec. 17&7- 



I just now have read yours. The poetic 
compliments I pay cannot be misunderstood. 
They are neither of them so particular as to 
point you out to the world at large ; and the 
circle of your acquaintances will allow all I 
have said. Besides, I have complimented you 
chiefly, almost solely, on your mental charms. 
Shall I be plain with you ? I will ; so look to 
it. Personal attractions, madam, you have 
much above par ; wit, understanding, and 
worth, you possess in the first class. This is a 
cursed flat way of telling you these truths, but 
let me hear no more of your sheepish timidity. 
I know the world a little. I know what they 
will say of my poems — by second sight I sup- 
pose — for I am seldom out in my conjectures ; 
and you may believe me, my dear madam, I 
would not run any risk of hurting you by any 
ill-judged compliment. I wish to show to the 
world the odds between a poet's friends and 
those of simple prosemen. More for your 
information — both the pieces go in. One of 
them, " Where braving angry winter's storms," 
is already set — the tune is Neil Gow's Lamen- 
tation for Abercairny ; the other is to be set to 
an old Highland air in Daniel Dow's collection 
of ancient Scots music ; the name is " Ha a 
Chaillich air mo Dheith." My treacherous 
memory has forgot every circumstance about 
Les Incas, only 1 think you mentioned them as 
being in Creech's possession. I shall ask him 
about it. I am afraid the song of " Some- 
body" will come too late — as I shall, for cer- 
tain, leave town in a w r eek for Ayr-shire, and 
from that to Dumfries, but there my hopes are 
slender. I leave my direction in town, so any 
thing, wherever I am, will reach me. 

I saw your's to ; it is not too severe, 

nor did he take it amiss. On the contrary, like 
a whipt spaniel, he talks of being with you in 

the Christmas days. Mr. has given 

him the invitation, and he is determined to ac- 
cept of it. O selfishness ! he owns, in his sober 
moments, that from his own volatility of incli- 
nation, the circumstances in which he is situated, 
and his knowledge of his father's disposition, 
the whole affair is chimerical — yet he will 
gratify an idle penchant at the enormous, cruel 
expense, of perhaps ruining the peace of the 
very woman for whom he professes the generous 
passion of love ! he is a gentleman in his mind 



and manners — tant pis! He is a volatile 
school-boy — the heir of a man's fortune who 
well knows the value of two times two ! 

Perdition seize them and their fortunes, be- 
fore they should make the amiable, the lovely 

the derided object of their purse-proud 

contempt ! 

I am doubly happy to hear of Mrs. 's 

recovery, because I really thought all was over 
with her. There are days of pleasure yet 
awaiting her : 

" As I came in by Glenap, 
I met with an aged woman ; 
She bad me cheer up my heart, 
For the best o' my days was comm'."* 

This day will decide my affairs with Creech. 
Things are, like myself, not what they ought to 
be ; yet better than what they appear to be. 

" Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings but himself 
That hideous sight — a naked human heart." 

Farewell ! remember me to Charlotte. 

R. B. 
<*> 

No. XC. 

TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Edinburgh, January 21, 1788. 

After six weeks' confinement, I am begin- 
ning to walk across the room. They have been 
six horrible weeks ; anguish and low spirits 
made me unfit to read, write, or think. 

I have a hundred times wished that one could 
resign life as an officer resigns a commission : 
for I would not take in any poor, ignorant 
wretch, by selling out. Lately I was a six- 
penny private ; and, God knows, a miserable 
soldier enough ; now I march to the campaign, 
a starving cadet: a little more conspicuously 
wretched. 

I am ashamed of all this ; for though I do 
want bravery for the warfare of life, I could 
wish, like some other soldiers, to have as much 
fortitude or cunning as to dissemble or conceal 
my cowardice. 

As soon as I can bear the journey, which will 
be, I suppose, about the middle of next week, 
I leave Edinburgh : and soon after I shall pay 
my grateful duty at Dunlop- House. 

R. B. 



No. XCI. 
EXTRACT OF A LETTER 

TO THE SAME. 

Edinburgh, February \2th, 1/83. 

Some things in your late letters hurt me : 
not that you say them, but that you mistake, me. 



* [This is an old popubir rhyme — a great favourite with the 
Poet. Glenap is in the South of Ayr-shire.] 

2 T 



£ 



642 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Religion, my honoured Madam, has not only- 
been all my life my chief dependence but my 
dearest enjoyment. I have, indeed, been the 
luckless victim of wayward follies ; but, alas ! 
I have ever been " more fool than knave. " A 
mathematician without religion is a probable 
character : an irreligious poet is a monster. 
* * * * 

R. B. 



No. XCII. 



TO THE Rev. JOHN SKINNER. 

Edinburgh, 14th February, 1788. 

Reverend and dear Sir : 

I have been a cripple now near three months, 
though I am getting vastly better, and have 
been very much hurried beside, or else I would 
have wrote you sooner. I must beg your par- 
don for the epistle you sent me appearing in the 
Magazine. I had given a copy or two to some 
of my intimate friends, but did not know of the 
printing of it till the publication of the Maga- 
zine. However, as it does great honour to us 
both, you will forgive it. 

The second volume of the songs I mentioned 
to you in my last is published to-day. I send 
you a copy, which I beg you will accept as a 
mark of the veneration I have long had, and 
shall ever have, for your character, and of the 
claim I make to your continued acquaintance. 
Your songs appear in the third volume, with 
your name in the index ; as I assure you, Sir, 
I have heard your " Tullochgorum," particu- 
larly among our west-country folks, given to 
many different names, and most commonly to 
the immortal author of " The Minstrel," who, 
indeed, never wrote any thing superior to 
" Gie's a sang, Montgomery cried." Your 
brother has promised me your verses to the 
Marquis of Huntley's reel, which certainly de- 
serve a place in the collection. My kind host, 
Mr. Cruikshank, of the high school here, and 
said to be one of the best Latinists in this age, 
begs me to make you his grateful acknowledg- 
ments for the entertainment he has got in a 
Latin publication of yours, that I borrowed for 
him from your acquaintance and much respected 
friend in this place, the Reverend Dr. Webster. 
Mr. Cruikshank maintains that you write the 
best Latin since Buchanan. I leave Edinburgh 
to-morrow, but shall return in three weeks. 
Your song you mentioned in your last, to the 
tune of " Dumbarton Drums," and the other, 
which you say was done by a brother in trade 
of mine, a ploughman, I shall thank you much 
for a copy of each. I am ever, Reverend Sir, 
with the most respectful esteem and sincere 
veneration, yours, 

R. B. 



No. XCIII. 
TO RICHARD BROWN. 

Edinburgh, February 15, 178R. 

My dear Friend : 

I received yours with the greatest plea- 
sure. I shall arrive at Glasgow on Monday 
evening ; and beg, if possible, you will meet me 
on Tuesday. I shall wait for you Tuesday all 
day. I shall be found at Davies's, Black Bull 
inn. I am hurried, as if hunted by fifty devils, 
else I should go to Greenock ; but if you can- 
not possibly come, write me, if possible, to 
Glasgow, on Monday ; or direct to me at 
Mossgiel by Mauchline ; and name a day and 
place in Ayr-shire, within a fortnight from this 
date, where I may meet you. I only stay a 
fortnight in AjT-shire, and return to Edin- 
burgh. I am ever, my dearest friend, yours, 

R. B. 

[The letters to Richard Brown, says Profes- 
sor Walker, written at a period when the Poet 
was in the full blaze of reputation, shewed that 
he was at no time so dazzled with success as to 
forget the friends who had anticipated the pub- 
lic by discovering his merit. J 



No. XCIV. 



TO Miss CHALMERS. 

Edinburgh, Sunday, February 15, 1788. 

To-morrow, my dear madam, I leave Edin- 
burgh. I have altered all my plans of future 
life. A farm that I could live in, I could not 
find ; and, indeed, after the necessary support 
my brother and the rest of the family required, 
I could not venture on farming in that style 
suitable to my feelings. You will condemn me 
for the next step I have taken. I have entered 
into the Excise. I stay in the west about three 
weeks, and then return to Edinburgh for six 
weeks' instructions ; afterwards, for I get em- 
ploy instantly, I go ou il plait a Dieu et mon 
Hoi. I have chosen this, my dear friend, after 
mature deliberation. The question is not at 
what door of fortune's palace we shall enter in, 
but what doors does she open to us ? I was not 
likely to get any thing to do. I wanted un 
but, which is a dangerous, an unhappy situa- 
tion. I got this without any hanging on, or 
mortifying solicitation : it is immediate bread, 
and,, though poor in comparison of the last 
eighteen months of my existence, 'tis luxury 
in comparison of all my preceding life : be- 
sides, the Commissioners are some of them my 
acquaintances, and all of them my firm friends. 

R. B. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



643 



No. XCV. 
TO Mrs. ROSE, OF KILRAVOCK. 



Madam : 



Edinburgh, February VJth, 1788. 



You are much indebted to some indispen- 
sable business I have had on my hands, other- 
wise my gratitude threatened such a return for 
your obliging favour as would have tired your 
patience. It but poorly expresses my feelings 
to say that I am sensible of your kindness : it 
may be said of hearts such as yours is, and such, 
I hope, mine is, much more justly than Addi- 
son applies it, — 

" Some souls by instinct to each other turn." 

There was something in my reception at Kil- 
ravock so different from the cold, obsequious, 
dancing-school bow of politeness, that it almost 
got into my head that friendship had occupied 
her ground without the intermediate march of 
acquaintance. I wish I could transcribe, or 
rather transfuse into language, the glow of my 
heart when I read your letter. My ready fancy, 
with colours more mellow than life itself, painted 
the beautifully wild scenery of Kilravock — the 
venerable grandeur of the castle — the spreading 
woods — the winding river, gladly leaving his 
unsightly, heathy source, and lingering with 
apparent delight as he passes the fairy walk at 
the bottom of the garden ; — your late distress- 
ful anxieties — your present enjoyments — your 
dear little angel, the pride of your hopes ; — my 
aged friend, venerable in worth and years, 
whose loyalty and other virtues will strongly 
entitle her to the support of the Almighty 
Spirit here, and his peculiar favour in a hap- 
pier state of existence. You cannot imagine, 
Madam, how much such feelings delight me ■ 
they are the dearest proofs of my own immor- 
tality. Should I never revisit the north, as 
probably I never will, nor again see your hos- 
pitable mansion, were I, some twenty years' 
hence, to see your little fellow's name making a 
proper figure in a newspaper paragraph, my 
heart would bound with pleasure. 

I am assisting a friend in a collection of Scot- 
tish songs, set to their proper tunes ; every air 
worth preserving is to be included : among 
others, I have given " Morag," and some few 
Highland airs which pleased me most, a dress 
which will be more generally known, though 
far, far inferior in real merit. As a small mark 
of my grateful esteem, I beg leave to present you 
with a copy of the work, as far as it is printed ; 
the Man of Feeling, that first of men, has pro- 
mised to transmit it by the first opportunity. 

I beg to be remembered most respectfully to 
my venerable friend, and to your little High- 
land chieftain. When you see the " two fair 



spirits of the hill," at Kildrummie,* tell them 
I have done myself the honour of setting my- 
self down as one of their admirers for at least 
twenty years to come, consequently they must 
look upon me as an acquaintance for the same 
period; but, as the Apostle Paul says, "this I 
ask of grace, not of debt." 

I have the honour to be, Madam, &c. 
R. B. 
[The Poet was hurried away from Kilravock, 
the reader will remember, by the impetuous 
temper of his companion, Nicol. Of the ele- 
gance of the society which he forsook some 
idea may be formed * from the following letter 
from the elder Mrs. Rose : — 



Kilravock Castle, 30th November, 1/8/'. 



Sir: 



I hope you will do me the justice to believe 
that it was no defect in gratitude for your punc- 
tual performance of your parting promise that 
has made me so long in acknowledging it, but 
merely the difficulty I had in getting the 
Highland songs you wished to have accurately 
noted ; they are at last inclosed, but how shall 
I convey along with them those graces they ac- 
quired from the melodious voice of one of the 
fair spirits of the hill of Kildrummie ! These 
I must leave to your imagination to supply. It 
has powers sufficient to transport you to her 
side, to recall her accents, and to make them 
still vibrate in the ears of memory. To her I 
am indebted for getting the inclosed notes. — 
The3^ are clothed with ' thoughts that breathe, 
and words that burn.' These, however, being 
in an unknown tongue to you, you must again 
have recourse to that same fertile imagination 
of yours to interpret them, and suppose a lover's 
description of the beauties of an adored mis- 
tress — why did I say unknown ? The lan- 
guage of love is an universal one, that seems to 
have escaped the confusion of Babel, and to be 
understood by all nations. 

" I rejoice to find that you were pleased with 
so many things, persons, and places in your 
northern tour, because it leads me to hope you 
may be induced to revisit them again. That 
the old castle of Kilravock, and its inhabitants, 
were amongst these, adds to my satisfaction. I 
am even vain enough to admit your very flat- 
tering application of the line of Addison ; at 
any rate allow me to believe that ' friendship 
will maintain the ground she has occupied, in 
both our hearts,' in spite of absence, and that 
when we do meet, it will be as acquaintance of 
a score of years' standing ; and on this footing 
consider me as interested in the future course 
of your fame, so splendidly commenced. Any 
communications of the progress of your muse 
will be received with great gratitude, and the 



* Miss Sophia Brodie, of L— , and Miss Rose, of Kilravock. 
2 T '2 



644 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



fire of your genius will have power to warm 
even us frozen sisters of the north. 

; ' The fire-sides of Kilravock and Kildrum- 
mie unite in cordial regards to you. When you 
incline to figure either in your idea, suppose 
some of us reading your poems, and some of us 
singing your songs, and my little Hugh looking 
at your picture, and you'll seldom be wrong. 
We remember Mr. Nicol with as much good- 
will as we can do anybody who hurried Mr. 
Burns from us. 

Farewell, Sir, I can only contribute the wi- 
dow's mite to the esteem and admiration excited 
by your merits and genius, but this I give as 
she did, with all my heart — being sincerely 
yours, 

El. Rose. "J 



No. XCVI. 



TO RICHARD BROWN. 

Mossgiel, 2ith February, 1788. 

My dear Sir : 
I cannot get the proper direction for my 
friend in Jamaica, but the following will do : — 
To Mr. Jo. Hutchinson, at Jo. Brownrigg's, 
Esq., care of Mr. Benjamin Henriquez, mer- 
chant, Orange - street, Kingston. I arrived 
here, at my brother's, only yesterday, after 
fighting my way through Paisley and Kilmar- 
nock, against those old powerful foes of mine, 
the devil, the world, and the flesh — so terrible 
in the fields of dissipation. I have met with 
few incidents in my life which gave me so much 
pleasure as meeting you in Glasgow. There is 
a time of life beyond which we cannot form a 
tie worthy the name of friendship. " O youth ! 
enchanting stage, profusely blest." Life is a 
fairy scene : almost all that deserves the name 
of enjoyment or pleasure is only a charming 
delusion ; and in comes repining age, in all 
the gravity of hoary wisdom, and wretchedly 
chases away the bewitching phantom. When 
I think of life, I resolve to keep a strict look- 
out in the course of economy, for the sake of 
worldly convenience and independence of mind ; 
to cultivate intimacy with a few of the compa- 
nions of youth, that they may be the friends of 
age ; never to refuse my liquorish humour a 
handful of the sweetmeats of life, when they 
come not too dear ; and, for futurity, — 

" The present moment is our ain, 
The neist we never saw ! ' ' 

How like you my philosophy ? Give my 
best compliments to Mrs. B., and believe me 
to be, 

My dear Sir, 

Yours most truly, 

R. B. 



[The Poet was now nearly recovered from 
the disaster of the " maimed limb :" he endured 
his confinement with the more patience that it 
enabled him to carry on his correspondence with 
Clarinda — and write songs for Johnson's Musi- 
cal Museum. — Cunningham.] 



No. XCVIT. 



TO . 

Mossgiel, Friday Morning. 

Sir: 
The language of refusal is to me the most 
difficult language on earth, and you are the 
[only] man of the world, excepting one of R\ 
Hon ble . designation, to whom it gives me the 
greatest pain to hold such language. My bro- 
ther has already got money, and shall want no- 
thing in my power to enable him to fulfil his 
engagement with you ; but to be security on so 
large a scale, even for a brother, is what I dare 
not do, except I were in such circumstances of 
life as that the worst that might happen could 
not greatly injure me. 

I never wrote a letter which gave me so 
much pain in my life, as I know the unhappy 
consequences ; I shall incur the displeasure of 
a gentleman for whom I have the highest res- 
pect, and to whom I am deeply obliged. 
I am ever, 

Sir, 
Your obliged and very humble Servt., 
Robert Burns. 



[The above letter, which now appears for 
the first time in an edition of the Poet's works, 
was evidently written towards the end of Feb- 
ruary, 1788, and before he had settled with his 
publisher, Creech. He was not then aware 
how his affairs would turn out, and therefore 
acted with prudence. It will be seen, in his 
letter to Dr. Moore, how munificently he acted 
for the relief of his brother's distresses.] 



No. XCVIII. 



TO Mr. WILLIAM CRUIKSHANK. 

Mauchline, March 3d, 1788. 

My dear Sir : 

Apologies for not writing are frequently 
like apologies for not singing — the apology bet- 
ter than the song. I have fought my way se- 
verely through the savage hospitality of this 
country, to send every guest drunk to bed if 
they can. 

I executed your commission in Glasgow, and 
I hope the cocoa came safe. 'Twas the same 
price and the very same kind as your former 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



645 



parcel, for the gentleman recollected your buy- 
ing there perfectly well. 

I should return my thanks for your 
hospitality ( I leave a blank for the epithet, as 
I know none can do it justice) to a poor, way- 
faring bard, who was spent and almost over- 
powered, fighting with prosaic wickedness in 
high places ; but I am afraid lest you should 
burn the letter whenever you come to the pas- 
sage, so I pass over it in silence. I am just 
returned from visiting Mr. Miller's farm. The 
friend whom I told you I would take with me 
was highly pleased with the farm ; and as he is, 
without exception, the most intelligent farmer 
in the country, he has staggered me a good 
deal. I have the two plans of life before me ; 
I shall balance them to the best of my judg- 
ment, and fix on the most eligible. I have 
written Mr. Miller, and shall wait on him when 
I come to town, which shall be the beginning 
or middle of next week : I would be in sooner, 
but my unlucky knee is rather worse, and I 
fear for some time will scarcely stand "the fatigue 
of my excise instructions. I only mention 
these ideas to you : and indeed, except Mr. 
Ainslie, whom I intend writing to to-morrow, 
I will not write at all to Edinburgh till I re- 
turn to it. I would send my compliments to 
Mr. Nicol, but he would be hurt if he knew 
I wrote to anybody and not to him : so I shall 
only beg my best, kindest, kindest compliments 
to my worthy hostess and the sweet little rose-bud. 

So soon as I am settled in the routine of 
life, either as an Excise-officer, or as a farmer, 
I propose myself great pleasure from a regular 
correspondence with the only man almost I ever 
saw who joined the most attentive prudence 
with the warmest generosity. 

I am much interested for that best of men, 
Mr. Wood ; I. hope he is in better health and 
spirits than when I saw him last. 
I am ever, 

My dearest friend, 
Your obliged, humble Servant, 

R. B. 



* [The "sensible" farmer who accompanied Burns to 
Dalswinton, and influenced him in taking the farm of Ellis- 
land, was Mr. Tait of Glenconner, to whom the Poet ad- 
dressed a metrical epistle [see page 248]. The two plans 
which he says lay before him, were farming and the Excise. 
The farm of Ellisland was, at the time of the Poet's leaving 
it, sadly out of heart. The original vigour of the ground 
had been extracted from it by a succession of occupants who 
had neither money to purchase manure, nor knowledge in 
the science of farming. In the hands of the present pro- 
prietor it bears tall and weighty crops, and may be compared 
with the best farms in the parish. — Cunningham.] 

t [Dr. Currie omits all allusion to the circumstances which 
led to a permanent union between Burns and his Jean. That 
the mind of the Poet, notwithstanding all past irritation, 
and various entanglements with other beauties, was never 
altogether alienated from her is evident ; but up to June, 
1787, when he first returned from Edinburgh to Mauchline, 
he certainly did not entertain any self-avowed notion of ever 
again renewing his acquaintance with her.- It was in this 
state of his feelings, that, one day. soon after his return 
from Edinburgh, when meeting some friends over a glass at 
John Dow's tavern, close to the residence of his once fondly 



No. XCIX. 
TO ROBERT AINSLIE, Esq. 

Mauchline, 3rd March, 1788. 

My dear Friend : 

I am just returned from Mr. Miller's farm. 
My old friend whom I took with me was highly 
pleased with the bargain, and advised me to 
accept of it. He is the most intelligent sensi- 
ble farmer in the county,* and his advice has 
staggered me a good deal. I have the two 
plans before me : I shall endeavour to balance 
them to the best of my judgment, and fix on 
the most eligible. On the whole, if I find Mr. 
Miller in the same favourable disposition as 
when I saw him last, I shall in all probability 
turn farmer. 

I have been through sore tribulation, and 
under much bufFetting of the wicked one since I 
came to this country. Jean I found banished, 
forlorn, destitute, and friendless : I have recon- 
ciled her to her fate, and I have reconciled her 
to her mother. f 

I shall be in Edinburgh the middle of next week. 
My farming ideas I shall keep private till I see. 
I got a letter from Clarinda yesterday, and she 
tells me she has got no letter of mine but one. 
Tell her that I wrote to her from Glasgow, 
from Kilmarnock, from Mauchline, and yester- 
day from Cumnock as I returned from Dum- 
fries. Indeed she is the only person in Edin- 
burgh I have written to till this day. How are 
your soul and body putting up ? — a little like 
man and wife, I suppose, 

R. B. 



No. C. 
TO RICHARD BROWN. 

Mauchline, 7th March, 1788. 

I have been out of the country, my dear friend, 
and have not had an opportunity of writing till 

loved mistress, he chanced to encounter her in the court be- 
hind the inn, and was immediately inflamed with all his 
former affection. Their correspondence was renewed — was 
attended with its former results — and, towards the end of the 
year, when the Poet was fixed helplessly in Edinburgh, by a 
bruised limb, her shame becoming apparent to her parents, 
she was turned out of doors, and would have been utterly 
destitute, if she had not obtained shelter from a relation in 
the village of Ardrossan. Jean was once more delivered of 
twins— girls— on the 3rd of March, 1788, the date of the 
above letter : the infants died a few days after their birth.— 
Ultimately, on the 3d of August, as we learn from the session 
books, the Poet and Jean were openly married ; when Bums 
being informed that it was customary for the bridegroom, 
in such cases, to bestow something on the poor of the parish, 
gave a guinea for that purpose. The ceremony took place in 
Dow's tavern, unsanctioned by the lady's father, who never, 
to the day of the Poet's death, would treat him as a friend ; 
even Gavin Hamilton, from respect for the feelings of Ar- 
mour, declined being present. It was not till the ensuing 
winter that Mrs. Burns joined her husband at Ellisland — 
their only child Robert following her in the subsequent 
spring. —Chambers.] 



CAQ 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



now, when I am afraid you will be gone out of 
the country too. I have been looking at farms, 
and, after all, perhaps I may settle in the cha- 
racter of a farmer. I have got so vicious a 
bent to idleness, and have ever been so little a 
man of business, that it will take no ordinary 
effort to bring my mind properly into the rou- 
tine : but you will say a " great effort is worthy 
of you." I say so myself; and butter up my 
vanity with all the stimulating compliments I 
can think of. Men of grave, geometrical 
minds, the sons of " which was to be demon- 
strated," may cry up reason as much as they 
please ; but I have always found an honest pas- 
sion, or native instinct, the truest auxiliary in 
the warfare of this world. Reason almost 
always comes to me like an unlucky wife to a 
poor devil of a husband, just in sufficient time 
to add her reproaches to his other grievances. 

I am gratified with your kind inquiries after 
Jean ; as, after all, I may say with Othello — 

" Excellent wretch ! 

Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee !" 

I go for Edinburgh on Monday. 

Yours,— R. B. 



No. CI. 
TO Mr. MUIR, KILMARNOCK. 

giel, 7 th March, 1/1 



Dear Sir : 
I have partly changed my ideas, my dear 
friend, since I saw you. I took old Glencon- 
ner with me to Mr. Miller's farm, and he was 
so pleased with it that I have wrote an offer 
to Mr. Miller, which, if he accepts, I shall sit 
down a plain farmer, the happiest of lives when 
a man can live by it. In this case I shall not 
stay in Edinburgh above a week. I set out on 
Monday, and would have come by Kilmarnock, 
but there are several small sums owing me for 
my first edition about Galston and Newmills, 
and I shall set off so early as to dispatch my 
business and reach Glasgow by night. When 
I return, I shall devote a forenoon or two to 
make some kind of acknowledgment for all the 
kindness I owe your friendship. Now that I hope 
to settle with some credit and comfort at home, 
there was not any friendship or friendly corres- 
pondence that promised me more pleasure than 
yours ; I hope I will not be disappointed. I 
trust the spring will renew your shattered 
frame, and make your friends happy. You and 
I have often agreed that life is no great blessing 
on the whole. The close of life, indeed, to a 
reasoning age, is — 

" Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun 

Was roll'd together, or had try'd his beams 
Athwart the gloom profound." 

* [One of the daughters of Mrs. Dunlop, it is here inti- 
mated, was painting a sketch from the Coila of " The Vi- 
sion." ^ Several eminent artists have embodied various of the 
scenes in the poetry of Burns. David Allan succeeded in 



But an honest man has nothing to fear. If 
we lie down in the grave, the whole man a 
piece of broken machinery, to moulder with the 
clods of the valley, be it so ; at least there is 
an end of pain, cure, woes and wants : if that 
part of us called mind does survive the appa- 
rent destruction of the man — away with old- 
wife prejudices and tales ! Every age and every 
nation has had a different set of stories ; and 
as the many are always weak of consequence, 
they have often, perhaps always, been deceived : 
a man conscious of having acted an honest part 
among his fellow-creatures — even granting that 
he may have been the sport at times of passions 
and instincts — he goes to a great unknown Be- 
ing, who could have no other end in giving 
him existence but to make him happy, who 
gave him those passions and instincts, and well 
knows their force. 

These, my worthy friend, are my ideas ; and 
I know they are not far different from yours. 
It becomes a man of sense to think for himself, 
particularly in a case where all men are equally 
interested, and where, indeed, all men are 
equally in the dark. 

Adieu, my dear Sir ; God send us a cheerful 
meeting ! 

R. B. 
-^ ■ 

No. CII. 

TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Mossgiel, 17th March, 1/88. 

Madam : 

The last paragraph in yours of the 20th 
February affected me most, so I shall begin my 
answer where you ended your letter. That I 
am often a sinner with any little wit I have, I 
do confess : but I have taxed my recollection, 
to no purpose, to find out when it was employed 
against you. I hate an ungenerous sarcasm a 
great deal worse than I do the devil ; at least 
as Milton describes him ; and though I may be 
rascally enough to be sometimes guilty of it 
myself, I cannot endure it in others. You, my 
honoured friend, who cannot appear in any 
light but you are sure of being respectable — 
you can afford to pass by an occasion to display 
your wit, because you may depend for fame on 
your sense ; or, if you choose to be silent, you 
know you can rely on the gratitude of many, 
and the esteem of all ; but, God help us, wno 
are wits or witlings by profession, if we stand 
not for fame there, we sink unsupported ! 

I am highly flattered by the news you tell 
me of Coila. I may say to the fair painter* 
who does me so much honour, as Dr. Beattie 
says to Ross the poet of his muse Scota, from 



one or two attempts : Stothard hit off three or four happy 
groupes ; Burnet wrought in the very spirit of " John An- 
derson, my jo;" and Wilkie added charms to the song of 
" Duncan Gray."] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



647 



which, by the bye, I took the idea of Coila ('tis 
a poem of Beattie's in the Scottish dialect, 
which perhaps you have never seen) : — 

" Ye shak your head, but o' my fegs, 
Ye've set auld Scota on her legs ; 
Lang had she lien wi' beffs and flegs, 
Bumbaz'd and dizzie, 
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs, 
Wae's rne, poor hizzie !" 

R. B. 

No. cm. 
TO Miss CHALMERS. 

Edinburgh, March 14th, 1788. 

I know, my ever dear friend, that you will 
be pleased with the news when I tell you I 
have at last taken a lease of a farm. Yester- 
night I completed a bargain with Mr. Miller, 
of* Dalswinton, for the farm of Ellisland, on 
the banks of the Nith, between five and six 
miles above Dumfries. I begin at Whit-Sun- 
day to build a house, drive lime, &c. ; * and 
heaven be my help ! for it will take a strong 
effort to bring my mind into the routine of bu- 
siness. I have discharged all the army of my 
former pursuits, fancies, and pleasures ; a mot- 
ley host! and have literally and strictly re- 
tained only the ideas of a few friends, which I 
have incorporated into a lite-guard. I trust in 
Dr. Johnson's observation, "Where much is 
attempted, something is done." Firmness, both 
in sufferance and exertion, is a character I would 
wish to be thought to possess : and have always 
despised the whining yelp of complaint, and 
the cowardly, feeble resolve. 

Poor Miss K. is ailing a good deal this win- 
ter, and begged me to remember her to you the 
first time I wrote to you. Surely woman, ami- 
able woman, is often made in vain. Too deli- 
cately formed for the rougher pursuits of ambi- 
tion ; too noble for the dirt of avarice, and even 
too gentle for the rage of pleasure ; formed in- 



* [In building his farm-house the Poet had to perform the 
part of superintendent of the works ; to dig the foundations, 
collect the stones, seek the sand, cart the lime, and see that 
all was performed according to the specifications ; these were 
the uncouth cares of which he afterwards complained.] 

f [The excitement to which Burns alludes was occasioned 
by the dilatory movements of Creech in settling accounts 
between him and the Poet. The baillie parted with his 
money as a lover with his mistress — 

" With slow, reluctant, amorous delay." 

" During the Poet's residence in Glasgow, a characteristic 
instance occurred of the way in which he would repress pe- 
tulance and presumption. A young man of some literary 
pretensions, who had newly commenced business as a book- 
seller, had been in the practice of writing notices of Bums's 
Poems in a style so flippant, and withal so patronising, as to 
excite feelings in the poet towards him very different from 
what he counted upon. Reckoning, however, upon a very 
grateful reception from Burns, he was particularly anxious 
for an early introduction to his company, and, as his friends 
knew, had been at some pains to prepare himself for making 
a dazzling impression upon the Ayr-shire ploughman, as it 
was then the fashion, amongst a certain kind of literary 
folks, to call the poet. At the moment the introduction took 
place, Burns was engaged in one of his happiest and most 



deed for, and highly susceptible of, enjoyment 
and rapture ; but that enjoyment, alas ! almost 
wholly at the mercy of the caprice, malevo- 
lence, stupidity, or wickedness of an animal 
at all times comparatively unfeeling, and often 
brutal. 

R. B. 



No. CIV. 
TO RICHARD BROWN. 

Glasgow, 26th March, 1788. 

I am monstrously to blame, my dear Sir, in 
not writing to you, and sending you the Direc- 
tory. I have been getting my tack extended, 
as I have taken a farm ; and I have been rack- 
ing shop accounts with Mr. Creech, both of 
which, together with watching, fatigue, and a 
load of care almost too heavy for my shoulders, 
have in some degree actually fevered me.f I 
really forgot the Directory yesterday, which 
vexed me ; but I was convulsed with rage a 
great part of the day. I have to thank you 
for the ingenious, friendly, and elegant epistle 
from your friend Mr. Crawford. I shall cer- 
tainly write to him, but not now. This is 
merely a card to you, as I am posting to Dum- 
fries-shire, where many perplexing arrange- 
ments await me. I am vexed about the Direc- 
tory ; but, my clear Sir, forgive me ; these eight 
days I have been positively crazed. My com- 
pliments to Mrs. B. I shall write to you at 
Grenada. — I am ever, my dearest friend, 

Yours,— R. B. 



No. CV. 
TO Mb. ROBERT CLEGHORN. J 

Mauchline, 2\st March, 1/88. 

Yesterday, my dear Sir, as I was riding 
through a track of melancholy, joyless muirs, 



playful veins with my friend and another intimate or two ; 
but, upon the gentleman's presentation, who advanced in a 
manner sufficiently affable, the ' ploughman ' assumed an air 
of such dignified coldness as froze him into complete silence 
during the time he remained in his company." — CORRES- 
PONDENT OF THE SCOTSMAN, 1828.] 

% [Cleghorn had no little skill in musical composition : he 
was, besides, something of a farmer, and a pleasant and 
social man. He sent the following reply to the Poet's 
letter :— 

Saughton Mills, April 2~th, 1788. 

I was favoured with your very kind letter of the 31st. ult., 
and consider myself greatly obliged to you for your atten- 
tion in sending me the song to my favourite air, Captain 
O'Kean. The words delight me much — they fit the tune to 
a hair. I wish you would send me a verse or two more ; and, 
if you have no objection, I would have it in the Jacobite 
style. Suppose it should be sung after the fatal field of Cul- 
loden, by the unfortunate Charles. Tenducci personates the 
lovely Mary Stuart in the song, Queen Mary's Lamentation. 
Why may not I sing in the pei son of her great-great-great 
grandson ? 

Any skill I have in country business you may truly com- 
mand. Situation, soil, customs of countries, may vary from 
each other ; but Farmer Attention is a good farmer in every 



648 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



between Galloway and Ayr-shire, it being Sun- 
day, I turned my thoughts to psalms, and 
hymns, and spiritual songs ; and your favourite 
air, " Captain O'Kean/' coming at length 
into my head, I tried these words to it. You 
will see that the first part of the tune must be 
repeated.* 

I am tolerably pleased with these verses, but 
as I have only a sketch of the tune, I leave 
it with you to try if they suit the measure of 
the musiv.'. 

1 am so harassed with care and anxiety, 
about this farming project of mine, that my 
muse has degenerated into the veriest prose- 
wench that ever picked cinders, or followed a 
tinker. When I am fairly got into the routine 
of business, I shall trouble you with a longer 
epistle ; perhaps with some queries respecting 
farming : at present, the world sits such a load 
on my mind that it has effaced almost every 
trace of the poet in me. 

My very best compliments and good wishes 
to Mrs. Cleghorn. 

R.B. 



No. CVI. 
TO Mr. WILLIAM DUNBAR, 

EDINBURGH. 

Mauchline, 7 th April, 1788. 

I have not delayed so long to write to you, 
my much respected friend, because I thought 
no farther of my promise. I have long since 
given up that kind of formal correspondence, 
where one sits down irksomely to write a let- 
ter, because we think we are in duty bound so 
to do. 

I have been roving over the country, as the 
farm I have taken is forty miles from this place, 
hiring servants, and preparing matters ; but 
most of all, I am earnestly busy to bring about 
a revolution in my own mind. As, till within 
these eighteen months, I never was the wealthy 
master of ten guineas, my knowledge of busi- 
ness is to learn ; add to this, my late scenes of 
idleness and dissipation have enervated my 
mind to an alarming degree. Skill in the sober 
science of life is my most serious and hourly 
study. I have dropt all conversation and all 
reading (prose reading), but what tends in 
some way or other to my serious aim. Except 
one worthy young fellow, I have not one single 
correspondent in Edinburgh. You have indeed 
kindly made me an offer of that kind. The 
world of wits, and gens comme il faut which I 



place. Mrs. Cleghorn joins me in best compliments. I am, 
in the most comprehensive sense of the word, your very 
sincere friend, 

Robert Cleghorn. 
The Poet complied with his friend's request, and wrote 
the two remaining stanzas of his beautiful song, The Che- 
valier's Lament.] 



lately left, and with whom I never again will 
intimately mix — from that port, Sir, I expect 
your Gazette : what les beaux esprits are say- 
ing, what they are doing, and what they are 
singing. Any sober intelligence from my se- 
questered walks of life ; any droll original ; 
any passing remark, important forsooth, be- 
cause it is mine ; any little poetic effort, how- 
ever embryoth ; these, my dear Sir, are all you 
have to expect from me. When I talk of poetic 
efforts, I must have it always understood that 
I appeal from your wit and taste to your friend- 
ship and good nature. The first would be my 
favourite tribunal, where I defied censure ; but 
the last, where I declined justice. 

I have scarcely made a single distich since I 
saw you. When I meet with an old Scots air 
that has any facetious idea in its name, I have 
a peculiar pleasure in following out that idea 
for a verse or two. 

I trust that this will find you in better health 
than I did last time I called for you. A few 
lines from you, directed to me at Mauchline, 
were it but to let me know how you are, will 
set my mind a good deal [at rest]. Now, never 
shun the idea of writing me because perhaps 
you may be out of humour or spirits. I could 
give you a hundred good consequences attend- 
ing a dull letter ; one, for example, and the re- 
maining ninety-nine some other time — it will 
always serve to keep in countenance, my much 
respected Sir, your obliged friend and humble 
servant, f R. B. 



No. CVII. 



TO Miss CHALMERS. 

Mauchline, 7 th April, 1/88. 

I am indebted to you and Miss Nimmo for 
letting me know Miss Kennedy. Strange ! 
how apt we are to indulge prejudices in our 
judgments of one another ! Even I, who pique 
myself on my skill in marking characters — 
because I am too proud of my character as a 
man, to be dazzled in my judgment for glaring 
wealth ; and too proud of my situation as a 
poor man to be biassed against squalid poverty 
— I was unacquainted with Miss K.'s very 
uncommon worth. 

1 am going on a good deal progressive in 
mon grand but, the sober science of life. I 
have lately made some sacrifices, for which, 
were I viva voce with you to paint the situation 



* [Here the Bard gives the first two stanzas of tne Che- 
valier's Lament.] 

f [The gentleman to whom the above letter is addressed, 
was a writer to the Signet, in Edinburgh, with whom the 
Poet appears to have been on very intimate and friendly 
terms.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



649 



and recount the circumstances, you would 
applaud me.* 

R. B. 



No. CVII.* 
TO THE SAME. 

[No date.'] 

Now for that wayward, unfortunate thing, 
myself. I have broke measures with Creech, 
and last week I wrote him a frosty, keen letter. 
He replied in terms of chastisement, and pro- 
mised me upon his honour that I should have 
the account on Monday ; but this is Tuesday, 
and yet I have not heard a word from him. 
God have mercy on me ! a poor damned, in- 
cautious, duped, unfortunate fool ! The sport, 
the miserable victim of rebellious pride, hy- 
pochondriac imagination, agonizing sensibility, 
and bedlam passions ! 

" I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like 
to die!" I had lately "a hair-breadth 'scape 
in th' imminent deadly breach" of love too. 
Thank my stars T got off heart-whole, " waur 
fleyed than hurt."— Interruption. 

I have this moment got a hint : I fear I am 
something like — undone — but I hope for the 
best. Come, stubborn pride and unshrinking 
resolution ; accompany me through this, to me, 
miserable world ! You must not desert me ! 
Your friendship I think I can count on, though 
I should date my letters from a marching regi- 
ment. Early in life, and all my life, I reckoned 
on a recruiting drum as my forlorn hope. 
Seriously, though, life at present presents me 
with but a melancholy path : but — my limb 
will soon be sound, and I shall struggle on. 

R. B. 



No. CVIII. 
TO Mas. DUNLOP. 

Mauchline, 28th April, J 788. 

Madam : 
Your powers of reprehension must be great 
indeed, as I assure you they made my heart 
ache with penitential pangs, even though I 
was really not guilty. As I commence farmer 
at Whit-Sunday, you will easily guess I must 
be pretty busy ; but that is not all. As I got 
the offer of the Excise business without solici- 
tation, and as it costs me only six months' at- 
tendance for instructions, to entitle me to a 
commission — which commission lies by me, and 
at any future period, on my simple petition, can 



* [The sacrifices to which the Poet alludes were honourable 
to his heart ; he determined — in spite of the frowns of some, 
and the smiles of others— to unite his fortunes with those 
of Jean Armour.] 



be resumed — I thought five-and-thirty pounds 
a year was no bad dernier ressort for a poor 
poet, if fortune in her jade tricks should kick 
him down from the little eminence to which 
she has lately helped him up, 

For this reason, I am at present attending 
these instructions to have them completed before 
Whit-Sunday. Still, Madam, I prepared with 
the sincerest pleasure to meet you at the Mount, 
and came to my brother's on Saturday night, 
to set out on Sunday ; but for some nights pre- 
ceding I had slept in an apartment, where the 
force of the winds and rains was only mitigated 
by being sifted through numberless apertures 
in the windows, walls, &c. In consequence I 
was on Sunday, Monday, and part of Tuesday, 
unable to stir out of bed, with all the miserable 
effects of a violent cold. 

You see, Madam, the truth of the French 
maxim, le vrai n'est pas toiijours le vrcd-sem- 
blable ; your last was so full of expostulation, 
and was something so like the language of an 
offended friend, that I began to tremble for 
a correspondence, which I had with grateful 
pleasure set down as one of the greatest enjoy- 
ments of my future life. 

Your books have delighted me : Virgil, 
Dryclen, and Tasso,f were all equally strangers 
to me ; but of this more at large in my next. 

R. B. 



No. CIX. 
TO Mr. JAMES SMITH, 

AVON PRINTFIELD, LINLITHGOW. 

Mauchline, April 2&th, 1/88. 

Beware of your Strasburgh, my good Sir ! 
Look on this as the opening of a correspond- 
ence, like the opening of a twenty-four gun 
battery ! 

There is no understanding a man properly 
without knowing something of his previous 
ideas (that is to say, if the man has any ideas ; 
for I know many who, in the animal-muster, 
pass for men, that are the scanty masters of 
only one idea on any given subject, and by far 
the greatest part of your acquaintances and 
mine can barely boast of ideas, 1"25 — 1*5 — 1*75 
(or some such fractional matter) ; so to let you 
a little into the secrets of my pericranium, there 
is, you must know, a certain clean-limbed, 
handsome, bewitching young hussy of your 
acquaintance, to whom" I have lately and 
privately given a matrimonial title to my 
corpus. 



+ [The Tasso with which Mrs. Dunlop indulged the Poet 
was the translation of Hoole : a work, in spite of the com- 
mendation of Johnson, as inferior in beauty to the version 
of Fairf.ix, as a beggar's pike-staff is to a pear-tree in full 
blossom.— Cunningham.] 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



"Bode a robe and wear it, 
Bode a pock and bear it," 

says the wise old Scots adage ! I hate to 
presage ill-luck ; and as my girl has been 
doubly kinder to me than even the best of 
women usually are to their partners of our sex, 
in similar circumstances, I reckon on twelve 
times a brace of children against 1 celebrate 
my twelfth wedding-day : these twenty-four 
will give me twenty-four gossipings, twenty- 
four christenings (I mean one equal to two), 
and I hope, by the blessing of the God of my 
fathers, to make them twenty - four dutiful 
children to their parents, twenty-four useful 
members of society, and twenty-four approven 
servants of their God ! * * * 

" Light's heartsome," quo' the wife when 
she was stealing sheep. You see what a lamp 
I have hung up to lighten your paths, when 
you are idle enough to explore the combina- 
tions and relations of my ideas. 'Tis now as 
plain as a pike-staff why a twenty-four gun 
battery was a metaphor I could readily employ. 

Now for business — I intend to present Mrs. 
Burns with a printed shawl, an article of which 
I dare say you have a variety : 'tis my first 
present to her since I have irrevocably called 
her mine, and I have a kind of whimsical wish 
to get her the first said present from an old and 
much valued friend of hers and mine, a trusty 
Trojan, on whose friendship I count myself 
possessed of as a life-rent lease. 

Look on this letter as a " beginning of 
sorrows ;" I will write you till your eyes ache 
reading nonsense. 

Mrs. Burns ('tis only her private designa- 
tion) begs her best compliments to you. 

R. B. 
& 

No. CX. 
TO PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART.* 



Sir: 



Mauchline, M May, 1788. 



I enclose you one or two more of my 
bagatelles. If the fervent wishes of honest 
gratitude have any influence with that great, 
unknown Being, who frames the chain of causes 
and events, prosperity and happiness will attend 
your visit to the Continent, and return you safe 
to your native shore. 



* [Of the accomplished Dugald Stewart, the kindness of 
his heart and the amenity of his manners were as conspicuous 
as his talents. The account of Burns, which he rendered to 
Currie, will always be read with interest. — vide Memoir, 
p. 41. 

The Poet in his memoranda, thus alludes to his respected 
patron : — " I never spent an afternoon among great folks 
with half that pleasure as when I had the honour of paying 
my devoirs to that plain, honest, worthy man, Professor 
Stewart. I would be delighted to see him perform acts of 
kindness and friendship, though I were not the object, — he 
dues it with such a grace. I think his character divided into 



Wherever I am, allow me, Sir, to claim it 
as my privilege to acquaint you with my pro- 
gress in my trade of rhymes 5 as I am sure I 
could say it with truth, that, next to my little 
fame, and the having it in my power to make 
life more comfortable to those whom nature has 
made dear to me, I shall ever regard your 
countenance, your patronage, your friendly 
good offices, as the most valued consequence 
of my late success in life. R. B. 



No. CXI. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 



Madam : 



Mauchline, 4th May, 1788. 



Dryden's Virgil has delighted me. I do 
not know whether the critics will agree with 
me, but the Georgics are to me by far the best 
part of Virgil. It is indeed a species of writing 
entirely new to me ; and has filled my head 
with a thousand fancies of emulation : but, 
alas ! when I read the Georgics, and then 
survey my own powers, 'tis like the idea of a 
Shetland pony, drawn up by the side of a 
thorough-bred hunter, to start for the plate. I 
own I am disappointed in the JEneid. Fault- 
less correctness may please, and does highly 
please, the lettered critic : but to that awful 
character I have not the most distant preten- 
sions. I do not know whether I do not hazard 
my pretensions to be a critic of any kind when 
I say that I think Virgil, in many instances, 
a servile copier of Homer. If I had the 
Odyssey by me, I could parallel many passages 
where Virgil has evidently copied, but by no 
means improved, Homer. Nor can I think 
there is any thing of this owing to the trans- 
lators ; for, from every thing I have seen of 
Dryden, I think him, in genius and fluency of 
language, Pope's master. I have not perused 
Tasso enough to form an opinion : in some 
future letter, you shall have my ideas of him ; 
though I am conscious my criticisms must be 
very inaccurate and imperfect, as there I have 
ever felt and lamented my want of learning 
most.f 

R. B. 



ten parts, stands thus : — four parts Socrates — four parts 
Nathaniel — and two parts Shakspeare's Brutus."] 

| [A national poem was long present to the fancy of 
Burns : but he seems to have hesitated between the stately 
versification of the English muse and the homely strains of 
Coila — death prevented him from deciding. It would not 
appear that Burns, though he loved "The Task" so much 
that he carried it in his pocket, had extended his reading to 
Cowper's Translation of Homer. The graphic beauty and 
natural force of that fine version would not have been lost 
on a lover ot clear images and nervous manly language.- 

CUNNINGHAM.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE, 



651 



No. CXII. 
TO Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

Mauchline, May 26th, 1788. 

My dear Friend : 

I am two kind letters in your debt, but I 
have been from home, and horridly busy, buy- 
ing and preparing for my farming business, 
over and above the plague of my Excise in- 
structions, which this week will finish. 

As I flatter my wishes that I foresee many 
future years' correspondence between us, 'tis 
foolish to talk of excusing dull epistles 5 a dull 
letter may be a very kind one. — I have the 
pleasure to tell you that I have been extremely 
fortunate in all my buyings and bargainings 
hitherto ; Mrs. Burns not excepted ; which 
title I now avow to the world. I am truly 
pleased with this last affair : it has indeed 
added to anxieties for futurity, but it has given 
a stability to my mind and resolutions unknown 
before ; and the poor girl has the most sacred 
enthusiasm of attachment to me, and has not 
a wish but to gratify my every idea of her 
deportment. I am interrupted. — Farewell ! 
my dear Sir. 

R. B. 



No. CXIII. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

27th May, 1788. 

Madam : 

I have been torturing my philosophy to no 
purpose, to account for that kind partiality of 
yours which has followed me, in my return to 
the shade of life, with assiduous benevolence. 
Often did I regret, in the fleeting hours of my 
late will-o'-wisp appearance, that " here I had 
no continuing city ;" and, but for the consola- 
tion of a few solid guineas, could almost lament 
the time that a momentary acquaintance with 
wealth and splendour put me so much out of 
conceit with the sworn companions of my road 
through life — insignificance and poverty. 

There are few circumstances relating to the 
unequal distribution of the good things of this 
life that give me more vexation (I mean in 
what I see around me) than the importance 
the opulent bestow on their trifling family 
affairs, compared with the very same things on 
the contracted scale of a cottage. Last after- 
noon I had the honour to spend an hour or 
two at a good woman's fire-side, where the 
planks that composed the floor were decorated 
with a splendid carpet, and the gay table 
sparkled with silver and china. ; Tis now 
about term-day,* and there has been a revolu- 



* [The hiring-season naturally introduced the conversation 
to which the Poet indignantly alludes. In Scotland, servants 
are hired half-yearly from term to term, or, in other words, 
from Whit-Sunday to Martinmas, and from Martinmas to 



tion among those creatures, who though in 
appearance partakers, and equally noble par- 
takers, of the same nature with Madame, are 
from time to time — their nerves, their sinews, 
their health, strength, wisdom, experience, 
genius, time, nay a good part of their very 
thoughts — sold for months and years, not only 
to the necessities, the conveniences, but the 
caprices of the important few. We talked of 
the insignificant creatures ; nay, notwithstand- 
ing their general stupidity and rascality, did 
some of the poor devils the honour to commend 
them. But light be the turf upon his breast 
who taught, " Reverence thyself !" We looked 
down on the unpolished wretches, their imper- 
tinent wives and clouterly brats, as the lordly 
bull does on the little dirty ant-hill, whose 
puny inhabitants he crushes in the carelessness 
of his ramble, or tosses in the air in the 
wantonness of his pride. 

R. B. 
# 

No. CXIV. 

TO THE SAME. 

AT ME. DUNLOP'S, HADDINGTON. 

Ellisland, 13th June, 1788. 
" Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see, 
My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee ; 
Still to my friend it turns with ceaseless pain, 
And drags, at each remove, a lengthen'd chain." 

Goldsmith. 

This is the second day, my honoured friend, 
that I have been on my farm. A solitary in- 
mate of an old, smoky spence ; far from every 
object I love, or by whom I am beloved ; nor 
any acquaintance older than yesterday, except 
Jenny Geddes, the old mare I ride on ; while 
uncouth cares and novel plans hourly insult my 
awkward ignorance and bashful inexperience. 
There is a foggy atmosphere native to my soul 
in the hour of care ; consequently the dreary 
objects seem larger than the life. Extreme sensi- 
bility, irritated and prejudiced on the gloomy 
side by a series of misfortunes and disappoint- 
ments, at that period of my existence when the 
soul is laying in her cargo of ideas for the 
voyage of life, is, I believe, the principal cause 
of this unhappy frame of mind. 

"The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer? 
Or what need he regard his single woes ?" &c. 

Your surmise, Madam, is just ; I am indeed 
a husband. 

* * * * 

To jealousy or infidelity I am an equal 
stranger. My preservative from the first is the 



Whit-Sunday. In England, servants are engaged by the 
month, and are more at the mercy of the changeable and 
the capricious.] 



652 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



most thorough, consciousness of her sentiments 
of honour, and her attachment to me : my anti- 
dote against the ]ast is my long and deep-rooted 
affection for her. 

In housewife matters, of aptness to learn and 
activity to execute, she is eminently mistress : 
and during my absence in Nithsdale, she is 
regularly and constantly apprentice to my mo- 
ther and sisters in their dairy and other rural 
business.* 

The muses must not be offended when I tell 
them the concerns of my wife and family will, 
in my mind, always take the pas ; but I assure 
them their ladyships will ever come next in 
place. 

You are right that a bachelor state would 
have ensured me more friends ; but, from a 
cause you will easily guess, conscious peace in 
the enjoyment of my own mind, and unmis- 
trusting confidence in approaching my God, 
would seldom have been of the number. 

I found a once much-loved and still much- 
loved female, literally and truly cast out to the 
mercy of the naked elements ; but I enabled 
her to purchase a shelter ; — there is no sport- 
ing with a fellow-creature's happiness or misery . 

The most placid good-nature and sweetness 
of disposition ; a warm heart, gratefully de- 
voted with all its powers to love me ; vigorous 
health and sprightly cheerfulness, set off to the 
best advantage by a more than commonly hand- 
some figure ; these, I think, in a woman, may 
make a good wife, though she should never 
have read a page but the Scriptures of the Old 
and New Testament, nor have danced in a 
brighter assembly than a penny pay-wedding. 

R. B. 



No. CXV.. 
TO Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

Ellisland, Junellth, 1788. 

This is now the third day, my dearest Sir, 
that I have sojourned in these regions ; and 
during these three days you have occupied more 
of my thoughts than in three weeks preceding : 
in Ayr-shire I have several variations of friend- 
ship's compass— here it points invariably to the 
pole. My farm gives me a good many uncouth 
cares and anxieties, but I hate the language of 
complaint. Job, or some one of his friends, 
says well — "Why should a living man com- 
plain ?" 

I have lately been much mortified with con- 
templating an unlucky imperfection in the very 



* [It was one of the pleasing theories of the Poet, in the 
pursuit of independence, that while he watched the public 
revenue as a gauger, his wife would superintend the whole 
system of in-door and out-door economy of a farmer's esta- 
blishment, and that between them money would come pour- 
ing in. To insure this, he began a war against the nature 



framing and construction of my soul ; namely, 
a blundering inaccuracy of her olfactory organs 
in hitting the scent of craft or design in my 
fellow-creatures. I do not mean any compli- 
ment to my ingenuousness, or to hint that the 
defect is in consequence of the unsuspicious 
simplicity of conscious truth and honour : I 
take it to be, in some way or other, an imper- 
fection in the mental sight ; or, metaphor apart, 
some modification of dullness. In two or three 
small instances lately, I have been most shame- 
fully out. 

I have all along, hitherto, in the warfare of 
life, been bred to arms among the light-horse — 
the piquet-guards of fancy ; a kind of hussars 
and Highlanders of the brain ; but I am firmly 
resolved to sell out of these giddy battalions, 
who have no ideas of a battle but fighting the 
foe, or of a siege but storming the town. Cost 
what it will, I am determined to buy in among 
the grave squadrons of heavy-armed thought, 
or the artillery corps of plodding contrivance. 

What books are you reading, or what is the 
subject of your thoughts, besides the great 
studies of your profession ? You said some- 
thing about religion in your last. I don't ex- 
actly remember what it was, as the letter is in 
Ayr-shire ; but I thought it not only prettily 
said, but nobly thought. You will make a 
noble fellow if once you Avere married. I make 
no reservation of your being well-married : you 
have so much sense, and knowledge of human 
nature, that, though you may not realize perhaps 
the ideas of romance, yet you will never be 
ill- married. 

Were it not for the terrors of my ticklish 
situation respecting provision for a family of 
children, I am decidedly of opinion that the 
step I have taken is vastly for my happiness. 
As it is, I look to the Excise scheme as a cer- 
tainty of maintenance ; a maintenance ! — luxury 
to what either Mrs. Burns or I were born to. 
Adieu !— R. B. 



No. CXVI. 

TO THE SAME. 

Mauchline, 23rd June, 1788; 

This letter, my dear Sir, is only a business 
scrap. Mr. Miers, profile painter in your town, 
has executed a profile of Dr. Blacklock for me : 
do me the favour to call for it, and sit to him 
yourself for me, which put in the same size as 
the doctor's. The account of both profiles will 



of the soil of Ellisland, by trying to turn it into pasturage : 
and he causSd his wife to be instructed in the business of the 
dairy, with the hope of making cheese rivalling the far- 
famed Dunlop ; but 

"The best laid schemes of mice and men 

Gang aft agley." — Cunningham.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



653 



be fifteen shillings, which I have given to 
James Connel, our Mauchline carrier, to pay 
you when you give him the parcel. You must 
not, my friend, refuse to sit. The time is short ; 
when I sat to Mr. Miers, I am sure he did not 
exceed two minutes. I propose hanging Lord 
Glencairn, the Doctor, and you in trio over my 
new chimney-piece that is to be.* 

Adieu.— R. B. 



No. CXVII. 

TO THE SAME. 

Ellisland, June 30th, 1788. 

My dear Sir : 

I just now received your brief epistle ; and, 
to take vengeance on your laziness, I have, you 
see, taken a long sheet of writing-paper, and 
have begun at the top of the page, intending to 
scribble on to the very last corner. 

I am vexed at that affair of the * * *, but 
dare not enlarge on the subject until you send 
me your direction, as I suppose that will be 
altered on your late master and friend's death. -f 
I am concerned for the old fellow's exit, only 
as I fear it may be to your disadvantage in any 
respect — for an old man's dying, except he have 
been a very benevolent character, or in some 
particular situation of life that the welfare of 
the poor or the helpless depended on him, I 
think it an event of the most trifling moment 
to the world. Man is naturally a kind, bene- 
volent animal, but he is dropped into such a 
needy situation here in this vexatious world, 
and has such a whore-son, hungry, growling, 
multiplying pack of necessities, appetites, pas- 
sions, and desires about him, ready to devour 
him for want of other food ; that in fact he 
must lay aside his cares for others that he may 
look properly to himself. You have been im- 
posed upon in paying Mr. Miers for the profile 
of a Mr. H. I did not mention it in my letter 
to you, nor did I ever give Mr. Miers any such 
order. I have no objection to lose the money, 
but I will not have any such profile in my 
possession. 

I desired the carrier to pay you, but as I 
mentioned only 15s. to him, I will rather en- 
close you a guinea note. I have it not, indeed, 
to spare here, as I am only a sojourner in a 
strange land in this place ; but in a day or two 
I return to Mauchline, and there I have the 
bank-notes through the house like salt per- 
mits. 

There is a great degree of folly in talking 
unnecessarily of one's private affairs. I have 



* [The kindness of Mr. Field, profilist, Strand, has not 
only indulged me with a look at the original outline of the 
Poet's face, but has put me in possession of a capital copy. 
It is the size of life : the contour is fine — nay, noble : the 
nose is a little blunt at the point : the mouth is full and well- 



just now been interrupted by one of my new 
neighbours, who has made himself absolutely 
contemptible in my eyes, by his silly, garrulous 
pruriency. I know it has been a fault of my 
own, too ; but from this moment I abjure it as 
I would the service of hell ! Your poets, spend- 
thrifts, and other fools of that kidney, pretend, 
forsooth, to crack their jokes on prudence ; but 
'tis a squalid vagabond, glorying in his rags. 
Still, imprudence respecting money matters is 
much more pardonable than imprudence respect- 
ing character. I have no objection to prefer 
prodigality to avarice, in some few instances ; 
but I appeal to your observation, if you have 
not met, and often met, with the same dis- 
ingenuousness, the same hollow-hearted insin- 
cerity, and disintegritive depravity of principle, 
in the hackneyed victims of profusion, as in the 
unfeeling children of parsimony. I have every 
possible reverence for the much talked-of world 
beyond the grave, and I wish that which piety 
believes, and virtue deserves, may be all matter 
of fact. But in things belonging to, and ter- 
minating in this present scene of existence, man 
has serious and interesting business on hand. 
Whether a man shall shake hands with wel- 
come in the distinguished elevation of respect, 
or shrink from contempt in the abject corner of 
insignificance ; whether he shall wanton under 
the tropic of plenty, at least enjoy himself in 
the comfortable latitudes of easy convenience, 
or starve in the arctic circle of dreary poverty ; 
whether he shall rise in the manly conscious- 
ness of a self- approving mind, or sink beneath 
a galling load of regret and remorse — these are 
alternatives of the last moment. 

You see how I preach. You used occasion- 
ally to sermonize too ; I wish you would, in 
charity, favour me with a sheet full in your 
own way. I admire the close of a letter Lord 
Bolingbroke wrote to Dean Swift: — "Adieu, 
dear Swift ! with all thy faults I love thee en- 
tirely : make an effort to love me with all 
mine !" Humble servant, and all that trum- 
pery, is now such a prostituted business that 
honest friendship, in her sincere wa}^ must have 
recourse to her primitive, simple, — farewell ! 

R. B. 



No. CXVIII. 
TO Mr. GEORGE LOCKHART, 

MERCHANT, GLASGOW. 

Mauchline, 18th July, 1788. 

My dear Sir : 
I am just going for Nithsdale, else I would 



shaped, the forehead high, and the whole air that of freedom 
and genius. It is one of thirty thousand likenesses taken by 
the same skilful hand.— Cunningham.] 

f [Mr. Samuel Mitchelson, W. S. He died on the 21st 01 
June previous.] 



654 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



certainly have transcribed some of ray rhyming 
things for you. The Misses Baillie I have seen 
in Edinburgh. " Fair and lovely are thy works, 
Lord God Almighty ! Who would not praise 
thee for these thy gifts in thy goodness to the 
sons of men !" It needed not your fine taste to 
admire them. I declare, one day I had the 
honour of dining at Mr. Baillie's, I was almost 
in the predicament of the children of Israel, 
when they could not look on Moses' face for 
the glory that shone in it when he descended 
from Mount Sinai. 

I did once write a poetic address from the 
Falls of Bruar to his Grace of Athole, when I 
was in the Highlands. When you return to 
Scotland, let me know, and I will send such of 
my pieces as please myself best. I return to 
Mauchline in about ten days. 

My compliments to Mr. Purden. I am in 
truth, but at present in haste, 

Yours,— R. B. 



No. CXIX. 



TO Mr. PETER HJLL. 

My dear Hill : 

I shall say nothing to your mad present — 
you have so long and often been of important 
service to me, and I suppose you mean to go on 
conferring obligations until I shall not be able 
to lift up my face before you. In the mean 
time as Sir Roger de Co verley, because it hap- 
pened to be a cold day in which he made his 
will, ordered his servants great coats for mourn- 
ing, so, because I have been this week plagued 
with an indigestion, I have sent you by the 
carrier a fine old ewe- milk cheese.* 

Indigestion is the devil : nay, 'tis the devil 
and all. It besets a man in every one of his 
senses. I lose my appetite at the sight of suc- 
cessful knavery, and sicken to loathing at the 
noise and nonsense of self-important folly. When 
the hollow-hearted wretch takes me by the 
hand, the feeling spoils my dinner ; the proud 
man's wine so offends my palate that it chokes 
me in the gullet ; and the pulvilised, feathered, 
pert coxcomb, is so disgustful in my nostril that 
my stomach turns. 

If ever you have any of these disagreeable 
sensations, let me prescribe for you patience and 
a bit of my cheese. I know that you are no 
niggard of good things among your friends, and 
some of them are in much need of a slice. 
There, in my eyes, is our friend Smellie ; a man 
positively of the first abilities and greatest 



* [Peter Hill was a bookseller, and the present to which 
the Poet alludes was some valuable books. Burns felt un- 
willing to lie under obligations : and hence his return in " a 
fine old ewe milk cheese," a savoury morsel that no doubt 
smacked of the ewe-bughts.] 



strength of mind, as well as one of the best 
hearts and keenest wits that I have ever met 
with ; when you see him, as, alas ! he too is 
smarting at the pinch of distressful circum- 
stances, aggravated by the sneer of contumeli- 
ous greatness — a bit of my cheese alone will not 
cure him, but if you add a tankard of brown 
stout, and superadd a magnum of right Oporto, 
you will see his sorrows vanish like the morn- 
ing mist before the summer sun. 

Candlish, the earliest friend, except my only 
brother, that I have on earth, and one of the 
worthiest fellows that ever any man called by 
the name of friend, if a luncheon of my cheese 
would help to rid him of some of his super- 
abundant modesty, you would do well to give 
it him. 

David, f with his Courant, comes, too, across 
my recollection, and I beg you will help him 
largely from the said ewe-milk cheese, to en- 
able him to digest those bedaubing paragraphs 
with which he is eternally larding the lean cha- 
racters of certain great men in a certain great 
town. I grant you the periods are very well 
turned ; so, a fresh egg is a very good thing, 
but when thrown at a man in a pillory, it does 
not at all improve his figure, not to mention 
the irreparable loss of the egg. 

My facetious friend Dunbar I would wish 
also to be a partaker : not to digest his spleen, 
for that he laughs off, but to digest his last 
night's wine at the last field-day of the Croch- 
allan corps. J 

Among our common friends I must not forget 
one of the dearest of them — Cunningham The 
brutality, insolence, and selfishness of a world 
unworthy of having such a fellow as he is in 
it, I know, sticks in his stomach, and if you can 
help him to anything that will make him a 
little easier on that score, it will be very obliging. 

As to honest John Somerville, he is such a 
contented, happy man, that I know not what 
can annoy him, except, perhaps, he may not 
have got the better of a parcel of modest anec- 
dotes which a certain poet gave him one night 
at supper, the last time the said poet was in 
town. 

Though I have mentioned so many men of 
law, I shall have nothing to do with them pro- 
fessedly — the faculty are beyond my prescrip- 
tion. As to their clients that is another thing ; 
God knows they have much to digest ! 

The clergy I pass by ; their profundity of 
erudition, and their liberality of sentiment; 
their total want of pride, and their detestation 
of hypocrisy, are so proverbially notorious as 
to place them far, far above either my praise or 
censure. 

I was going to mention a man of worth, 



t Mr. David Rarnsay, printer of the Edinburgh Evening 
Courant. 
t A club of choice spirits, already alluded to. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



655 



whom I have the honour to call friend, the 
Laird of Craigdarroch ; but I have spoken to 
the landlord of the King's- Arms-inn here, to 
have at the next county meeting a large ewe- 
milk cheese on the table, for the benefit of the 
Dumfries-shire Whigs, to enable them to digest 
the Duke of Queensberry's late political con- 
duct. 

I have just this moment an opportunity of a 
private hand to Edinburgh, as perhaps you 
would not digest double postage. 

R. B. 



No. CXX. 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq., 



Sir: 



OF FINTRAY. 



When I had the honour of being introduced 
to you at Athole-house, I did not think so soon 
of asking a favour of you. When Lear, in 
Shakspeare, asked Old Kent, why he wished 
to be in his service, he answers, " Because you 
have that in your face which I would fain call 
master." For some such reason, Sir, do I now 
solicit your patronage. You know, I dare say, 
of an application I lately made to your Board 
to be admitted an officer of Excise. I have, 
according to form, been examined by a super- 
visor, and to-day I gave in his certificate, with 
a request for an order for instructions. In this 
affair, if I succeed, I am afraid I shall but too 
much need a patronizing friend. Propriety of 
conduct as a man, and fidelity and attention as 
an officer, I dare engage for ; but with any 
thing like business, except manual labour, I 
am totally unacquainted. 

I had intended to have closed my late appear- 
ance on the stage of life, in the character of a 
country farmer ; but after discharging some 
filial and fraternal claims, I find I could only 
fight for existence in that miserable manner 
which I have lived to see throw a venerable 
parent into the jaws of a jail ; whence death, 
the poor man's last, and often best, friend, 
rescued him.* 

I know, Sir, that to need your goodness is 
to have a claim on it ; may I, therefore, beg 
your patronage to forward me in this affair, till 
I be appointed to a division ; where, by the 
help of rigid economy, I will try to support 
that independence so dear to my soul, but 
which has been too often so distant from my 
situation. R. B. 



* [The filial and fraternal claims to which this letter refers 
were as follows. Two hundred pounds lent to his brother 
Gilbert, to enable him to fight out the remainder of the lease 
of Mossgiel — and a considerable sum given to his mother for 
her own contingencies. Burns was ever a dutiful son and 
a kind brother. J, 

t [The verses inclosed were the lines written in Friars'- 
Carse Hermitage ; — "the first fruits," says the Poet else- 



No. CXXI. 
TO WILLIAM CRUIKSHANK. 

Ellisland, August, 1788. 

I have not room, my dear friena, to answer 
all the particulars of your last kind letter. I 
shall be in Edinburgh on some business very 
soon ; and, as I shall be two days, or perhaps 
three, in town, we shall discuss matters viva 
voce. My knee, I believe, will never be en- 
tirely well ; and an unlucky fall this winter 
has made it still worse. I well remember the 
circumstance you allude to, respecting Creech's 
opinion of Mr. Nicol ; but, as the first gen- 
tleman owes me still about fifty pounds, I dare 
not meddle in the affair. 

It gave me a very heavy heart to read such 
accounts of the consequence of your quarrel 
with that puritanic, rotten-hearted, hell-com- 
missioned scoundrel, A . If, notwith- 
standing your unprecedented industry in pub- 
lic, and your irreproachable conduct in private 
life, he still has you so much in his power, 
what ruin may he not bring on some others I 
could name ? 

Many and happy returns of seasons to you, 
with your dearest and worthiest friend, and the 
lovely little pledge of your happy union. May 
the great Author of life, and 01 every enjoy- 
ment that can render life delightful, make her 
that comfortable blessing to you both, which 
you so ardently wish for, and which, allow me 
to say, you so well deserve ! Glance over the 
foregoing verses, and let me have your blots ! -j- 
Adieu. 

R. B. 



No. CXXII. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Mauchline, August 2nd, 1"88. 

Honoured Madam : 

Your kind letter welcomed me, yesternight, 
to Ayr-shire. I am, indeed, seriously angry 
with you at the quantum of your luckpenny ; 
but, vexed and hurt as I was, I could not help 
laughing very heartily at the noble lord's 
apology for the missed napkin. 

I would write you from Nithsdale, and give 
you my direction there, but I have scarce an 
opportunity of calling at a post-office once in a 
fortnight. I am six miles from Dumfries, am 



where, "of my intercourse with the Nithsdale Muse." Some 
of his best poems were written on the Banks of the Nith ; 
viz., the " Lines on Friars'-Carse Hermitage;" the verses 
"On Captain Grose's Peregrinations;" "The Whistle;" 
the " Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson," and " Tam 
o' Shanter," with many exquisite songs. The walk in 
which the Poet loved to muse is still shewn and reverenced 
at Ellisland.] 



658 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



scarcely ever in it myself, and, as yet, have 
little acquaintance in the neighbourhood. Be- 
sides, I am now very busy on my farm, build- 
ing a dwelling-house ; as at present I am almost 
an evangelical man in Nithsdale, for I have 
scarce u where to lay my head." 

There are some passages in your last that 
brought tears in my eyes. " The heart know- 
eth its own sorrows, and a stranger intermeddleth 
not therewith." The repository of these "sor- 
rows of the heart" is a kind of sanctum sanc- 
torum : and 'tis only a chosen friend, and that, 
too, at particular, sacred times, who dares enter 
into them : — 

' Heaven oft tears the bosom-chords 
That nature finest strung.'' 

You will excuse this quotation for the sake 
of the author. Instead of entering on this sub- 
ject farther, I shall transcribe you a few lines I 
wrote in a hermitage, belonging to a gentleman 
in my Nithsdale neighbourhood. They are 
almost the only favours the miises have con- 
ferred on me in that country. — [See Lines 
written in Friars-Carse Hermitage, page 278.] 

Since I am in the way of transcribing, the 
following were the production of yesterday as 
I jogged through the wild hills of New Cum- 
nock. I intend inserting them, or something 
like them, in an epistle I am going to write to 
the gentleman on whose friendship my Excise 
hopes depend, Mr. Graham of Fintray, one of 
the worthiest and most accomplished gentlemen, 
not only of this country, but, I will dare to say 
it, of this age. The following are just the first 
Crude thoughts " unhousel'd, unanointed, un- 
anneal'd :" — * 

* * * * 

Here the muse left me. *I am astonished at 
what you tell me of Anthony's writing me. I 
never received it. Poor fellow ! you vex me 
much by telling me that he is unfortunate. I 
shall be in Ayr-shire in ten days from this date. 
I have just room for an old Roman farewell. 

R. B. 



No. CXXIII. 

TO. THE SAME. 



Mauchline, August 10th, 1/88. 

My much honoured Friend : 

Yours of the 24th June is before me. I 
found it, as well as another valued friend — my 
wife— waiting to welcome me to Ayr-shire : I 
met both with the sincerest pleasure. 

When I write you, Madam, I do not sit 
down to answer every paragraph of yours, by 
echoing every sentiment, like the faithful Com- 



* See "First Epistle to Robert Graham," p. 281, com- 
mencing "Pity the tuneful muses' hapless strain." 



mons of Great Britain in Parliament assembled, 
answering a speech from the best of kings ! I 
express myself in the fulness of my heart, and 
may, perhaps, be guilty of neglecting some of 
your kind inquiries ; but not, from your very 
odd reason, that I do not read your letters. All 
your epistles for several months have cost me 
nothing, except a swelling throb of gratitude, 
or a deep-felt sentiment of veneration. 

When Mrs. Burns, Madam, first found her- 
self " as women wish to be who love their 
lords," as I loved her nearly to distraction, we 
took steps for a private marriage. Her parents 
got the hint ; and not only forbade me her 
company and their house, but, on my rumoured 
West Indian voyage, got a warrant to put me 
in jail, till I should find security in my about- 
to-be paternal relation. You know my lucky 
reverse of fortune. On my eclatant return to 
Mauchline, I was made very welcome to visit 
my girl. The usual consequences began to be- 
tray her ; and, as I was at that time laid up a 
cripple in Edinburgh, she was turned, literally 
turned out of doors, and I wrote to a friend to 
shelter her till my return, when our marriage 
was declared. Her happiness or misery were 
in my hands, and who could trifle with such a 
deposit ? 

I can easily fancy a more agreeable compa- 
nion for my journey of life ; but, upon my 
honour, I have never seen the individual in- 
stance. 

Circumstanced as I am, I could never have 
got a female partner for life who could have 
entered into my favourite studies, relished my 
favourite authors, &c, without probably en- 
tailing on me at the same time expensive living, 
fantastic caprice, perhaps apish affectation, with 
all the other blessed boarding-school acquire- 
ments, which (pardo?inez ?noi, Madame,) are 
sometimes to be found among females of the 
upper ranks, but almost universally pervade 
the misses of the would-be gentry. 

I like your way in your church-yard lucu- 
brations. Thoughts that are the spontaneous 
result of accidental situations, either respecting 
health, place, or company, have often a strength 
and always an originality that would in vain 
be looked for in fancied circumstances and 
studied paragraphs. For me, I have often 
thought of keeping a letter, in progression by 
me, to send you when the sheet was written 
out. Now I talk of sheets, I must tell you, 
my reason for writing to you on paper of this 
kind is my pruriency of writing to you at large. 
A page of post is on such a dis-social, narrow- 
minded scale, that I cannot abide it ; and double 
letters, at least in my miscellaneous reverie 
manner, are a monstrous tax in a close corres- 
pondence.* R. B. 



* [In Burns's own Memoranda are these words : I am more 
and more pleased with the step I took respecting my Jean. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



657 



No. CXXIV. 
TO THE SAME. 



Ellisland, l6th August, 1788. 

I am in a fine disposition, my honoured 
friend, to send you an elegiac epistle ; and 
want only genius to make it quite Shenstonian : 

" Why droops my heart with fancied woes forlorn ? 
Why sinks my soul beneath each wintry sky?" 

My increasing cares in this, as yet, strange 
country — gloomy conjectures in the dark vista 
of futuritjr — consciousness of my own inability 
for the struggle of the world — my broadened 
mark to misfortune in a wife and children ; — I 
could indulge these reflections, till my humour 
should ferment into the most acid chagrin, that 
would corrode the very thread of life. 

To counterwork these baneful feelings, I have 
sat down to write to you ; as I declare upon my 
soul I always find that the most sovereign balm 
for my wounded spirit. 

I was yesterday at Mr. Miller's to dinner, 
for the first time. My reception was quite to 
my mind: from the lady of the house quite 
flattering. She sometimes hits on a couplet or 
two, impromptu. She repeated one or two to 
the admiration of all present. My suffrage, as 
a professional man, was expected : I for once 
went agonizing over the belly of my conscience. 
Pardon me, ye, my adored household gods, in- 
dependence of spirit, and integrity of soul ! 
In the course of conversation, " Johnson's Mu- 
sical Museum," a collection of Scottish songs 
with the music, was talked of. We got a song 
on the harpsichord, beginning, 

" Raving winds around her blowing "* 

The air was much admired : the lady of the 
house asked me whose were the words. " Mine, 
Madam — they are indeed my very best verses;" 
she took not the smallest notice of them ! The 
old Scottish proverb says well, " king's chaff 
is better than ither folks' corn." I was going 
to make a New Testament quotation about 
" casting pearls," but that would be too viru- 
lent, for the lady is actually a woman of sense 
and taste. 



Two things, from my happy experience, I set down ;is 
apophthegms in life. A wife's head is immaterial compared 
with her heart; and Virtue's (for wisdom, what poet pre- 
tends to it?) " *-avs are ways of pleasantness, and all her 
paths are peace.'" 

It is really amusing to observe how anxious the poet has 
been to reconcile himself and his friends to his marrying a 
woman of homely understanding and rustic manners. In a 
letter to Mrs. Dunlop, it drives him into a frantic tiiade 
against all those refinements which constitute the lady — re- 
finements of which he had practically expressed his admira- 
tion by his relish of the society of Miss Chalmers, Mrs. 



After all that has been said on the other side 
of the question, man is by no means a happy 
creature, I do not speak of the selected few, 
favoured by partial heaven, whose souls are 
tuned to gladness amid riches and honours, and 
prudence and wisdom. I speak of the neglected 
many, whose nerves, whose sinews, whose days 
are sold to the minions of fortune. 

If I thought you had never seen it, I would 
transcribe for you a stanza of an old Scottish 
ballad, called, " The Life and Age of Man ;" 
beginning thus : 

" 'Twas in the sixteenth hunder yeai 
Of God and fifty-three, 
Frae Christ was born, that bought us dear, 
As writings testifie." 

I had an old grand-uncle, with whom my 
mother lived awhile in her girlish years ; the 
good old man, for such he was, was Ions; blind 
ere he died, during which time his highest en- 
joyment was to sit down and cry, while my 
mother would sing the simple old song of " The 
Life and Age of Man." 

It is this way of thinking, it is these melan- 
choly truths, that make religion so precious to 
the poor, miserable children of men. — If it is 
a mere phantom, existing only in the heated 
imagination of enthusiasm, 

" What truth on earth so precious as the lie !" 

My idle reasonings sometimes make me a little 
sceptical, but the necessities of my heart always 
give the cold philosophisings the lie. Who 
looks for the heart weaned from earth ; the soul 
affianced to her God ; the correspondence fixed 
with heaven ; the pious supplication and devout 
thanksgiving, constant as the vicissitudes of 
even and morn ; who thinks to meet with these 
in the Court, the palace, in the glare of public 
life ? No : to find them in their precious im- 
portance and divine efficacy, we must search 
among the obscure recesses of disappointment, 
affliction, poverty, and distress. 

I am sure, dear Madam, you are now more 
than pleased with the length of my letters. I re- 
turn to Ayr-shire the middle of next week: and 
it quickens my pace to think that there will be 
a letter from you waiting me there. I must be- 
here again very soon for my harvest. 

R. B, 



M'Lehose, Miss Hamilton, Mrs. Dunlop, and many others. 
His whole conduct on this point only manifests that when, 
after some experience of Edinburgh society, he had to con- 
tent himself with his village mistress, he did not make up 
his mind to the union without some degree of soreness, and 
that the cause of this soreness was his preference of those 
very elegancies in the female character which he affected to 
condemn. Under no other feeling, perhaps, could so sen- 
sible a man as Burns have expressed disregard for so import- 
ant a matter as the intellect of the woman who was to be his 
wife and the mother of his children.— Chambers.] 
* [See page 37 1.] 

2 U 



656 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CXXV. 
TO Mr. BEUGO, 



ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH. 



Ellislund, 9th Sept. 178! 



My dear Sir : 



There is not in Edinburgh above the num- 
ber of the graces whose letters would have given 
me so much pleasure as yours of the 3d instant, 
which only reached me yesternight. 

I am here on my farm, busy with my har- 
vest ; but for all that most pleasurable part of 
life called social communication, I am here 
at the very elbow of existence. The only 
things that are to be found in this country, in 
any degree of perfection, are stupidity and 
canting. Prose, they only know in graces, 
prayers, &c, and the value of these they esti- 
mate as they do their plaiding webs — by the ell ! 
As for the muses, they have as much an idea of 
a rhinoceros as of a poet. For my old capri- 
cious, but good-natured, hussy of a muse — 

" By banks of Nith I sat and wept 
When Coila I thought on, 
In midst thereof I hung my harp 
The willow trees upon." 

I am generally about half my time in Ayr-shire 
with my " darling Jean," and then I, at lucid 
intervals, throw my horny fist across my be- 
cobwebbed lyre, much in the same manner as 
an old wife throws her hand across the spokes 
of her spinning-wheel. 

I will send the " Fortunate Shepherdess," 
as soon as I return to Ayr-shire, for there I 
keep it with other precious treasure. I shall 
send it by a careful hand, as I would not for 
any thing it should be mislaid or lost. I do 
not wish to serve you from any benevolence, 
or other grave Christian virtue ; 'tis purely a 
selfish gratification of my own feelings when- 
ever I think of you. 

If your better functions would give you 
leisure to write me, I should be extremely 
happy ; that is to say, if you neither keep nor 
look for a regular correspondence. I hate the 
idea of being obliged to write a letter. I 
sometimes write a friend twice a week, at other 
times once a quarter. 

I am exceedingly pleased with your fancy in 
making the author you mention place a map of 
Iceland instead of his portrait before his works : 
'twas a glorious idea. 

Could you conveniently do me one thing ? — 
whenever you finish any head I should like to 
*iave a proof copy of it. I might tell you a 
long story about your fine genius; but, as 
what every body knows cannot have escaped 
you, I shall not say one syllable about it. 

R. B. 



No. CXXVI. 
TO Miss CHALMERS, 

EDINBURGH. 

Ellisland, near Dumfries, Sept. \6th, 1788. 

Where are you ? and how are you ? and is 
Lady Mackenzie recovering her health ? for I 
have had but one solitary letter from you. I 
will not think you have forgot me, Madam ; 
and, for my part — 

" When thee, Jerusalem, I forget, 
Skill part from my right hand!" 

" My heart is not of that rock, nor my soul 
careless as that sea." I do not make my pro- 
gress among mankind as a bowl does among 
its fellows — rolling through the crowd without 
bearing away any mark or impression, except 
where they hit in hostile collision. 

I am here, driven in with my harvest-folks 
by bad weather ; and as you and your sister 
once did me the honour of interesting your- 
selves much a Vegard de moi, I sit down to beg 
the continuation of your goodness. I can 
truly say that, all the exterior of life apart, I 
never saw two, whose esteem flattered the 
nobler feelings of my soul — I will not say 
more, but so much, as Lady Mackenzie and 
Miss Chalmers. When I think of you — hearts 
the best, minds the noblest of human kind — 
unfortunate even in the shades of life — when I 
think I have met with you, and have lived 
more of real life with you in eight days than I 
can do with almost anybody I meet with in 
eight years — when I think on the improbability 
of meeting you in this world again — I could 
sit down and cry like a child ! If ever you 
honoured me with a place in your esteem, I 
trust I can now plead more desert. I am 
secure against that crushing grip of iron 
poverty, which, alas ! is less or more fatal to 
the native worth and purity of, I fear, the 
noblest souls ; and a late important step in my 
life has kindly taken me out of the way of 
those ungrateful iniquities, which, however 
overlooked in fashionable license, or varnished 
in fashionable phrase, are indeed but lighter 
and deeper shades of villany. 

Shortly after my last return to Ayr-shire, I 
married " my Jean." This was not in conse- 
quence of the attachment of romance, perhaps ; 
but I had a long and much - loved fellow- 
creature's happiness or misery in my determi- 
nation, and I durst not trifle with so important 
a deposit. Nor have I any cause to repent it. 
If I have not got polite tattle, modish manners, 
and fashionable dress, I am not sickened and 
disgusted with the multiform curse of boarding- 
school affectation : and I have got the hand- 
somest figure, the sweetest temper, the soundest 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



659 



constitution, and the kindest heart in the 
county. Mrs. Burns believes, as firmly as her 
creed, that I am le plus bel esprit, et le plus 
honnete homme in the universe ; although she 
scarcely ever in her life, except the Scriptures 
of the Old and New Testament, and the Psalms 
of David in metre, spent five minutes together 
on either prose or verse. I must except also 
from this last a certain late publication of Scots 
poems, which she has perused very devoutly ; 
and all the ballads in the country, as she has 
(O the partial lover ! you will cry) the finest 
" wood note wild" I ever heard. I am the 
more particular in this lady's character, as I 
know she will henceforth have the honour of 
a share in your best wishes. She is still at 
Mauchline, as I am building my house ; for 
this hovel that I shelter in, while occasionally 
here, is pervious to every blast that blovys, and 
every shower that falls ; and I am only pre- 
served from being chilled to death by being 
suffocated with smoke. I do not find my farm 
that pennyworth I was taught to expect, but 
I believe, in time, it may be a saving bargain. 
You will be pleased to hear that I have laid 
aside idle eclat, and bind every day after my 
reapers. 

To save me from that horrid situation of at 
any time going down, in a losing bargain of a 
farm, to misery, I have taken my Excise in- 
structions, and have my commission in my 
pocket for any emergency of fortune. If I 
could set all before your view, whatever dis- 
respect you, in common with the world, have 
for this business, I know you would approve of 
my idea. 

I will make no apology, dear Madam, for 
this egotistic detail ; I know you and your 
sister will be interested in every circumstance 
of it. What signify the silly, idle gewgaws 
of wealth, or the ideal trumpery of greatness ! 
When fellow-partakers of the same nature fear 
the same God, have the same benevolence of 
heart, the same nobleness of soul, the same 
detestation at every thing dishonest, and the 
same scorn at every thing unworthy — if they 
are not in the dependence of absolute beggary, 
in the name of common sense are they not 
equals ? And if the bias, the instinctive bias 
of their souls run the same way, may they not 
be friends ? 

When I may have an opportunity of sending 
you this, Heaven only knows. Shenstone says, 
" When one is confined idle within doors by 
bad weather, the best antidote against ennui is 
to read the letters of, or write to, one's friends ;" 
in that case then, if the weather continues 
thus, I may scrawl you half a quire. 



* [Mr. Morison was a Mauchline cabinet-maker, an excel- 
lent workman, and a worthy intelligent person. The Poet, 
with a feeling for which no one but a worldling will blame 
nim, ordered his furniture to be made in his native place ; 
and Morison made it neat and serviceable. The eight-day 



I very lately — to wit, since harvest began — 
wrote a poem, not in imitation, but in the 
manner, of Pope's Moral Epistles. It is only 
a short essay, just to try the strength of my 
Muse's pinion in that way. I will send you a 
copy of it, when once I have heard from you. 
I have likewise been laying the foundation of 
some pretty large poetic works : how the 
superstructure will come on, I leave to that 
great maker and marrer of projects — Time. 
Johnson's collection of Scots songs is going on 
in the third volume; and, of consequence, 
finds me a consumpt for a great deal of idle 
metre. One of the most tolerable things I 
have done in that way is two stanzas I made to 
an air a musical gentleman of my acquaint- 
ance composed for the anniversary of his 
wedding-day, which happens on the seventh of 
November. Take it as follows : — 

" The day returns — my bosom burns, 
The blissful day we twa did meet," &c. See p. 378. 

1 shall give over this letter for shame. If I 
should be seized with a scribbling fit, before 
this goes away, I shall make it another letter ; 
and then you may allow your patience a 
week's respite between the two. I have not 
room for more than the old, kind, hearty 
farewell ! 



To make some amends, mes cheres Mesdames, 
for dragging you on to this second sheet ; and 
to relieve a little the tiresomeness of my un- 
studied and uncorrectible prose, I shall tran- 
scribe you some of my late poetic bagatelles ; 
though I have, these eight or ten months, done 
very little that way. One day, in a hermitage 
on the banks of Nith, belonging to a gentle- 
man in my neighbourhood, who is so good as 
give me a key at pleasure, I wrote as follows ; 
supposing myself the sequestered, venerable 
inhabitant of the lonely mansion. 

LINES WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE. 

Thou whom chance may hither lead, 

Be thou clad in russet weed, &c. See p. 278. 

R. B. 



No. CXXVII. 
TO Mr. MORISON, 

. MAUCHLINE.* 

Ell island, September 22, 1788. 

My dear Sir : 

Necessity obliges me to go into my new 
house even before it be plastered. 1 will inha- 



clock, which went from Mossgiel to Ellisland, is also of 
Mauchline manufacture ; it was sold at the death of tho 
Poet's widow for five-and-thirty pounds, and is now in 
London.] 

2 U 2 



660 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



bit the one end until the other is finished. 
About three weeks more, I think, will at far- 
thest be my time, beyond which I cannot stay 
in this present house. If ever you wished to 
deserve the blessing of him that was ready to 
perish ; if ever you were in a situation that a 
little kindness would have rescued you from 
many evils ; if ever you hope to find rest in 
future states of untried being — get these mat- 
ters of mine ready. My servant will be out in 
the beginning of next week for the clock. 
My compliments to Mrs. Morison. 

I am, after all my tribulation, 

Dear Sir, yours, — R. B. 



No. CXXVIII. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP, 

OF DUNLOP. 

Mauchline, 27th. Sept. 1788. 

I have received twins, dear madam, more 
than once ; but scarcely ever with more plea- 
sure than when I received yours of the 12th 
instant. To make myself understood ; I had 
wrote to Mr. Graham, enclosing my poem ad- 
dressed to him, and the same post which fa- 
voured me with yours brought me an answer 
from him. It was dated the very day he had 
received mine ; and I am quite at a loss to say 
whether it was most polite or kind. 

Your criticisms, my honoured benefactress, 
are truly the work of a friend. They are not 
the blasting depredations of a canker-toothed, 
caterpillar critic ; nor are they the fair state- 
ment of cold impartiality, balancing with un- 
feeling exactitude the pro and con of an au- 
thor's merits ; they are the judicious observa- 
tions _ of animated friendship, selecting the 
beauties of the piece.* I have just arrived 
from Nithsdale, and will be here a fortnight. 
I was on horseback this morning by three 
o'clock ; for between my wife and my farm is 
just forty-six miles. As I jogged on in the 
dark, I was taken with a poetic fit, as follows : 

*' Mrs. Ferguson of Craigdarroch's lament- 
ation for the death of her son ; an uncom- 
monly promising youth of eighteen or nineteen 
years of age. 

" Fate gave the word — the arrow sped, 

And pierced my darling's heart, &c."f 

You will not send me your poetic rambles, 
but, you see, I am no niggard of mine. I am 



[Burns entertained no great respect for what may be 
styled technical criticism. He loved the man who judged 
of poetical compositions from the heart— but looked with an 
evil eye upon those who decided by the cold decisions of 
the head.] f [See pajie 280.] 



sure your impromptus give me double pleasure 
what falls from your pen can neither be unen- 
tertaining in itself, nor indifferent to me. 

The one fault you found is just ; but I can- 
not please myself in an emendation. 

What a life of solicitude is the life of a pa- 
rent ! You interested me much in your young 
couple. 

I would not take my folio paper for this 
epistle, and now I repent it. I am so jaded 
with my dirty long journey that I was afraid 
to drawl into the essence of dulness with any 
thing larger than a quarto, and so I must leave 
out another rhyme of this morning's manu- 
facture. 

I will pay the sapientipotent George, most 
cheerfully, to hear from you ere I leave Ayr- 
shire. 

R, B. 



No. CXXIX. 
TO Mr. PETER HILL. 

Mauchline, 1st October, 1788. 

I have been here in this country about three 
days, and all that time my chief reading has 
been the "Address to Lochlomond" you were 
so obliging as to send to me. J Were I impan- 
nelled one of the author's jury, to determine 
his criminality respecting the sin of poesy, my 
verdict should be " guilty ! A poet of nature's 
making !" It is an excellent method for im- 
provement, and what I believe every poet does, 
to place some favourite classic author in his 
own walks of study and composition, before 
him, as a model. Though your author had not 
mentioned the name, I could have, at half a 
glance, guessed his model to be Thomson. Will 
my brother- poet forgive me, if I venture to 
hint that his imitation of that immortal bard is 
in two or three places rather more servile than 
such a genius as his required ? — e. g. 

" To soothe the maddening passions all to peace." 

Address. 

" To soothe the throbbing passions into peace." 

Thomson. 

I think the " Address" is in simplicity, har- 
mony, and elegance of versification, fully equal 
to the " Seasons." Like Thomson, too, he has 
looked into nature for himself: you meet with 
no copied description. One particular criticism 
I made at first reading ; in no one instance has 
he said too much. He never flags in his pro- 
gress, but, like a true poet of nature's making, 
kindles in his course. His beginning is simple 



X [The poem entitled " An Address to Loch- Lomond," is 
said to be written by a gentleman, now one of the masters 
of the high-school at Edinburgh, and the same who trans- 
lated the beautiful story of "The Paria," as published in 
the Bee of Dr. Anderson.— Currie.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



661 



and modest, as if distrustful of the strength of 
his pinion ; only, I do not altogether like — 



" Truth, 

The soul of every song that 's nobly great." 

Fiction is the soul of many a song that is 
nobly great. Perhaps I am wrong : this may 
be but a prose criticism. Is not the phrase, in 
line 7, page 6, " Great lake/' too much vul- 
garized by every-day language for so sublime 
a poem ? 

" Great mass of waters, theme for nobler song," 

is perhaps no emendation. His enumeration 
of a comparison with other lakes is at once 
harmonious and poetic. Every reader's ideas 
must sweep the 

"Winding margin of a hundred miles." 

The perspective that follows mountains blue 
— the imprisoned billows beating in vain — the 
wooded isles — the digression on the yew-tree — 
" Benlomond's lofty, cloud -envelop'd head," 
&c, are beautiful. A thunder-storm is a sub- 
ject which has been often tried, yet our poet 
in his grand picture has interjected a circum- 
stance, so far as I know, entirely original : — 

"the gloom 

Deep seam'd with frequent streaks of moving fire." 

In his preface to the Storm, " the glens how 
dark between," is noble highland landscape ! 
The " rain ploughing the red mould," too, is 
beautifully fancied. " Ben-lomond's lofty, 
pathless top," is a good expression ; and the 
surrounding view from it is truly great : the 



ing winds," the "hideous roar" of " the white 
cascades," are all in the same style. 

I forget that while I am thus holding forth 
with the heedless warmth of an enthusiast, I 
am perhaps tiring you with nonsense. I must, 
however, mention that the last verse of the six- 
teenth page is one of the most elegant compli- 
ments I have ever seen. I must likewise notice 
that beautiful paragraph beginning " The 
gleaming lake," &c. I dare not go into the 
particular beauties of the last two paragraphs, 
but they are admirably fine, and truly Ossianic. 

I must beg your pardon for this lengthened 
scrawl. I had no idea of it when I began — I 
should like to know who the author is ; but, 
whoever he be, please present him with my 
grateful thanks for the entertainment he has 
afforded me. 

A friend of mine desired me to commission 
for him two books, " Letters on the Religion 
essential to Man," a book you sent me before ; 
and "The World Unmasked, or the Philoso- 
pher the greatest Cheat." Send me them by 
the first opportunity. The Bible you sent me 
is truly elegant ; 1 only wish it had been in 
two volumes. 

R. B. 



Beneath the beaming sun," 

is well described ; and here he has contrived to 
enliven his poem with a little of that passion 
which bids fair, I think, to usurp the modern 
muses altogether. I know not how far this 
episode is a beauty upon the whole, but the 
swain's wish to carry " some faint idea of the 
vision bright," to entertain her u partial listen- 
ing ear," is a pretty thought. But in my opi- 
nion the most beautiful passages in the whole 
poem are the fowls crowding, in wintry frosts, 
to Lochlomond's " hospitable flood;" their 
wheeling round, their lighting, mixing, diving, 
&c. ; and the glorious description of the sports- 
man. This last is equal to any thing in the 
" Seasons." The idea of " the floating tribes 
distant seen, far glistering to the moon," pro- 
voking his eye as he is obliged to leave them, 
is a noble ray of poetic genius. " The howl- 



* [One of the conductors of the " London Star " at that 
period, and for many years afterwards, was John Mayne, a 
warm-hearted Dumfriesian, and author of "Logan Braes," 
and a lyric more touching still, " The Muffled Drum." His 
poem of "' Glasgow " has been several times reprinted, and 



No. CXXX. 



TO THE 

EDITOR OF "THE STAR."* 

November 8th, 1788. 

Sir: 

Notwithstanding the opprobrious epithets 
with which some of our philosophers and gloomy 
sectarians have branded our nature— the princi- 
ple of universal selfishness, the proneness to all 
evil, they have given us — still, the detestation 
in which inhumanity to the distressed, or inso- 
lence to the fallen, are held by all mankind, 
shews that they are not natives of the human 
heart. Even the unhappy partner of our kind, 
who is undone — the bitter consequence of his 
follies or his crimes — who but sympathizes with 
the miseries of this ruined profligate brother ? 
We forget the injuries, and feel for the man. 

I went, last Wednesday, to my parish church, 
most cordially to join in grateful acknowledg- 
ment to the Author of all Good, for the 
consequent blessings of the glorious revolution. 
To that auspicious event we owe no less than 
our liberties, civil and religious ; to it we are 
likewise indebted for the present Royal Family, 
the ruling features of whose administration have 



his " Siller Gun" appeared in a fourth edition in 1835, with 
notes by the Author. This amiable and worthy man died 
in 1836. It is, perhaps, one of the best of our local poems, 
full of character and manners— joyous humour and rustic 
gaieiy.] 



862 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



ever been mildness to the subject, and tender- 
ness of his rights.* 

Bred and educated in revolution principles, 
the principles of reason and common sense, it 
could not be any silly political prejudice which 
made my heart revolt at the harsh, abusive 
manner in which the reverend gentlemauf men- 
tioned the House of Stuart, and which, I am 
afraid, was too much the language of the day. 
We may rejoice sufficiently in our deliverance 
from past evils, without cruelly raking up the 
ashes of those whose misfortune it was, perhaps, 
as much as their crime, to be the authors of 
those evils ; and we may bless God for all his 
goodness to us as a nation, without, at the same 
time, cursing a few ruined, powerless exiles, 
who only harboured ideas, and made attempts, 
that most of us would have done, had we been 
in their situation. 

"The bloody and tyrannical House of Stuart" 
may be said with propriety and justice, when 
compared with the present royal family, and the 
sentiments of our days ; but is there no allow- 
ance to be made for the manners of the times ? 
Were the royal contemporaries of the Stuarts 
more attentive to their subjects' rights ? Might 
not the epithets of " bloody and tyrannical" 
be, with at least equal justice, applied to the 
House of Tudor, of York, or any other of their 
predecessors ? 

The simple state of the case, Sir, seems to be 
this : — at that period, the science of govern- 
ment, the knowledge of the true relation be- 
tween king and subject, was, like other sciences 
and other knowledge, just in its infancy, emerg- 
ing from dark ages of ignorance and barbarity. 

The Stuarts only contended for prerogatives 
which they knew their predecessors enjoyed, 
and which they saw their contemporaries enjoy- 
ing ; but these prerogatives were inimical to 
the happiness of a nation and the rights of 
subjects. 

In this contest between prince and people, 
the consequence of that light of science which 
had lately dawned over Europe, the monarch 
of France, for example, was victorious over 
the struggling liberties of his people : with us, 
luckily, the monarch failed, and his unwarrant- 
able pretensions fell a sacrifice to our rights and 
happiness. Whether it was owing to the wis- 
dom of leading individuals, or to the justling 
of parties, I cannot pretend to determine ; but 
likewise, happily for us, the kingly power was 
shifted into another branch of the family, who, 
as they owed the throne solely to the call of a 
free people, could claim nothing inconsistent 
with the covenanted terms which placed them 
there. 

The Stuarts have been condemned and laughed 



* [This passage evinces the loyal feeling-s of our Bard, and 
may well be contrasted with the bitter lines on Stirling, so 
ridiculously carped upon by some critics. 1 



at for the folly and impracticability of theil 
attempts in 1715 and 1745. That they failed, 
I bless God ; but cannot join in the ridicule 
against them. Who does not know that the 
abilities or defects of leaders and commanders 
are often hidden until put to the touchstone of 
exigency ; and that there is a caprice of fortune, 
an omnipotence in particular accidents and con- 
junctures of circumstances, which exalt us as 
heroes, or brand us as madmen, just as they are 
for or against us ? 

Man, Mr. Publisher, is a strange, weak, in- 
consistent being : who would believe, Sir, that 
in this our Augustan age of liberality and re- 
finement, while we seem so justly sensible and 
jealous of our rights and liberties, and animated 
with such indignation against the very memory 
of those who would have subverted them — that 
a certain people under our national protection 
should complain, not against our monarch and 
a few favourite advisers, but against our whole 
legislative BODY, for similar oppression, and 
almost in the very same terms, as our fore- 
fathers did of the House of Stuart ! I will not, 
I cannot, enter into the merits of the cause ; 
but I dare say the American Congress, in 1776, 
will be allowed to be as able and as enlightened 
as the English Convention was in 1688 ; and 
that their posterity will celebrate the centenary 
of their deliverance from us as duly and sin- 
cerely as we do ours from the oppressive mea- 
sures of the wrong-headed House of Stuart. 

To conclude, Sir ; let every man who has a 
tear for the many miseries incident to humanity, 
feel for a family illustrious as any in Europe, 
and unfortunate beyond historic precedent ; and 
let every Briton (and particularly every Scots- 
man), who ever looked with reverential pity on 
the dotage of a parent, cast a veil aver the 
fatal mistakes of the kings of his forefathers. 

R. B. 



No. CXXXI. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP, 

AT MOREHAM MAINS. 

Mauchline, 13th November, 1788. 

Madam : 
I had the very great pleasure of dining at 
Dunlop yesterday. Men are said to flatter 
women because they are weak ; if it is so, 
poets must be weaker still ; for Misses R. and 
K. and Miss G. M'K., with their flattering at- 
tentions, and artful compliments, absolutely 
turned my head. I own they did not lard me 
over as many a poet does his patron, but they 



f [The preacher alluded to was Mr. Kirkpatrick, a man 
equally stern and worthy. He got a " harmonious call " to a 
parish with a smaller stipend than Dunscore, and accepted it.] 



GENERAL CORRESPOND ENCE. 



663 



80 intoxicated me with their sly insinuations 
and delicate inuendos of compliment, that, if it 
had not been for a lucky recollection how much 
additional weight and lustre your good opinion 
and friendship must give me in that circle, I had 
certainly looked upon myself as a person of no 
small consequence. I dare not say one word 
how much I was charmed with the Major's 
friendly welcome, elegant manner, and acute 
remark, lest I should be thought to balance my 
orientalisms of applause over-against the finest 
quey [Heifer] in Ayr-shire, which he made me 
a present of to help and adorn my farming 
stock. As it was on hallow-day, I am deter- 
mined annually as that day returns, to decorate 
her horns with an ode of gratitude to the family 
of Dunlop. 

So soon as I know of your arrival at Dunlop, 
I will take the first conveniency to dedicate a 
day, or perhaps two, to you and friendship, 
under the guarantee of the Major's hospitality. 
There will soon be three-score and ten miles of 
permanent distance between us ; and now that 
your friendship and friendly correspondence is 
entwisted with the heart-strings of my enjoy- 
ment of life, I must indulge myself in a happy 
day of the " The feast of reason and the flow 
of soul." 

R. B. 



No. CXXXII. 
TO Mr. JAMES JOHNSON, 

ENGRAVER. 

Mauchline, November 15th, 1788. 

- My dear Sir : 

I have sent you two more songs. If you 
have got any tunes, or any thing to correct, 
please send them by return of the carrier. 

I can easily see, my dear friend, that you 
will very probably have four volumes. Perhaps 
you may not find your account lucratively in 
this business ; but you are a patriot for the 
music of your country ; and I am certain 
posterity will look on themselves as highly 
indebted to your public spirit. Be not in a 
hurry ; let us go on correctly, and your name 
shall be immortal. 

I am preparing a flaming preface for your 
third volume. I see every day new musical 
publications advertised ; but what are they ? 
Gaudy, hunted butterflies of a day, and then 



* [James Johnson, proprietor of the " Musical Museum," 
was a kindly sort of person, and indulged his correspondent, 
the Bard, with many a flowing bowl during their studies on 
the mystic art of uniting music and poetry. The engraved 
pewter - plates of the work became, after his death, the 
property of Mr. Blackwood ; and it is the wonder of many 
that a publisher so shrewd and enterprising has hitherto 
refrained from giving a new edition of a work so truly 
characteristic and national to the world : a copy of " The 



vanish for ever: but your work will outlive 
the momentary neglects of idle fashion, and 
defy the teeth of time. 

Have you never a fair goddess that leads you 
a wild-goose chase of amorous devotion ? Let 
me know a few of her qualities, such as 
whether she be rather black, or fair ; plump, 
or thin ; short, or tall, &c. ; and choose your 
air, and I shall task my muse to celebrate her.* 

R. B. 



No. CXXXIII. 
TO Dr. BLACKLOCK. 

Mauchline, November \bth, 1/88. 

Reverend and dear Sir : 

As I hear nothing of your motions, but that 
you are, or were, out of town, I do not know 
where this may find you, or whether it will 
find you at all. I wrote you a long letter, 
dated from the land of matrimony, in June ; 
but either it had not found you, or, what I 
dread more, it found you or Mrs. Blacklock in 
too precarious a state of health and spirits to 
take notice of an idle packet. 

I have done many little things for Johnson, 
since I had the pleasure of seeing you ; and I 
have finished one piece, in the way of Pope's 
" Moral Epistles ;" but, from your silence, I 
have every thing to fear, so I have only sent 
you two melancholy things, which I tremble 
lest they should too well suit the tone of your 
present feelings. 

In a fortnight I move, bag and baggage, to 
Nithsdale ; till then, my direction is at this 
place ; after that period, it will be at Ellisland, 
near Dumfries. It would extremely oblige me, 
were it but half a line, to let me know how 
you are, and where you are. Can I be indif- 
ferent to the fate of a man to whom I owe so 
much ? A man whom I not only esteem, but 
venerate. 

My warmest good wishes and most respectful 
compliments to Mrs. Blacklock, and Miss 
Johnston, if she is with you. 

I cannot conclude without telling you that 
I am more and more pleased with the step I 
took respecting " my Jean." Two things, 
from my happy experience, I set down as 
apophthegms in life. A wife's head is imma- 
terial, compared with her heart ; and — 
" Virtue's (for wisdom what poet pretends to 



Scots Musical Museum" is one of the rarest of all rare 
things in the public market.— Cunningham. 

A new edition has appeared of this celebrated work (1840;, 
containing some valuable remarks on Scottish Song by the late 
ingenious Mr. Stenhouse, and the indefatigable Librarian to 
the writers of the Signet, Mr. David Laing. We have en- 
riched the present edition of the Poet's works by many 
interesting quotations from the work in question. — C] 



;J64 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



it ?) ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her 
paths are peace." Adieu !* R. B. 

[Here follow "The mother's lament for the loss of her 
son," and the song beginning "The lazy mist hangs from 
the brow of the hill." See p. 280 ; and p. 380.] 



No. CXXXV. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, \~]th December, 1788. 
My DEAR HONOURED FRIEND : 

Yours, dated Edinburgh, which I have just 
read, makes me very unhappy. " Almost blind 
and wholly deaf," are melancholy news of 
human nature ; but when told of a much-loved 
and honoured friend, they carry misery in the 
sound. Goodness on your part, and gratitude 
on mine, began a tie which has gradually 
entwisted itself among the dearest chords of 
my bosom, and I tremble at the omens of your 
late and present ailing habit and shattered 
health. You miscalculate matters, widely, 
when you forbid my waiting on you, lest it 
should hurt my worldly concerns. My small 
scale of farming is exceedingly more simple and 
easy than what you have lately seen at More- 
ham Mains. But, be that as it may, the heart 
of the man and the fancy of the poet are the 
two grand considerations for which I live : if 
miry ridges and dirty dunghills are to engross 
the best part of the functions of my soul im- 
mortal, I had better been a rook or a magpie 
at once, and then I should not have been 
plagued with any ideas superior to breaking of 
clods and picking up grubs ; not to mention 
barn-door cocks or mallards, creatures with 
which I could almost exchange lives at any 
time. If you continue so deaf, I am afraid a 
visit will be no great pleasure to either of us ; 
but if I hear you are got so well again as to 
be able to relish conversation, look you to it, 
Madam, for I will make my threatenings good. 
I am to be at the New-year-day fair of Ayr ; 
and, by all that is sacred in the world, friend, 
I will come and see you. 

Your meeting, which you so well describe, 
with your old schoolfellow and friend, was 
truly interesting. Out upon the ways of the 
world ! — They spoil these "social offsprings of 
the heart." Two veterans of the " men of the 
world" would have met with little more heart- 
workings than two old hacks worn out on the 
road. Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase, 
" Auld lang syne," exceedingly expressive? 



* [It was little that Blacklock had in his power to do for 
a brother poet— but that little he did with a fond alacrity, 
and with a modest grace.—" Poetry was to him the dear 
solace of perpetual blindness ; cheerfulness, even to gaiety, 
was, notwithstanding that irremediable misfortune, long the 
predominant colour of his mind. In his latter vears, when 
the gloom might otherwise have thickened around him, hope, 



There is an old song and tune which have often 
thrilled through my soul. You know I am 
an enthusiast in old Scotch songs. I shall give 
you the verses on the other sheet, as I suppose 
Mr. Ker will save you the postage. 

" Should auld acquaintance be forgot ?"t 

Light be the turf on the breast of the Hea- 
ven-inspired poet who composed this glorious 
fragment ! There is more of the fire of native 
genius in it than in half-a-dozen of modern 
English Bacchanalians ! Now I am on my 
hobby-horse, I cannot help inserting two other 
old stanzas, which please me mightily : — 



" Go fetch to me a pint of wine.' 



R. B. 



No. CXXXV. 
TO Miss DAVIES. 



December, 1788. 



Madam : 



I understand my very worthy neighbour, 
Mr. Riddel, has informed you that I have made 
you the subject of some verses. There is some- 
thing so provoking in the idea of being the 
burthen of a ballad that I do not think Job, or 
Moses, though such patterns of patience and 
meekness, could have resisted the curiosity to 
know what that ballad was : so my worthy 
friend has done me a mischief, which I dare say 
he never intended ; and reduced me to the un- 
fortunate alternative of leaving your curiosity 
ungratified, or else disgusting you with foolish 
verses, the unfinished production of a random 
moment, and never meant to have met your 
ear. I have heard or read somewhere of a 
gentleman who had some genius, much eccen- 
tricity, and very considerable dexterity with 
his pencil. In the accidental group of life into 
which one is thrown, wherever this gentleman 
met with a character in a more than ordinary 
degree congenial to his heart, he used to steal 
a sketch of the face, merely, he said, as a nota 
bene, to point out the agreeable recollection 
to his memory. What this gentleman's pencil 
was to him, my muse is to me ; and the verses 
I do myself the honour to send you are a me- 
mento exactly of the same kind that he in- 
dulged in. 

It may be more owing to the fastidiousness 
of my caprice than the delicacy of my taste ; 
but I am so often tired, disgusted, and hurt with 



faith, devotion the most fervent and sublime, exalted his 
mind to heaven, and made him maintain his wonted cheer- 
fulness in the expectation of a speedy dissolution." — 
Heron.] 
t [See p. 474.3 J [See p. 379-1 

It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader that these 
songs are both of Burns's own composition. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



66b 



the insipidity, affectation, and pride of mankind, 
that when I meet with a person "after my own 
heart," I positively feel what an orthodox Pro- 
testant would call a species of idolatry, which 
acts on my fancy like inspiration ; and I can 
no more desist rhyming, on the impulse, than 
an Eolian harp can refuse its tones to the stream- 
ing air. A distich or two would be the conse- 
quence, though the object which hit my fancy 
were grey-bearded age ; but where my theme 
is youth and beauty, a young lady whose per- 
sonal charms, wit, and sentiment are equally 
striking and unaffected — by heavens ! though 
I had lived three-score years a married man, 
and three-score years before I was a married 
man, my imagination would hallow the very 
idea : and I am truly sorry that the enclosed 
stanzas have done such poor justice to such a 
subject.* 

R. B. 



No. CXXXVI. 



TO Mr. JOHN TENNANT. f 

December, 22, 1/88. 
1 yesterday tried my cask of whiskey for 
the first time, and I assure you it does you great 
credit. It will bear five waters, strong ; or six, 
ordinary toddy. The whiskey of this country 
is a most rascally liquor ; and, by consequence, 
only drunk by the most rascally part of the in- 
habitants. I am persuaded, if you once get a 
footing here, you might do a great deal of bu- 
siness, in the way of consumpt ; and should 
you commence distiller again, this is the native 
barley country. I am ignorant if, in your pre- 
sent way of dealing, you would think it worth 
your while to extend your business so far as this 
country side. I write you this on the account 
of an accident, which I must take the merit of 
having partly designed to. A neighbour of 



* [The Laird of Glenriddel, it appears, had informed 
" The charming, lovely Davies" 
that Burns was making a ballad on her beauty. The Poet 
took advantage of this, and sent the song enclosed in this 
truly characteristic letter. 

t [Mr. Tennant, of Ayr, one of the few surviving early 
friends of Burns, has the following recollections respecting 
him : — " He first knew the poet, when attending Mr. Mur- 
doch's school at Ayr, he being then fifteen, and Burns a 
year and a half older. Burns and tie were favourite pupils 
of Murdoch, who used to take them alternately to live with 
him, allowing them a share of his bed. Mr. Murdoch was 
a well-informed and zealous teacher — a particularly good 
French scholar, insomuch that he at one time taught the 
language in France. He thought his voice had some pecu- 
liar quality of power, adapting it in an uncommon degree 
for French pronunciation. To this predilection of the 
teacher it is probably owing that Burns acquired so much 
French, and had such a fancy for introducing snatches of it 
into his letters. Murdoch was so anxious to advance his two 
favourite pupils that, while they were living with him, he 
was always taking opportunities of communicating know- 
ledge. The intellectual gifts of Burns even at this time 
greatly impressed his fellow-scholar. Robert and Gilbert 



mine, a John Currie, miller in Carse-mill ]: — a 
man who is, in a word, a " very" good man, 
even for a £500 bargain — he and his wife were 
in my house the time I broke open the cask. 
They keep a country public house, and sell a 
great deal of foreign spirits, but all along 
thought that whiskey would have degraded this 
house. They were perfectly astonished at my 
whiskey, both for its taste and strength ; and, 
by their desire, I write you to know if you 
could supply them with liquor of an equal qua- 
lity, and what price. Please write me by first 
post, and direct to me at Ellisland, near Dum- 
fries. If you could take a jaunt this way your- 
self, I have a spare spoon, knife, and fork, very 
much at your service. My compliments to 
Mrs. Tennant, and all the good folks in Glen- 
conner and Barquharrie. 

R. B. 

No. CXXXVII. 
TO JOHN RICHMOND, 

EDINBURGH. 

\_Mossgiel, 9tk July, 1/86.] 

My dear Friend, 

With the sincerest grief I read your letter. 
You are truly a son of misfortune. I shall be 
extremely anxious to hear from you how your 
health goes on ; if it is in any way re-establish- 
ing : or if Leith promises well ; in short, how 
you feel in the inner man. 

No news worth any thing : only godly Bryan 
was in the inquisition yesterday, and half the 
country-side as witnesses against him. He still 
stands out steady and denying : but proof was 
led yester-night of circumstances highly suspi- 
cious ; almost de facto : one of the servant 
girls made faith that she upon a time rashly 
entered the house — to speak in your cant, "in 
the hour of cause." 



Burns were like no other young men. Their style of lan- 
guage was quite above that of their compeers. Robert had 
borrowed great numbers of books, and acquainted himself 
with their contents. He read rapidly, but remembered all 
that was interesting or valuable in what he read. He had 
the New Testament more at command than any other youth 
ever known to Mr. Tennant ; who was, altogether, more im 
pressed in these his boyish days by the discourse of the 
youthful poet than he afterwards was by his published 
verses. The elocution of Burns resembled that of Edmund 
Kean — deep, thoughtful, emphatic ; and in controversy, no 
man could stand before him."] 

i [The mill of John Currie stood on a small stream, which 
feeds the Loch of Friars-Carse. A little island seems to 
float in the midst of this sheet of water, to which it is said 
the people in ancient times, during an English raid, carried 
their most valuable effects. 

Among the letters and memoranda of the Poet, many lines 
and couplets occur in praise of ale, or the "dearest of dis- 
tillations — last and best." Some are worse — some better 
than the following : — 

" I may be drunk to-night, 
I'll never be drunk no more : 
But aye where they sell guid ale, 
I may look in at the door."] 



606 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



I have waited on Armour since her return 
home : not from any the least view of recon- 
ciliation, but merely to ask for her health, and 
— to you I will confess it — from a foolish han- 
kering fondness — very ill placed indeed. The 
mother forbade me the house, nor did Jean 
shew the penitence that might have been ex- 
pected. However, the priest, I am informed, 
will give me a certificate as a single man, if I 
comply with the rules of the church, which, 
for that very reason, I intend to do. 

I am going to put on sackcloth and ashes 

this day. I am indulged so far as to appear in 

my own seat. Peccavi, pater, miserere mei. 

My book will be ready in a fortnight. If you 

have any subscribers, return them by Connell. 

The Lord stand with the righteous : amen, 

amen.* . R. B. 
^ 

No. CXXXVIII. 
TO JAMES JOHNSON,! 

EDITOR OP THE SCOTS MUSICAL MUSEUM. 

[Lawnmarket, Friday noon, 3d May, 1/870 

Dear Sir: 

I have sent you a song never before known, 
for your collection ; the air by M 'Gibbon, but 
I know not the author of the words, as I got 
it from Dr. Blacklock. 

Farewell, my dear Sir ! I wished to have 
seen you, but I have been dreadfully throng, 
as I march to-morrow. Had my acquaintance 
with you been a little older, 1 would have asked 
the favour of your correspondence, as I have 
met with few people whose company and con- 
versation gave me so much pleasure, because I 
have met with few whose sentiments are so 
congenial to my own. 

When Dunbar and you meet, tell him that 
I left Edinburgh with the idea of him hanging 
somewhere about my heart. 

Keep the original of this sor.g till we meet 
again, whenever that may be. R. B. 

* 

No. CXXXIX. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, New-year-day Morning, 1789. 

This, dear Madam, is a morning of wishes, 
and would to God that I came under the apos- 

* [The minister who so boldly took it upon him to pro- 
nounce Burns a single man, after he had been married ac- 
cording to the law and usage of Scotland, was the Rev. Mr. 
Auld, of Mauchline. That he had no such power, no one 
jun deny. The kirk of Scotland and the civil law were long 
at variance on the important subject of marriage. When a 
young pair were married by a magistrate, the minister of 
their parish not uncommonly caused them to endure a re- 
buke in the church before they were re-admitted to its bo- 
som ; this was sometimes resisted by the more obstinate or 
knowing of the peasantry, and ill blood, harsh words, and 
threats of kirk-censure were the consequence. Burns, in- 
stead of mounting the common seat of shame, was allowed 
to stand in his own seat. There might be other reasons for 
this : Auld was alarmed lest severity on his part should call 
forth a burning satire on that of the other ; moreover, the re- 



tle James's description ! — the prayer of a right- 
eous man availeth much. In that case, Madam, 
you should welcome in a year full of blessings : 
every thing that obstructs or disturbs tranquil- 
lity and self-enjoyment should be removed, and 
every pleasure that frail humanity can taste 
should be yours. I own myself so little a 
Presbyterian that I approve of set times and 
seasons of more than ordinary acts of devotion, 
for breaking in on that habituated routine of 
life and thought, which is so apt to reduce our 
existence to a kind of instinct, or even some- 
times, and with some minds, to a state very 
little superior to mere machinery. 

This day ; the first Sunday of May ; a 
breezy, blue-sky ed noon some time about the 
beginning, and a hoary morning and calm 
sunny day, about the end of autumn ; these, 
time out of mind, have been with me a kind 
of holiday. 

I believe I owe this to that glorious paper in 
the Spectator, "The Vision of Mirza," a piece 
that struck my ye-ung fancy before I was capa- 
ble of fixing an idea to a word of three sylla- 
bles : " On the 5th day of the moon, which, 
according to the custom of my forefathers, I 
always keep holy, after having washed myself, 
and offered up my morning devotions, I as- 
cended the high hill of Bagdat, in order to 
pass the rest of the day in meditation and 
prayer." 

We know nothing, or next to nothing, of 
the substance or structure of our souls, so can- 
not account for those seeming caprices in them 
that one should be particularly pleased with 
this thing, or struck with that, which, on 
minds of a different cast, makes no extraordi- 
nary impression. I have some favourite flowers 
in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, 
the hare-bell, the fox-glove, the wild brier- 
rose, the budding birch, and the hoary haw- 
thorn, that I view and hang over with particu- 
lar delight. I never hear the loud, solitary 
whistle of the curlew in a summer noon, or the 
wild mixing cadence of a troop of grey plovers, 
in an autumnal morning, without feeling an 
elevation of soul like the enthusiasm of devo- 
tion or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to 
what can this be owing ? Are we a piece of 
machinery, which, like the Eolian harp, pas- 
sive, takes the impression of the passing acci- 

pentance-stool had other occupants : the poet was one of 
seven who appeared, figuratively at least, in sack-cloth on 
the same day. In one of his memorandum books occurs the 
following singular entry: — "Mem.: to enquire at Mr. 
M'Math whether, when a man has appeared in church for 
a child, and had another prior to it in point of time, but not 
discovered till after, he is liable for that one again. Note. 
The child was five and a half years old before the father 
was cited." 

The above Letter was communicated to Mr. Cunningham 
by James Grierson, Esq., of Dalgonar, in Dumfries-shire.] 

f [This letter was first published in Hogg and Motherwell's 
edition of the Poet's works, and was communicated by James 
Smith, Esq., of Jordan-hill. The song which it enclosed 
has not been ascertained.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



367 



dent ? Or do these workings argue something 
within us above the trodden clod ? I own my- 
self partial to such proofs of those awful and 
important realities — a God that made all things 
— man's immaterial and immortal nature — and 
a world of weal or woe beyond death and the 
grave.* 

R. B. 



No. CXL. 
TO Dr. MOORE. 



Sir, 



EUisland, 4th Jan. 1789. 



As often as I think of writing to you, which 
has been three or four times every week these 
six months, it gives me something so like the 
idea of an ordinary-sized statue offering at a 
conversation with the Rhodian colossus, that 
my mind misgives me, and the affair always 
miscarries somewhere between purpose and 
resolve. I have at last got some business with 
you, and business letters are written by the 
style-book. I say my business is with you, 
Sir, for you never had any with me, except the 
business that benevolence has in the mansion 
of poverty. 

The character and employment of a poet 
were formerly my pleasure, but are now my 
pride. I know that a very great deal of my 
j late eclat was owing to the singularity of my 
situation, and the honest prejudice of Scots- 
men j but still, as I said in the preface to my 
first edition, I do look upon myself as having 
some pretensions from Nature to the poetic 
character. I have not a doubt but the knack, 
the aptitude, to learn the muses' trade, is a gift 
bestowed by Him " who forms the secret bias 
of the soul ;" — but I as firmly believe that 
excellence in the profession is the fruit of 
industry, labour, attention, and pains. At 
least I am resolved to try my doctrine by the 
test of experience. Another appearance from 
the press I put off to a very distant day, a day 
that may never arrive — but poesy I am de- 
termined to prosecute with all my vigour. 
Nature has given very few, if any, of the 
profession, the talents of shining in every 
species of composition. I shall try (for until 
trial it is impossible to know) whether she has 



* [That this mood of feeling and reflection was not un- 
common in the household of " The Burns Family," the fol- 
lowing letter, written on the same day, will sufficiently shew : 

«n . n ^tt™ " Mossgiel, 1st Jan., 1789. 

" Dear Brother, ° ' ' ' " 

" I have just finished my New-year's day breakfast in the 

usual form, which naturally makes me call to mind the days 

of former years, and the society in which we used to begin 

them; and when I look at our family vicissitudes, ' thro' the 

dark postern of time long elapsed,' I cannot help remarking 

to you, my dear brother, how good the God of Seasons is to 

us ; and that, however some clouds may seem to lower over 

the portion of time before us, we have great reason to hope 

that all will turn out well. 



qualified me to shine in any one. The worst 
of it is, by the time one has finished a piece, 
it has been so often viewed and reviewed before 
the mental eye that one loses, in a good measure, 
the powers of critical discrimination. Here 
the best criterion I know is a friend — not only 
of abilities to judge, but with good-nature 
enough, like a prudent teacher with a young 
learner, to praise perhaps a little more than is 
exactly just, lest the thin-skinned animal fall 
into that most deplorable of all poetic diseases 
— heart-breaking despondency of himself. — 
Dare I, Sir, already immensely indebted to 
your goodness, ask the additional obligation of 
your being that friend to me ? I enclose you 
an essay of mine in a walk of poesy to me 
entirely new ; I mean the epistle addressed 
to R. G., Esq., or Robert Graham, of Fintray 
Esq., a gentleman of uncommon worth, to 
whom I lie under very great obligations. The 
story of the poem, like most of my poems, is 
connected with my own story, and to give you 
the one, I must give you something of the 
other. I cannot boast of Mr. Creech's in- 
genuous fair dealing with me. He kept me 
hanging about Edinburgh from the 7th August 
1787, until the 13th April 1788, before he 
would condescend to give me a statement of 
affairs ; nor had I got it even then, but for an 
angry letter I wrote him, which irritated his 
pride. " I could" not a " tale" but a detail 
" unfold," but what am I that should speak 
against the Lord's anointed Bailie of Edin- 
burgh ?f 

1 believe I shall, in the whole, (100?. copy-right 
included,) clear about 400Z. some little odds ; 
and even part of this depends upon what the 
gentleman has yet to settle with me. I give 
you this information, because you did me the 
honour to interest yourself much in my welfare. 
I give you this information, but I give it to 
yourself only, for I am still much in the 
gentleman's mercy. Perhaps I injure the 
man in the idea I am sometimes tempted to 
have of him — God forbid I should ! A little 
time will try, for in a month I shall go to 
town to wind up the business if possible. 

To give the rest of my story in brief, I have 
married " my Jean," and taken a farm : with 
the first step I have every day more and more 
reason to be satisfied : with the last, it is rather 
the reverse. I have a younger brother, who 



" Your mother and sisters, with Robert the second, join 
me in the compliments of the season to you and Mrs. Burns, 
and beg you will remember us in the same manner to Wil- 
liam, the' first time you see him. 

" I am, dear Brother, yours, 

" Gilbert Burns."] 

f [Those who publish books for authors are not in general 
the most prompt in rendering returns, and for this there is 
some reason, as well as excuse, in the forms and circum- 
stances of the book-trade ; but Mr. Creech was remarkable 
for his reluctance to settle accounts of any kind, and of this 
the poet seems to have been eminently avictim. — Chambers.] 



668 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



supports my aged mother ; another still younger 
brother, and three sisters, in a farm. On my 
last return from Edinburgh, it cost me about 
180Z. to save them from ruin. Not that I have 
lost so much — I only interposed between my 
brother and his impending fate by the loan of 
so much. I give myself no airs on this, for it 
was mere selfishness on my part : I was con- 
scious that the wrong scale of the balance was 
pretty heavily charged, and I thought that 
throwing a little filial piety and fraternal affec- 
tion into the scale in my favour, might help to 
smooth matters at the grand reckoning. There 
is still one thing would make my circumstances 
quite easy : I have an excise officer's com- 
mission, and I live in the midst of a country 
division. My request to Mr. Graham, who is 
one of the Commissioners of Excise, was, if in 
his power, to procure me that division. If I 
were very sanguine, I might hope that some of 
my great patrons might procure me a treasury 
warrant for supervisor, surveyor-general, &c. 

Thus, secure of a livelihood, " to thee, sweet 
poetry, delightful maid," I would consecrate 
my future days.* R. B. 



No. CXLI. 



TO Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

Ellisland, Jan. 6, 1789. 

Many happy returns of the season to you, 
my dear Sir ! May you be comparatively 
happy up to your comparative worth among 
the sons of men ; which wish would, I am 
sure, make you one of the most blest of the 
human race. 

I do not know if passing as a "Writer to the 
signet" be a trial of scientific merit, or a mere 
business of friends and interest. However it 
be, let me quote you my two favourite passages, 
which, though I have repeated them ten thou- 
sand times, still they rouse my manhood and 
steel my resolution like inspiration. 



' On Reason build resolve, 



That column of true majesty in man." 

Young. 

" Hear, Alfred, hero of the state, 
Thy genius heaven's high will declare ; 
The triumph of the truly great 
Is never, never to despair ! 
Is never to despair !" 

Masque of Alfred. 

I grant you enter the lists of life, to struggle 
for bread, business, notice, and distinction, in 



* [The poet was not slow in perceiving that Ellisland was 
not the bargain he had reckoned on. He had intimated this 
before to Margaret Chalmers ; and time onlv confirmed his 
surmises. Well might he apply to himself the words of 
Scripture, " And behold nothing which this man sets his 
heart upon shall prosper." — Cunningham.] 



common with hundreds. — But who are they ? 
Men, like yourself, and of that aggregate body 
your compeers, seven tenths of whom come 
short of your advantages natural and acci- 
dental ; while two of those that remain either 
neglect their parts, as flowers blooming in a 
desert, or mis-spend their strength, like a bull 
goring a bramble bush. 

But to change the theme : I am still catering 
for Johnson's publication ; and among others, 
I have brushed up the following old favourite 
song a little, with a view to your worship. I 
have only altered a word here and there ; but 
if you like the humour of it, we shall think of 
a stanza or two to add to it.f 

R. B. 



No. CXLII. 



PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART. 



Sir, 



Ellisland, 20th Jan. 1789. 



The enclosed sealed packet I sent to Edin- 
burgh, a few days after I had the happiness of 
meeting you in Ayr-shire, but you were gone 
for the Continent. I have now added a few 
more of my productions, those for which I am 
indebted to the Nithsdale Muses. The piece 
inscribed to R. G., Esq., is a copy of verses I 
sent Mr. Graham, of Fin tray, accompanying a 
request for his assistance in a matter, to me, of 
very great moment. To that gentleman I am 
already doubly indebted : for deeds of kindness 
of serious import to my dearest interests, done 
in a manner grateful to the delicate feelings of 
sensibility. This poem is a species of composi- 
tion new to me, but I do not intend it shall be 
my last essay of the kind, as you will see by 
the " Poet's Progress." These fragments, if 
my design succeed, are but a small part of the 
intended whole. I propose it shall be the work 
of my utmost exertions, ripened by years ; of 
course I do not wish it much known. The 
fragment beginning " A little upright, pert, 
tart, &c," I have not shewn to man living, till 
I now send it you. It forms the postulata, the 
axioms, the definition of a character, which, if 
it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of 
lights. This particular part I send you merely 
as a sample of my hand at portrait-sketching ; 
but, lest idle conjecture should pretend to point 
out the original, please to let it be for your 
single, sole inspection. 



t [The name of the song which the poet brushed up and 
sent to his friend is no where intimated; it was no doubt one 
of a humorous or convivial cast. He was at this period, and 
indeed for years after, busily employed in writing original 
compositions, and in collecting and amending scraps of old 
song for Johnson's Musical Museum.] 



®r= 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



66! 



Need I make any apology for this trouble to 
a gentleman who has treated me with such 
marked benevolence and peculiar kindness — 
who has entered into my interests with so much 
zeal, and on whose critical decisions I can so 
fully depend ? A poet as I am by trade, these 
decisions are to me of the last consequence. My 
late transient acquaintance among some of the 
mere rank and file of greatness, I resign with 
ease ; but to the distinguished champions of 
genius and learning I shall be ever ambitious 
of being known. The native genius and accu- 
rate discernment in Mr. Stewart's critical stric- 
tures ; the justness (iron justice, for he has no 
bowels of compassion for a poor poetic sinner) 
of Dr. Gregory's remarks, and the delicacy of 
Professor Dalzel's taste, I shall ever revere.* 

I shall be in Edinburgh some time next 
month. 

I have the honour to be, Sir, 
Your highly obliged, and very humble servant, 

R. B. 



No CXLIII. 



TO BISHOP GEDDES.f 

Ellisland, 3d Feb. 1789. 

Venerable Father, 

As I am conscious that, wherever I am, you 
do me the honour to interest yourself in my wel- 
fare, it gives me pleasure to inform you, that I 
am here at last, stationary in the serious business 
of life, and have now not only the retired leisure, 
but the hearty inclination, to attend to those 
great and important questions — what I am ? 
where I am ? and for what I am destined ? 

In that first concern, the conduct of the man, 
there was ever but one side on which I was 
habitually blameable, and there I have secured 
myself in the way pointed out by Nature and 
Nature's God. I was sensible that, to so help- 
less a creature as a poor poet, a wife and family 



* [The poet alludes to the merciless strictures of Dr. Gre- 
gory on the poem the " Wounded Hare," when he says he has 
no bowels of compassion for a poor poetic sinner. Stewart 
was more gentle in his criticisms : of him and his lady — 
a poetess of no mean powers— Burns ever spoke in terms 
almost rapturous ; they were kind to him when friends were 
few and praise scanty — he was not a man to forget such 
obligations.] 

t [Alexander Geddes, to whom this letter is addressed, was 
born at Arradowl in Banff-shire, in 1737- He was a scholar 
and controversialist ; a poet, too, and one of the bishops of 
the broken remnant of the ancient Catholic church of Scot- 
land. He is known in ver.-e as the author ol a very clever 
rustic poem, beginning 

" There was a wee wifiekie, was coming frae the fair." 

He is also known as the translator of one of the books of 
the Iliad. In his controversies and conversation he was so 



were incumbrances, which a species of prudence 
would bid him shun ; but when the alternative 
was, being at eternal warfare with myself, on 
account of habitual follies, to give them no 
worse name, which no general example, no 
licentious wit, no sophistical infidelity, would, 
to me, ever justify, I must have been a fool to 
have hesitated, and a madman to have made 
another choice. Besides, I had in " my Jean" 
a long and much loved fellow creature's hap- 
piness or misery among my hands — and who 
could trifle with such a deposit ? 

In the affair of a livelihood, I think myself 
tolerably secure : I have good hopes of my 
farm, but should they fail, I have an excise 
commission, which, on my simple petition, will, 
at any time, procure me bread. There is a 
certain stigma affixed to the character of an 
excise officer, but. I do not pretend to borrow 
honour from my profession ; and though the 
salary be comparatively small, it is luxury to 
any thing that the first twenty-five years of my 
life taught me to expect. 

Thus, with a rational aim and method in life, 
you may easily guess, my reverend and much- 
honoured friend, that my characteristical trade 
is not forgotten. I am, if possible, more than 
ever an enthusiast to the muses. I am determined 
to study man and nature, and in that view in- 
cessantly ; and to try if the ripening and cor- 
rections of years can enable me to produce 
something worth preserving. 

You will see in your book, which I beg your 
pardon for detaining so long, that I have been 
tuning my lyre on the banks of Nith. Some 
large poetic plans that are floating in my imagi- 
nation, or partly put in execution, I shall im- 
part to you when I have the pleasure of meeting 
with you ; which, if you are then in Edin- 
burgh, I shall have about the beginning of 
March. 

That acquaintance, worthy Sir, with which 
you were pleased to honour me, you must still 
allow me to challenge ; for with whatever un- 
concern I give up my transient connexion with 
the merely Great, I cannot lose the patronizing 
notice of the learned and good, without the bit- 
terest regret. R. B. 



liberal that he incurred the displeasure of some of his bre- 
thren in Scotland, which induced him to remove to London, 
where he was patronized by Lord Petre, and undertook a 
" New Translation of the Bible," the prospectus to which is 
said to have alarmed both Jews and Christians. He was a 
man of undoubted talents and learning; his temper was 
quick, and his vanity not little. He died 20th February, 
1802, in the sixty-fifth year of his asie. 

The volume which Burns sent to the bishop was the Edin- 
burgh copy of his poems, with the addition, in his own 
hand-writing, of such compositions as the muse of Nithsdalc 
had inspired. The blanks too in the print were all filled up. 
This precious book belongs to Margaret Geddes, the wife of 
John Hyslop, i-urgeon, Finsbury-square, grandson of John 
Maxwell, of Tcrraughty, to whom the poet addressed one of 
his most spirited epistles ; it is in good preservation, and iii 
equally excellent hands. — Cunningham.] 



670 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CXLIV. 
TO Mr. JAMES BURNESS, 

El/island, 9th Feb. 1789. 

My dear Sir, 

Why I did not write to you long ago is 
what, even on the rack, I could not answer. 
If you can in your mind form an idea of indo- 
lence, dissipation, hurry, cares, change of coun- 
try, entering on untried scenes of life, all com- 
bined, you will save me the trouble of a blush- 
ing apology. It could not be want of regard 
for a man for whom I had a high esteem before 
I knew him — an esteem which has much in- 
creased since I did know him ; and, this caveat 
entered, I shall plead guilty to any other in- 
dictment with which you shall please to charge 
me. 

After I parted from you, for many months 
my life was one continued scene of dissipation. 
Here at last I am become stationary, and have 
taken a farm and — a wife. 

The farm is beautifully situated on the Nith, 
a large river that runs by Dumfries, and falls 
into the Sol way frith. I have gotten a lease 
of my farm as long as I pleased ; but how it 
may turn out is just a guess, and it is yet to 
improve and enclose, &c. ; however, I have 
good hopes of my bargain on the whole. 

My wife is my Jean, with whose story you 
are partly acquainted. I found I had a much 
loved fellow - creature's happiness or misery 
among my hands, and I durst not trifle with so 
sacred a deposit. Indeed I have not any reason 
to repent the step I have taken, as I have at- 
tached myself to a very good wife, and have 
shaken myself loose of every bad failing. 

I have found my book a very profitable busi- 
ness, and with the profits of it I have begun 
life pretty decently. Should fortune not favour 
me in farming, as I have no great faith in her 
fickle ladyship, I have provided myself in 
another resource, which, however some folks 
may affect to despise it, is still a comfortable 
shift in the day of misfortune. In the heyday 
of my fame, a gentleman, whose name at least 
I dare say you know, as his estate lies some- 
where near Dundee, Mr. Graham, of Fintray, 
one of the Commissioners of Excise, offered me 
the commission of an excise officer. I thought 
it prudent to accept the offer ; and accordingly 
I took my instructions, and have my commis- 
sion by me. Whether I may ever do duty, or 
be a penny tiie better for it, is what I do not 
know ; but I have the comfortable assurance 
that, come whatever ill fate will, I can, on 



* [Fanny Burns, the poet's cousin, merited all the com- 
mendations he has here bestowed. She subsequently be- 
came the wife of Adam Armour, the brother of bonnie Jean ; 



my simple petition to the Excise-Board, get 
into employ. 

We have lost poor uncle Robert this winter. 
He has long been very weak, and, with very 
little alteration on him, he expired 3rd Jan. 

His son William has been with me this win- 
ter, and goes in May to be an apprentice to a 
mason. His other son, the eldest, John, comes 
to me I expect in summer. They are both re- 
markably stout young fellows, and promise to 
do well. His only daughter, Fanny, has been 
with me ever since her father's death, and I 
purpose keeping her in my family till she be 
quite woman grown, and fit for better service. 
She is one of the cleverest girls, and has one 
of the most amiable dispositions, I have ever 
seen.* 

All friends in this country and Ayr-shire are 
well. Remember me to all friends in the north. 
My wife joins me in compliments to Mrs. B. 
and family. 

I am ever, my dear Cousin, 

Yours, sincerely, 

R. B. 



No. CXLV 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, 4th March, 1789. 

Here am I, my honoured friend, returned 
safe from the capital. To a man who has a 
home, however humble or remote — if that 
home is, like mine, the scene of domestic com- 
fort — the bustle of Edinburgh will soon be a 
business of sickening disgust. 

"Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate you!" 

When I must skulk into a corner, lest the 
rattling equipage of some gaping blockhead 
should mangle me in the mire, I am tempted to 
exclaim — " What merits has he had, or what 
demerit have I had, in some state of pre-exist- 
ence, that he is ushered into this state of being 
with the sceptre of rule, and the key of riches 
in his puny fist, and I am kicked into the 
world, the sport of folly, or the victim of 
pride ?'' I have read somewhere of a monarch 
(in Spam I think it was), who was so out of 
humour with the Ptolomean system of astro- 
nomy that he said, had he been of the Crea- 
tor's council, he could have saved him a great 
deal of labour and absurdity- I will not de- 
fend this blasphemous speech ; but often, as I 
have glided with humble stealth through the 
pomp of Princes'-street, it has suggested itself 
to me, as an improvement on the present human 
figure, that a man, in proportion to his own. 



she went with her husband to Mauchline, and is still alive 
(1838). Her son is now with his paternal uncle, pursuing 
successfully the honourable calling of a London merchant.) 



©_-=^ 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



671 



conceit of his consequence in the world, could 
have pushed out the longitude of his common 
size, as a snail pushes out his horns, or as we 
draw out a perspective. This trifling alteration, 
not to mention the prodigious saving it would 
be in the tear and wear of the neck and limb- 
sinews of many of his majesty's iiege subjects, 
in the way of tossing the head and tiptoe strut- 
ting, would evidently turn out a vast advan- 
tage, in enabling us at once to adjust the cere- 
monials in making a bow, or making way to a 
great man, and that too within a second of the 
precise spherical angle of reverence, or an inch 
of the particular point of respectful distance, 
which the important creature itself requires ; 
as a measuring-glance at its towering altitude 
would determine the affair like instinct. 

You are right, Madam, in your idea of poor 
Mylne's poem, which he has addressed to me. 
The piece has a good deal of merit, but it has 
one great fault — it is, by far, too long. Besides, 
my success has encouraged such a shoal of ill- 
spawned monsters to crawl into public notice, 
under the title of Scottish Poets, that the very 
term Scottish Poetry borders on the burlesque. 
When I write to Mr. Carfrae, I shall advise 
him rather to try one of his deceased friend's 
English pieces. I am prodigiously hurried with 
my own matters, else I would have requested a 
perusal of all Mylne's poetic performances ; 
and would have offered his friends my assist- 
ance in either selecting or correcting what 
would be proper for the press. What it is that 
occupies me so much, and perhaps a little op- 
presses my spirits, shall fill up a paragraph in 
some future letter. In the mean time, allow 
me to close this epistle with a few lines done by 
a friend of mine * * *. I give you them, 
that, as you have seen the original, you may 
guess whether one or two alterations I have 
ventured to make in them be any real im- 
provement. 

" Like the fair plant that from our touch withdraws, 
Shrink, mildly fearful, even from applause, 
Be all a mother's fondest hope can dream, 
And all you are, my charming * * * *, seem. 
Straight as the fox-glove, ere her bells disclose, 
Mild as the maiden-blushing hawthorn blows, 
Fair as the fairest of each lovely kind, 
Your form shall be the image of your mind ; 
Your manners shall so true your soul express 
That all shall long to know the worth they guess ; 
Congenial hearts shall greet with kindred love, 
And even sick'ning envy must approve."* 

R. B. 



* [These beautiful lines, we have reason to believe, are 
the production of the lady to whom this letter is addressed. 
— Curkie.] 

t [The letter of the Rev. Peter Carfrae to the poet of Ayr- 
shire is as follows : — 

January 2nd, 1789. 

Sir, — If you have lately seen Mrs. Dunlop, of Dnnlop, 
you have certainly heard of the author of the verses which 



No. CXLVI. 
TO THE Rev. P. CARFRAE. 

March, 178Q. 

Rev. Sib, : 

I do not recollect that I have ever felt a se- 
verer pang of shame than on looking at the 
date of your obliging letter which accompanied 
Mr. Mylne's poem. 

I am much to blame : the honour Mr. Mylne 
has done me, greatly enhanced in its value by 
the endearing, though melancholy, circumstance 
of its being the last production of his muse, 
deserved a better return. 

I have, as you hint, thought of sending a 
copy of the poem to some periodical publica- 
tion ; but, on second thoughts, I am afraid that, 
in the present case, it would be an improper 
step. My success, perhaps as much accidental 
as merited, has brought an inundation of non- 
sense under the name of Scottish poetry. Sub- 
scription - bills for Scottish poems have so 
dunned, and daily do dun the public, that 
the very name is in clanger of contempt. 
For these reasons, if publishing any of Mr. 
Mylne's poems in a magazine, &c, be at 
all prudent, in my opinion it certainly should 
not be a Scottish poem. The profits of the 
labours of a man of genius are, I hope, as 
honourable as any profits whatever ; and Mr. 
Mylne's relations are most justly entitled to 
that honest harvest which fate has denied him- 
self to reap. But let the friends of Mr. Mylne's 
fame (among whom I crave the honour of rank- 
ing myself) always keep in eye his respectabi- 
lity as a man and as a poet, and take no mea- 
sure that, before the world knows any thing 
about him, would risk his name and character 
being classed with the fools of the times. 

I have, Sir, some experience of publishing ; 
and the way in which I would proceed with I 
Mr. Mylne's poems is this : — I would publish, 
in two or three English and Scottish public 
papers, any one of his English poems which 
should, by private judges, be thought the most 
excellent, and mention it, at the same time, as 
one of the productions of a Lothian farmer, of 
respectable character, lately deceased, whose 
poems his friends had it in idea to publish, soon, 
by subscription, for the sake of his numerous 
family : — not in pity to that family, but in 
justice to what his friends think the poetic 
merits of the deceased ; and to secure, in the 
most effectual manner, to those tender con- 
nexions, whose right it is, the pecuniary reward 
of those merits.f R. B. 



accompany this letter. He was a man highly respectable for 
every accomplishment and virtue which adorns the character 
of a man or a Christian. To a great degree of literature, of 
taste, and poetic genius, were added an invincible modesty 
of temper, which prevented, in some measure, his figuring in 
life, and confined the perfect knowledge of his character and 
talents to the small circle of his chosen friends. He was 
ultimately taken from us, a few weeks ago, by an inflamma- 



672 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CXLVII. 
TO Dr. MOORE. 



Ellisland, 23rd March, 17: 



Sir: 



The gentleman who will deliver you this is 
a Mr. Nielson, a worthy clergyman in my 
neighbourhood, and a very particular acquaint- 
ance of mine.* As I have troubled him with 
this packet, I must turn him over to your good- 
ness, to recompense him for it in a way in 
which he much needs your assistance, and 
where you can effectually serve him : — Mr. 
Nielson is on his way for France, to wait on his 
Grace of Queensberry, on some little business 
of a good deal of importance to him, and he 
wishes for your instructions respecting the most 
eligible mode of travelling, &c, for him, when 
he has crossed the Channel. I should not have 
dared to take this liberty with you, but that I 
am told, by those who have the honour of your 
personal acquaintance, that to be a poor honest 
Scotchman is a letter of recommendation to you, 
and that to have it in your power to serve such 
a character gives you much pleasure. 

The enclosed ode is a compliment to the 
memory of the late Mrs. Oswald, of Auchen- 
cruive. You, probably, knew her personally, 
an honour of which I cannot boast ; but I 



tory fever, in the prime of life — beloved by all who enjoyed 
his acquaintance, and lamented by all who have any regard 
for virtue or genius. There is a woe pronounced in Scripture 
against the person whom all men speak well of ; if ever that 
woe fell upon the head of mortal man, it fell upon him. He 
has left behind him a considerable number of compositions, 
chiefly poetical ; sufficient, I imagine, to make a large octavo 
volume. In particular, two complete and regular tragedies, 
a farce of three acts, and some smaller poems on different 
subjects. It falls to my share, who have lived in the most 
intimate and uninterrupted friendship with him from my 
youth upwards, to transmit to you the verses he wrote on the 
publication of your incomparable poems. It is probable 
they were his last, as they were found in his scrutoire, folded 
up in he form of a letter addressed to you, and, I imagine, 
were only prevented from being sent by himself by that me- 
lancholy dispensation which we still bemoan. The verses 
themselves I will not p etend to criticise when writing to a 
gentleman whom I consider as entirely qualified to judge of 
their merit. They are the only verses he seems to have at- 
tempted in the Scottish style; and I hesitate not to say, in 
general, that they will bring no dishonour on the Scottish 
muse ; — and allow me to add that, if it is your opinion they 
are not unworthy of the Author, and will be no discredit to 
you, it is the inclination of Mr. Mylne's friends that they 
should be immediately published in some periodical work, 
to give the world a specimen of what may be expected from 
his performances in the poetic line, which, perhaps, will be 
afterwards published for the advantage of his family. 

I must beg the favour of a letter from you, acknowledging 
the receipt of this, and to be allowed to subscribe myself, 
With great regard, 

Sir, your most obedient servant, 

P. Carfrae.] 

* [The Rev. Edward Nielson, whom the poet introduces 
to the notice of Moore, was Minister of Kirkbean, on the 
Solway : — he was eloquent and learned, a jovial man, and 
loved good cheer and merry company, rather more than be- 
came his sti.tion. He lived on a smuggling coast ; numbered 



spent my early years in her neighbourhood, and 
among her servants and tenants. I know that 
she was detested with the most heartfelt cor- 
diality. However, in the particular part of 
her conduct which roused my poetic wrath, she 
was much less blameable. In January last, on 
my road to Ayr-shire, I had put up at Bailie 
Whigham's, in Sanquhar, the only tolerable 
inn in the place. The frost was keen, and the 
grim evening and howling wind were ushering 
in a night of snow and drift. My horse and I 
were both much fatigued with the labours of 
the day, and just as my friend the Bailie and I 
were bidding defiance to the storm, over a 
smoking bowl, in wheels the funeral pageantry 
of the late great Mrs. Oswald, and poor I was 
forced to brave all the horrors of the tempestu- 
ous night, and jade my horse, my young fa- 
vourite horse, whom I had just christened Pe- 
gasus, twelve miles farther on, through the 
wildest moors and hills of Ayr-shire, to New 
Cumnock, the next inn. The powers of poesy 
and prose sink under me, when I would de- 
scribe what I felt. Suffice it to say that, when 
a good fire at New Cumnock had so far reco- 
vered my frozen sinews, I sat down and wrote 
the enclosed ode. 

I was at Edinburgh lately, and settled finally 
with Mr. Creech ; and I must own that, at 
last, he has been amicable and fair with me. 

R. B.| 



among his parishioners men concerned in the contraband 
trade, nor did he escape the suspicion of silently permitting 
a traffic which injured the morals of his people more deeply 
than either his admonitions or example could mend.] 

t [Dr. Moore's reply to this letter is as follows : — 

Clifford-street, June 10, 1789- 
" Dear Sir, 

" I thank you for the different communications you have 
made me of your occasional productions in manuscript, all 
of which have merit, and some of them merit of a different 
kind from what appears in the poems you have published. 
You ought carefully to preserve all your occasional produc- 
tions, to correct andimpro\e them at your leisure; and when 
you can select as many of these as will make a volume, pub- 
lish it either at Edinburgh or London, by subscription ; on 
such an occasion, it may be in my power, as it is very much 
in my inclinations, to be of service to you. 

" If I were to offer an opinion, it would be that in your 
future productions you should abandon the Scottish stanzr 
and dialect, and adopt the measure and language of modern 
English poetry. 

" The stanza which you use in imitation of Christ Kirk 
on the Green, with the tiresome repetition of 'that day,' is 
fatiguing to English ears, and I should think not very agree- 
able to Scottish. 

" All the fine satire and humour of your Holy Fair is lost 
on the English ; yet, without more trouble to yourself, you 
could have conveyed the whole to them. The same is true 
of some of your other poems. In your Epistle to James 
Smith, the stanzas from that beginning with this line, ' This 
life, so far's I understand," to that which ends with, ' Short 
while it grieves,' are easy, flowing, gaily philosophical, and. 
of Horatian elegance— the language is English, with a feu 
Scottish words, and some of those so harmonious as to ad' 
to the beauty ; for what poet would not prefer gloaming 9 
twilight ? 

" I imagine that by carefully keeping, and occasionally 
polishing and correcting, those verses, which the Muse dic- 
tates, you will, within a year or two, have another volume as 
large as the first, ready for the press ; and this without di- 
verting you from every proper attention to the study and 
pr.icti e of husbandry, in which I understand you are vert 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



673 



No. CXLVIII. 
TO Mr. WILLIAM BURNS. 

Isle, March 25, 1789. 
I have stolen from my corn-sowing this mi- 
nute to write a line to accompany your shirt 
and hat, for I can no more. Your sister Nan- 
nie arrived yesternight, and begs to be remem- 
bered to you. Write me every opportunity — 
never mind postage. My head, too, is as addle 
as an egg this morning, with dining abroad 
yesterday. I received yours by the mason. 
Forgive me this foolish-looking scrawl of an 
epistle. 

I am ever, 

My dear William, 
Yours, 

R. B. 

P. S.— If you are not then gone from Long- 
town, I'll write you a long letter by thij day 
se'nnight. If you should not succeed in your 
tramps, don't be dejected, nor take any rash step 
— return to us in that case, and we will court 
Fortune's better humour. Remember this, I 
charge you.* 

R. B. 



No. CXLIX. 
TO Mr. HILL. 

Ellisland, 2nd April, 1789. 

I will make no excuse, my dear Bibliopolus, 
(God forgive me for murdering language !) 
that I have sat down to write you on this vile 
paper. 

It is economy, Sir ; it is that cardinal virtue, 
prudence ; so I beg you will sit down, and either 
compose or borrow a panegyric. If you are 
going to borrow, apply to * * * * * *f to com- 
pose, or rather to compound, something very 
clever on my remarkable frugality ; that I 
write to one of my most esteemed friends on 
this wretched paper, which was originally in- 
tended for the venal fist of some drunken ex- 
ciseman, to take dirty notes in a miserable 
vault of an ale-cellar. 



learned, and which I fancy you will choose to adhere to as a 
wife, while poetry amuses you from time to time as a mis- 
tress. The former, like a prudent wife, must not shew ill 
humour, although you retain a sneaking kindness to this 
agreeable gipsey, and pay her occasional visits, which in no 
manner alienates your heart from your lawful spouse, but 
tends, on the contrary, to promote her interest. I desired 
Mr. Ca:lell to write to Mr. Creech, to send you a copy 
of Zeluco, This performance has had great success here ; 
but I shall bft glad to have your opinion of it, because I 
value your opinion, and because 1 know you are above say- 
ing what you do not think. 

" I beg you will offer my best wishes to my very good 
friend, Mrs. Hamilton, who I understand is your neighbour. 
If she is as happy as I wish her, she is happy enough. 
Make my compliments also to Mrs. Burns, and believe me 
to be with sincere esteem, dear Sir, yours, &c. " 

* [The original of the above letter from the Poet to his 



Frugality ! thou mother of ten thousand 
blessings — thou cook of fat beef and dainty 
greens ! — thou manufacturer of warm Shetland 
hose, and comfortable surtouts ! — thou old 
housewife, darning thy decayed stockings with 
thy ancient spectacles on thy aged nose ! — lead 
me, hand me in thy clutching palsied fist, up 
those heights, and through those thickets, hi- 
therto inaccessible, and impervious to my anxious, 
weary feet : — not those Parnassian crags, bleak 
and barren, where the hungry worshippers of 
fame are, breathless, clambering, hanging be- 
tween heaven and hell ; but those glittering- 
cliffs of Potosi, where the all-sufficient, all- 
powerful deity, Wealth, holds his immediate 
Court of joys and pleasures ; where the sunny 
exposure of plenty, and the hot walls of pro- 
fusion, produce those blissful fruits of luxury, 
exotics in this world, and natives of Paradise ! 
— Thou withered sybil, my sage conductress, 
usher me into thy refulgent, adored presence I — 
The power, splendid and potent as he now is, 
was once the puling nursling of thy faithful 
care, and tender arms !— Call me thy son, thy 
cousin, thy kinsman, or favourite, and adjure 
the god, by the scenes of his infant years, no 
longer to repulse me as a stranger, or an alien, 
but to favour me with his peculiar countenance 
and protection ! — He daily bestows his greatest 
kindness on the undeserving and the worthless 
— assure him that I bring ample documents of 
meritorious demerits ! Pledge yourself for me, 
that, for the glorious cause of Lucre, I will 
do any thing, be any thing — but the horse- 
leech of private oppression, or the vulture of 
public robbery ! 

But to descend from heroics. 

* * * * 

1 want a Shakspeare ; I want likewise an 
English dictionary — Johnson's, I suppose, is the 
best. In these, and all my prose commissions, 
the cheapest is always the best for me. There 
is a small debt of honour that I owe Mr. Robert 
Cleghorn, in Saughton Mills, my worthy friend, 
and your well-wisher. Please give him, and 
urge him to take it, the first time you see 
him, ten shillings worth of any thing you have 
to sell, and place it to my account. 



brother William, is in the possession of Mr. J. Fraser, of 
the Red Lion Inn, Shakspeare Square, Edinburgh (a pout 
of no mean powers, and author of "Craigmillai," the 
"Soldier's Dream," and many other pieces, 1 vol. published 
in Edinburgh some time ago). The letter is framed and 
placed between two plates of glass — is suspended in one of 
the public apartments of the "Red Lion," where, trifling 
though it be, it is regarded by many visiters as a relic of 
no ordinary interest, and may be seen by any of the Poet's 
admirers. The letter was presented by Mr. Begg, school- 
master, Ormiston, East Lothian, the poet's nephew (son 
of Nannie, alluded to in the letter,) to Mr. St. George 
Haddington, and by the latter gentleman to our friend 
Fraser. — The letter itself is common-place enough, but the 
P.S. is strongly characteristic of Burns." — Kilmarnock 
Journal.'] 

f [Probably the name required to fill up this blank was 
Cueecii. — Chambers.] 

2 X 



674 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



The library scheme that I mentioned to you 
is already begun, under the direction of Cap- 
tain Riddel. There is another in emulation of 
it going on at Closeburn, under the auspices of 
Mr. Monteith, of Closeburn, which will be on 
a greater scale than ours. Captain Riddel gave 
his infant society a great many of his old books, 
else I had written you on that subject ; but, 
one of these days, 1 shall trouble you with a 
commission for " The Monkland Friendly So- 
ciety"* — a copy of The Spectator, Mirror, and 
Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of the World, 
Guthrie's Geographical Grammar, with some 
religious pieces, will likely be our first order. 

When I grow richer, I will write to you on 
gilt post, to make amends for this sheet. At 
present, every guinea has a five guinea errand 
with 

My dear Sir, 
Your faithful, poor, but honest friend, 
R. B. 



No. CL. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, Wi April, 1789. 

I no sooner hit on any poetic plan of fancy 
but I wish to send it to you : and if knowing 
and reading these give half the pleasure to you 
that communicating them to you gives to me 
I am satisfied. 

I have a poetic whim in my head, which I 
at present dedicate, or rather inscribe, to the 
Right Hon. Charles James Fox ; but how long 
that fancy may hold, I cannot say. A few of 
the first lines I have just rough-sketched as 
follows : — [See the Sketch inscribed to the 
illustrious Statesman, page 283, with some 
additional lines recently published.] 

On the 20th current I hope to have the 
honour of assuring you, in person, how sin- 
cerely I am — 

R. B. 



No. CLI. 



TO Mrs. M'MURDO, 



DRUMLANRIG. 



Madam : 



Ellisland, 2nd May 1789. 



I have finished the piece which had the 
happy fortune to be honoured with your appro- 
bation ; and never did little Miss with more 



* [The Monkland Society existed only while Captain Rid- 
del lived, whose activity and taste aided in its establishment 
and continuance. Such clubs, when wisely conducted, are 
extremely beneficial : they diffuse useful and elegant know- 
ledge among the rude and unlettered, and direct men's minds 
to the contemplation of what is worthy and noble. History, 
biography, voyages and travels, are chiefly required ; the 



sparkling pleasure shew her applauded sampler 
to partial mamma than I now send my poem f 
to you and Mr. M'Murdo if he is returned to 
Drumlanrig. You cannot easily imagine what 
thin-skinned animals — what sensitive plants 
poor poets are. How do we shrink into the 
embittered corner of self-abasement, when neg- 
lected or condemned by those to whom we look 
up ! and how do we, in erect importance, add 
another cubit to our stature on being noticed 
and applauded by those whom we honour and 
respect ! My late visit to Drumlanrig has, I 
can tell you, Madam, given me a balloon waft 
up Parnassus, where on my fancied elevation I 
regard my poetic self with no small degree of 
complacency. Surely, with all their sins, the 
rhyming tribe are not ungrateful creatures. — I 
rec ollect your goodness to your humble guest — 
I see Mr. M'Murdo adding to the politeness of 
the gentleman the kindness of a friend, and my 
heart swells, as it would burst with warm emo- 
tions and ardent wishes ! It may be it is not 
gratitude — it may be a mixed sensation. That 
strange, shifting, doubling animal man is so 
generally, at best, but a negative, often a 
worthless, creature, that we cannot see real 
goodness and native worth without feeling the 
bosom glow with sympathetic approbation. 
With every sentiment of grateful respect, 
I have the honour to be, 
Madam, 
Your obliged and grateful humble servant, 
R. B. 



No. CLII. 
TO Mr. CUNNINGHAM. 



Ellisland, 4th May, 178J 



My dear Sir, 



Your duty-free favour of the 26th April I 
received two days ago ; I will not say I 
perused it with pleasure ; that is the cold com- 
pliment of ceremony ; I perused it, Sir, with 
delicious satisfaction ; — in short, it is such a 
letter that not you, nor your friend, but the 
legislature, by express proviso in their postage 
laws, should frank. A letter informed with 
the soul of friendship is such an honour to 
human nature, that they should order it free 
ingress and egress to and from their bags and 
mails, as an encouragement and mark of dis- 
tinction to super-eminent virtue. 



peasantry of the north are sufficiently well acquainted with 

divinity and verse. — Cunningham.] 

t [The poem alluded to was the song entitled, " There was 
a lass and she was fair," inserted at page 463. The heroine 
was the eldest daughter of Mrs. M'Murdo, and sister to Phillis. 
Their charms gave lustre to some of the poet's happiest lyrica.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



675 



I have just put the last hand to a little poem, 
which I think will be something to your taste. 
One morning lately, as I was out pretty early 
in the fields, sowing some grass seeds, I heard 
the burst of a shot from a neighbouring planta- 
tion, and presently a poor little wounded hare 
came crippling by me. You will guess my 
indignation at the inhuman fellow who could 
shoot a hare at this season, when all of them 
have young ones. Indeed there is something 
in that business of destroying for our sport 
individuals in the animal creation, that do not 
injure us materially, which I could never 
reconcile to my ideas of virtue. 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ! 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

[See " The Wounded Hare," page 284.] 

Let me know how you like my poem. I am 
doubtful whether it would not be an improve- 
ment to keep out the last stanza but one alto- 
gether.* 

Cruikshank t is a glorious production of the 
Author of man. You, he, and the noble 
Colonel]: of the Crochallan Fencibles are to 



" Dear as the ruddy drops which warm my heart." 

I have a good mind to make verses on you all, 
to the tune of " Three good fellows ayont the 



R. B. 



No. CLIII. 



TO Mr. SAMUEL BROWN.§ 

, 4th May, 



Dear Uncle, 
This, I hope, will find you and your con- 
jugal yoke-fellow in yon- good old way ; I am 
impatient to know if the Ailsa fowling be com- 
menced for this season yet, as I want three or 



* [The poem on the Wounded Hare had also been sent by 
Burns to Dr. Gregory for his criticism. 
The following is that gentleman's reply :— - 

Edinburgh, June 2nd, 1789. 
"Dear Sir, 
" I take the first leisure hour I could command to thank 
you for your letter, and the copy of verses enclosed in it. As 
there is real poetic merit, I mean both fancy and tenderness, 
and some happy expressions in them, I think they well 
deserve that you should revise them carefully, and polish 
them to the utmost. This, I am sure, you can do if you 
please, for you have great command both of expression and 
of rhymes; and you may judge from the two last pieces of 
Mrs. Hunter's poetry, that I gave you, how much correct- 
ness and high polish enhance the value of such compositions. 
As you desire it, I shall with great freedom give you my 
most rigorous criticisms on your verses. I wish you would 
give me another edition of them, much amended, and I will 



four stones of feathers, and I hope you will 
bespeak tbem for me. It would be a vain 
attempt for me to enumerate the various trans- 
actions I have been engaged in since I saw you 
last; but this know — I am engaged in a smuggling 
trade, and God knows if ever any poor man 
experienced better returns, two for one ; but as 
freight and delivery have turned out so dear, 
I am thinking of taking out a license and 
beginning in fair trade. I have taken a farm 
on the borders of the Nith, and in imitation of 
the old Patriarchs, get men-servants and maid- 
servants, and flocks and herds, and beget sons 
and daughters. 

Your obedient Nephew, 

R. R. 
$. 

No. CLIV. 

TO RICHARD BROWN. 

Mauchline, 2\st May, 1/89. 

My dear Friend, 

I was in the country by accident, and hear- 
ing of your safe arrival, I could not resist the 
temptation of wishing you joy on your return — 
wishing you would write to me before you sail 
again — wishing you would always set me down 
as your bosom friend — wishing you long life 
and prosperity, and that every good thing may 
attend you — wishing Mrs. Brown and your 
little ones as free of the evils of this world 
as is consistent with humanity — wishing you 
and she were to make two at the ensuing 
lying-in, with which Mrs. B. threatens very 
soon to favour me — wishing I had longer time 
to write to you at present ; and, finally, wish- 
ing that, if there is to be another state of 
existence, Mr. B., Mrs. B., our little ones, and 
both families, and you and I, in some snug 
retreat, may make a jovial party to all 
eternity ! 

My direction is at Ellisland, near Dumfries. 

Your's, 

R. B. 



send it to Mrs. Hunter, who I am sure will have much 
pleasure in reading it. Pray give me likewise for myself, 
and her too, a copy (as much amended as you please) of the 
' Water Fowl on Loch Turit.' " 

Here follows the criticism, which is inserted after the 
poem itself— p. 285.] 

t [" Mr. Cruikshank of the High ScV.ool. We know a 
gentleman in mature life, who lived as boarder and pupil 
with Cruikshank, and to whom the character of the man, in 
consequence of the severity of his discipline, appeared in a 
very different light from what it did in the eyes of his boon- 
companion — Burns."— Chambers.] 

% [Mr. William Dunbar, W. S.] 

§ [Samuel Brown was brother to the poet's mother, and 
seems to have been a joyous and tolerant sort of person He 
appears also to have been somewhat ignorant of the poet's 
motions, for the license to which he alludes was taken out 



\\ 676 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CLV. 
TO Mr. JAMES HAMILTON.* 

Ellisland, 26th May, 1/89. 

Dear Sir, 

I send you by John Glover, Carrier, the 
above account for Mr. Turnbull, as I suppose 
you know his address. 

I would fain offer, my dear Sir, a word of 
sympathy with your misfortunes ; but it is a 
tender string, and I know not how to touch it. 
It is easy to flourish a set of high-flown senti- 
ments on the subjects that would give great 
satisfaction to — a breast quite at ease ; but as 
one observes, who was very seldom mistaken 
in the theory of life, "The heart knoweth its 
own sorrows, and a stranger intermeddleth not 
therewith." 

Among some distressful emergencies that I 
have experienced in life, I ever laid this down 
as my foundation of comfort — That he who has 
Jived the life of an honest man has by no 
means lived in vain ! 

With every wish for your welfare and future 
success, 

I am, my dear Sir, 

Sincerely yours, 

R. B. 



No. CLVI. 



TO WILLIAM CREECH, Esq. 



Sir, 



Ellisland, 30th May, 1789- 



I had intended to have troubled you with a 
long letter, but at present the delightful sensa- 
tions of an omnipotent tooth-ache so engross 
all my inner man as to put it out of my power 
even to write nonsense. However, as in duty 
bound, I approach my bookseller with an 
offering in my hand — a few poetic clinches, and 
a song : — To expect any other kind of offering 
from the Rhyming Tribe would be to know 
them much less than you do. I do not pretend 
that there is much merit in these morceaux, 
but I have two reasons for sending them ; 
primo, they are mostly ill-natured, so are in 
unison with my present feelings, while fifty 
troops of infernal spirits are driving post from 
ear to ear along my jaw bones ; and secondly, 
they are so short, that you cannot leave off in 



* [James Hamilton was a grocer in Glasgow, and inter- 
ested himself early in the fame and fortunes of the poet. 
That he had not the success in life which his friend imagined 
he merited seems plain by this letter, and perhaps there are 
few who will not feel that Burns has, with uncommon 
delicacy, condoled with him in his misfortunes, and sug- 
gested a topic of consolation at once rational and religious. — 
Cunningham.] 

t [The poetic address to " The Tooth-ache" seems to be 
the offspring of this period. The " venomed stang" was 



the middle, and so hurt my pride in the idea 
that you found any work of mine too heavy 
to get through. 

I have a request to beg of you, and I not 
only beg of you, but conjure you, by all your 
wishes and by all your hopes, that the muse 
will spare the satiric wink in the moment of 
your foibles ; that she will warble the song ot 
rapture round your hymeneal couch : and that 
she will shed on your turf the honest tear of 
elegiac gratitude ! Grant my request as speedily 
as possible — send me by the very first fly or 
coach for this place three copies of the last 
edition of my poems, which place to my 
account. 

Now may the good things of prose, and the 
good things of verse, come among thy hands, 
until they be filled with the good things of this 
life, prayeth 

R. B.f 



No. CLVII. 
TO Mr. M'/ULEY, 

OF DUMBARTON. 



Dear Sir, 



Ellisland, 4th June, 1789. 



Though I am not without my fears respect- 
ing my fate at that grand, universal inquest 
of right and wrong, commonly called The Last 
Dag, yet I trust there is one sin, which that 
arch-vagabond, Satan, who I understand is to; 
be king's evidence, cannot throw in my teeth — 
I mean ingratitude. There is a certain pretty 
large quantum of kindness for which I remain, 
and, from inability, I fear must still remain, 
your debtor : but, though unable to repay the 
debt, I assure you, Sir, I shall ever warmly 
remember the obligation. It gives me the 
sincerest pleasure to hear by my old acquaint- 
ance, Mr. Kennedy, that you are, in immortal 
Allan's language, " Hale, and weel, and 
living ;" and that your charming family are 
well, and promising to be an amiable and 
respectable addition to the company of per- 
formers, whom the Great Manager of the 
Drama of Man is bringing into action for the 
succeeding age. 

With respect to my welfare, a subject in 
which you once warmly and effectively in- 
terested yourself, I am here in my old way, 
holding my plough, marking the growth of my 



fully felt during the composition of the epistle : but no one, 
save a sufferer under this "hell of a' diseases," can sym- 
pathize in the expression that fifty troops of infernal spirits 
were driving post from ear to ear along his jaw-bones ! This 
letter may be taken as another proof of the poet's desire to 
render himself acceptable to his friends : he seldom folded 
up one without enclosing in it, or inserting in one of the 
pages, a short poem or one of his sweetest lyrics.— Cun- 
ningham.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



67? 



corn, or the health of my dairy ; and at times 
sauntering by the delightful "windings of the 
Nith, on the margin of which I have built 
my humble domicile, praying for seasonable 
weather, or holding an intrigue with the 
Muses ; the only gypsies with whom I have 
now any intercourse. As I am entered into 
the holy state of matrimony, I trust my face 
is turned completely Zion-ward ; and as it is 
a rule with all honest fellows to repeat no 
grievances, I hope that the little poetic licences 
of former days will of course fall under the 
oblivious influence of some good-natured statute 
of celestial prescription. In my family devo- 
tion, which, like a good Presbyterian, I occa- 
sionally give to my househoH folks, I am 
extremely fond of the psalm, " Let not the 
errors of my youth," &c. ; and thei other; "Lo! 
children are God's heritage," &c. ; in which last 
Mrs. Burns, who by the bye has a glorious 
" wood -note wild" at either old song or 
psalmody, joins me with the pathos of Handel's 
Messiah. R. B. 



No. CLVIII. 
TO Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

Ellisland, 8th June, 1789. 

My dear Friend, 

I am perfectly ashamed of myself when I 
look at the date of your last. It is not that I 
forget the friend of my heart and the companion 
of my peregrinations ; but I have been con- 
demned to drudgery beyond sufferance, though 
not, thank God, beyond redemption. I have 
had a collection of poems by a lady put into 
my hands to prepare them for the press ; which 
horrid task, with sowing corn with my own 
hand, a parcel of masons, wrights, plasterers, 
&c, to attend to, roaming on business through 
Ayr-shire — all this was against me, and the 
very first dreadful article was of itself too 
much for me. 

13th. I have not had a moment to spare from 
incessant toil since the 8th. Life, my dear 
Sir, is a serious matter. You know, by ex- 
perience, that a man's individual self is a good 
deal, but believe me, a wife and family of 
children, whenever you have the honour to be 
a husband and a father, will shew you that 
your present and most anxious hours of solitude 
are spent on trifles. The welfare of those who 
are very dear to us, whose only support, hope, 



* [This truly noble letter is worth a volume of sermons on 
domestic morality ; he who wrote it spoke from his own 
experience, and no one has talked more wisely on the 
subject.] 

t [John M'Murdo, of Drumlanrig, was one of Burns' 
firmest Nithsdale friends, and was united with others, at the 
poet's death, in the management of his affairs, which pros- 
pered so well that two hundred pounds per annum became 
the widow's portion for many years before she was laid in the 



and stay we are — this, to a generous mind, is 
another sort of more important object of care 
than any concerns whatever which centre 
merely in the individual. On the other hand, 
let no young, unmarried, rake-helly dog among 
you make a song of his pretended liberty, and 
freedom from care. If the relations we stand 
in to king, country, kindred, and friends, be 
any thing but the visionary fancies of dreaming 
metaphysicians ; if religion, virtue, magnani- 
mity, generosity, humanity, and justice, be 
aught but empty sounds ; then the man who 
may be said to live only for others, for the 
beloved, honourable female, whose tender faith- 
ful embrace endears life, and for the helpless 
little innocents who are to be the men and 
women, the worshippers of his God, the sub- 
jects of his king, and the support, nay the very 
vital existence of his country, in the ensuing 
age ; — compare such a man with any fellow 
whatever, who, whether he bustle and push in 
business, among labourers, clerks, statesmen ; 
or whether he roar and rant, and drink and 
sing in taverns — a fellow over whose grave no 
one will breathe a single heigh-ho, except from 
the cobweb-tie of what is called good fellowship 
— who has no view nor aim but what terminates 
in himself — if there be any grovelling earth- 
born wretch of our species, a renegado to 
common sense, who would fain believe that the 
noble creature man is no better than a sort of 
fungus, generated out of nothing, nobody knows 
how, and soon dissipating in nothing, nobody 
knows where ; such a stupid beast, such a 
crawling reptile, might balance the foregoing 
unexaggerated comparison, but no one else 
would have the patience. 

Forgive me, my dear Sir, for this long 
silence. To make you amends, I shall send 
you soon, and more encouraging still, without 
any postage, one or two rhymes of my later 
manufacture.* R. B. 



No. CLIX. 



Sir: 



TO Mr. M'MURDO.t 

Ellisland, lQ^/i June, 178< 



A poet and a beggar are, in so many points 
of view, alike, that one might take them for the 
same individual character under different de- 
signations ; were it not that though, with a 
trifling poetic license, most poets may be styled 
beggars, yet the converse of the proposition 



grave. Burns was sensible of other charms at Drumlanrig 
than those of loveliness, wit, and a well-spread table : he ad- 
mired the mansion, copied after the design of Inigo Jones — 
and more the winding Nith, which seems anxious at that 
place to become as picturesque as possible. The rushing 
river, the woody banks, the stateiy towers, and the lofty hills, 
all unite in rendering this one of the pleasantest spots in 
Upper Nithsdale.— Cunningham.] 



678 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



does not hold — that every beggar is a poet. In 
one particular, however, they remarkably agree ; 
if you help either the one or the other to a mug 
of ale, or the picking of a bone, they will very 
willingly repay you with a song. This occurs 
to me at present, as I have just despatched a 
well-lined rib of John Kirkpatrick's High- 
lander : a bargain for which I am indebted to 
you, in the style of our ballad printers, " Five 
excellent new songs." The enclosed is nearly 
my newest song, and one that has cost me some 
pains, though that is but an equivocal mark of 
its excellence. Two or three others, which 1 
have by me, shall do themselves the honour to 
wait on your after leisure : petitioners for ad- 
mittance into favour must not harass the con- 
descension of their benefactor. 

You see, Sir, what it is to patronise a poet. 
'Tis like being a magistrate in a petty borough ; 
you do them the favour to preside in their 
council for one year, and your name bears the 
prefatory stigma of Bailie for life. 

With, not the compliments, but the best 
wishes, the sincerest prayers of the season for 
you, that you may see many and happy years 
with Mrs. M'Murdo, and your family ; two 
blessings, by the bye, to which your rank does 
not, by any means, entitle you — a loving wife 
and fine family being almost the only good 
things of this life to which the farm-house and 
cottage have an exclusive right. 

I have the honour to be, 
Sir, 
Your much indebted and very humble servant, 

R. B. 



No. CLX. 



TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, 21st June, 1789. 

Dear Madam : 

Will you take the effusions, the miserable 
effusions of low spirits, just as they flow from 
their bitter spring ? I know not of any parti- 
cular cause for this worst of all my foes beset- 
ting me ; but for some time my soul has been 
beclouded with a thickening atmosphere of evil 
imaginations and gloomy presages. 

Monday Evening. 

I have just heard Mr. Kirkpatrick preach a 
sermon. He is a man famous for his benevo- 
lence, and I revere him ; but from such ideas of 
my Creator, good Lord, deliver me ! Religion, 
my honoured friend, is surely a simple business, 
as it equally concerns the ignorant and the 
learned, the poor and the rich. That there is 
an incomprehensible Great Being, to whom I 
owe my existence, and that he must be inti- 
mately acquainted with the operations and pro- 
gress of the internal machinery, and consequent 

<& ■ 



outward deportment of this creature which he 
has made — these are, I think, self-evident pro- 
positions. That there is a real and eternal dis- 
tinction between virtue and vice, and conse- 
quently, that I am an accountable creature ; 
that from the seeming nature of the human 
mind, as well as from the evident imperfection, 
nay, positive injustice, in the administration of 
affairs, both in the natural and moral worlds, 
there must be a retributive scene of existence 
beyond the grave— must, 1 think, be allowed 
by every one who will give himself a moment's 
reflection. I will go farther, and affirm that, 
from the sublimity, excellence, and purity of 
his doctrine and precepts, unparalleled by all 
the aggregated wisdom and learning of many 
preceding ages, though, to appearance, he him- 
self was the obscurest and most illiterate of our 
species — therefore Jesus Christ was from God. 

Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases 
Jie happiness of others, this is my criterion of 
goodness ; and whatever injures society at large, 
or any individual in it, this is my measure of 
iniquity. 

What think you, madam, of my creed ? I 
trust that I have said nothing that will lessen 
me in the eye of one, whose good opinion I 
value almost next to the approbation of my 
own mind. 

R. B. 



No. CLXI. 
TO Miss WILLIAMS. 



Madam : 



Ellisland, August, 1/8J). 



Of the many problems in the nature of that 
wonderful creature, man, this is one of the most 
extraordinary, that he shall go on from day to 
day, from week to week, from month to month, 
or perhaps from year to year, suffering a hun- 
dred times more in an hour from the impotent 
consciousness of neglecting what he ought to 
do than the very doing of it would cost him. 
I am deeply indebted to you, first for a most 
elegant poetic compliment ; * then, for a polite, 
obliging letter ; and, lastly, for your excellent 
poem on the Slave-Trade ; and yet, wretch that 
I am ! though the debts were debts of honour, 
and the creditor a lady, I have put off and put 
off even the very acknowledgment of the ob- 
ligation, until you must indeed be the very 
angel I take you for if you can forgive me. 

Your poem I have read with the highest plea- 
sure. I have a way whenever I read a book — 
I mean a book in our own trade, Madam, a 
poetic one — and when it is my own property, that 
I take a pencil and mark at the ends of verses, 
or note on margins and odd papers, little criti- 

* [See Dr. Moore's letter of January 23d, 178JT.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



679 



cisms of approbation or disapprobation as I pe- 
ruse along. I will make no apology for pre- 
senting you with a few unconnected thoughts 
that occurred to me in my repeated perusals of 
your poem. 1 want to shew you that I have 
honesty enough to tell you what I take to be 
truths, even when they are not quite on the side 
of approbation ; and I do it in the firm faith 
that you have equal greatness of mind to hear 
them with pleasure. 

I had lately the honour of a letter from Dr. 
Moore, where he tells me that he has sent me 
some books : they are not yet come to hand, 
but I hear they are on the way. 

Wishing you all success in your progress in 
the path of fame ; and that you may equally 
escape the danger of stumbling through in- 
cautious speed, or losing ground through loi- 
tering neglect,* I am. &c. 

R. B. 



No. CLXII. 



TO Mr. JOHN LOGAN.f 

Ellisland, near Dumfries, 7 th Aug 3789. 

Dear Sir: 
I intended to have written you long ere 
now, and as I told j^ou I had gotten three 
stanzas and a half on my way in a poetic epis- 
tle to you ; but that old enemy of all good 
works, the devil, threw me into a prosaic mire, 
and for the soul of me I cannot get out of it. 
I dare not write you a long letter, as I am go- 



* [The lady to whom this letter is addressed was the well 
known Helen Maria Williams — her answer is characteristic : — 

"7th August, 1789. 
" Dear Sir, 

" I do not lose a moment in returning you my sincere ac- 
knowledgments for your letter, and your criticism on my 
poem, which is a very flattering proof that you have read it 
with attention. I think your objections are perfectly just, 
except in one instance. 

" You have indeed been very profuse of panegyric on my 
little performance. A much less portion of applause from 
you would have been gratifying to me ; since I think its 
value depends entirely upon the source whence it proceeds — 
the incense of praise, like other incense, is wore grateful 
from the quality, than the quantity, of the odour. 

" I hope you still cultivate the pleasures of poetry, which 
are precious even independent of the rewards of fame. Per- 
haps the most valuable property of poetry is its power of 
disengaging the mind from worldly cares, and leading the 
imagination to the richest springs of intellectual enjoyment ; 
since, however frequently life may be chequered with gloomy 
scenes, those who truly love the Muse can always find one 
little path adorned with flowers and cheered by sunshine."] 

t [Of Knockshinnock, in Glen Afion, Ayr-shire.] 

% [An error into which the previous biographers of Burns 
have fallen is corrected by this letter. The " Kirk's Alarm" 
is neither an early production nor of western descent ; it was 
composed at Ellisland with the hope of rendering some ser- 
vice to the Reverend Dr. M'Gill, against whom a cry of 
heresy had been raised — and not without reason. There are 
extant two copies of this satire in the poet's hand-writing ; 
one is contained in the Afton MSS. and the other is in the 
collection of the daughter of the gentleman to whom this 
letter is addressed.— Cunningham,] 



ing to intrude on your time with a long ballad. 
I have, as you will shortly see, finished " The 
Kirk's Alarm ;" but now that is done, and that 
I have laughed once or twice at the conceits in 
some of the stanzas, I am determined not to let 
it get into the public ; so I send you this copy, 
the first that I have sent to Ayr- shire, except 
some few of the stanzas, which I wrote off in 
embryo for Gavin Hamilton, under the express 
provision and request that you will only read it 
to a few of us, and do not on any account give, 
or permit to be taken, any copy of the ballad. 
If I could be of any service, to Dr. M'Gill, I 
would do it, though it should be at a much 
greater expense than irritating a few bigoted 
priests, but I am afraid serving him in his pre- 
sent embarras is a task too hard for me. I have 
enemies enow, God knows, though I do not 
wantonly add to the number. Still, as I think 
there is some merit in two or three of the 
thoughts, I send it to you as a small but sincere 
vjstimony how much, and with what respectful 
esteem, 

I am, dear, Sir, 

Your obliged humble servant, 

r. b.: 



No. CLXIII. 
TO Mr. 



Ellisland, September, 1789. 

My dear Sir, 
The hurry of a farmer in this particular sea- 
son, and the indolence of a poet at all times 



..", [The name of the gentleman to whom this letter is ad- 
dv^ssed has unfortunately been suppressed by Dr. Currie ; 
this is the more to be lamented since he seems to have 
wanted neither talent nor spirit, as his letter, to which that 
of Burns is an answer, will sufficiently shew : 

" London, 5th August, 1/89. 
" My bear Sir, 

" Excuse me when I say that the uncommon abilities 
which you possess must render your correspondence very 
acceptable to any one. I can assure you, I am particularly 
proud of your partiality, and shall endeavour, by every 
method in my power, to merit a continuance of your po- 
liteness. * * * * 

" When you can spare a few moments, I should be proud 
of a letter from you, directed for me, Gerrard-street, Soho. 

" I cannot express my happiness sufficiently at the in- 
stance of your attachment to my late inestimable friend, Bob 
Fergusson [in the erection of a monument to him], who was 
particularly intimate with myself and relations. While I 
recollect with pleasure his extraordinary talents, and many 
amiable qualities, it affords me the greatest consolation that 
I am honoured with the correspondence of his successor in 
national simplicity and genius. That Mr. Burns has refined 
in the art of poetry must readily lie admitted ; but, notwith- 
standing many favourable representations, I am yet to learn 
that he inherits his convivial powers. 

"There was such a richness of conversation, such a pleni- 
tude of fancy and attraction in him, that when I call the 
happy period of our intercourse to my memory, I feel my- 
self in a state of delirium. I was then younger than him by 
eight or ten years ; but his manner was so felicitous that he 
enraptured every person around him, and infused into the 
hearts of young and old the spirit which operated on his 
own mind."] 



P = 



680 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



and seasons, will, I hope, plead my excuse for 
neglecting so long to answer your obliging let- 
ter of the 5th of August. 

That you have done well in quitting your 
laborious concern in * * * I do not doubt ; the 
weighty reasons you mention were, I hope, 
very, and deservedly indeed, weighty ones, 
and your health is a matter of the last import- 
ance ; but whether the remaining proprietors of 
the paper have also done well is what I much 
doubt. The * * *, so far as I was a reader, 
exhibited such a brilliancy of point, such an 
elegance of paragraph, and such a variety of 
intelligence, that I can hardly conceive it pos- 
sible to continue a daily paper in the same de- 
gree of excellence : but if there was a man 
who had abilities equal to the task, that man's 
assistance the proprietors have lost. 

When I received your letter I was transcrib- 
ing for * * * my letter to the magistrates of 
the Canongate, Edinburgh, begging their per- 
mission to place a tomb-stone over poor Fer- 
gusson, and their edict in consequence of my 
petition, but now I shall send them to * * * *. 
Poor Fergusson ! If there be a life beyond the 
grave, which I trust there is ; and if there be 
a good God presiding over all nature, which I 
am sure there is ; thou art now enjoying exist- 
3nce in a glorious world, where worth of the 
heart alone is distinction in the man ; where 
riches, deprived of all their pleasure-purchasing 
powers, return to their native sordid matter ; 
where titles and honours are the disregarded 
reveries of an idle dream : and where that 
heavy virtue, which is the negative conse- 



* [This child, named Francis Wallace, after Mrs. Dunlop, 
died at the early age of fourteen. He is described as having 
been, to all appearance, the most promising of all Burns' s 
children.] 

t [The poetic Epistle from Miss Janet Little was ushered 
in by the following account of herself: — 

" Loudon House, 12th July, 1789. 

"Sir, 

"Though I have not the happiness of being personally 
acquainted with you, yet amongst the number of those who 
have read and admired your publications, may I be permitted 
to trouble you with this ? You must know, Sir, I am some- 
what in love with the Muses, though I cannot boast of any 
favours they have deigned to confer upon me as yet ; my situa- 
tion in life has been very much against me as to that. 1 have 
spent some years in and about Ecclefechan (where my pa- 
rents reside), in the station of a servant, and am now come 

to Loudon House, at present possessed by Mrs. H ; she 

is daughter to Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop, whom I understand 
you are particularly acquainted with. As I had the pleasure 
of perusing your poems, I felt a partiality for the author, 
which I should not have experienced had you been in a more 
dignified station. I wrote a few verses of address to you, 
which I did not then think of ever presenting ; but as for- 
tune seems to have favoured me in this, by bringing me into 
a family by whom you are well known, and much esteemed, 
and where, perhaps, 1 may have an opportunity of seeing 
you ; I shall, in hopes of your future friendship, take the 
liberty to transcribe them. 

I. 

Fair fa' the honest rustic swain, 

The pride o' a' our Scottish plain ; 

Thou gi'es us joy to hear thy strain, 

And notes sae sweet ; 

Old Ramsay's shade reviv'd again 
In thee we greet. 



quence of steady dulness, and those thought- 
less, though often destructive, follies, which are 
the unavoidable aberrations of frail human na- 
ture, will be thrown into equal oblivion as if 
they had never been ! 

Adieu, my dear Sir ! So soon as your present 
views and schemes are concentrated in an aim, 
I shall be glad to hear from you ; as your wel- 
fare and happiness is by no means a subject 
indifferent to 

Yours, R. B. 



No. CLXIV. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, 6th Sept. 1789. 

Dear Madam, 

I have mentioned in my last my appoint- 
ment to the Excise, and the birth of little 
Frank ; who, by the bye, I trust will be no 
discredit to the honourable name of Wallace,* 
as he has a fine manly countenance, and a 
figure that might do credit to a little fellow 
two months older ; and likewise an excellent 
good temper, though when he pleases he has a 
pipe only not quite so loud as the horn that 
his immortal name-sake blew as a signal to take 
out the pin of Stirling bridge. 

I had some time ago an epistle, part poetic, 
and part prosaic, from your poetess, Mrs. J. 
Little, a very ingenious, but modest composi- 
tion, f I should have written her as she re- 



Lov'd Thalia, that delightfu' muse, 
Seem'd lang shut up as a recluse ; 
To all she did her aid refuse, 

Since Allan's day; 
'Till Burns arose, then did she chuse 

To grace his lay. 

in. 
To hear thy sang all ranks desire, 
Sae weel you strike the dormant lyre, 
Apollo with poetic fire 

Thy breast doth warm, 
And critics silently admire 

Thy art to charm. 

IV. 

Cfesar and Luath weel can speak, 
'Tis pity e'er their gabs should steek, 
But into human nature keek, 

And knots unravel ; 
To hear their lectures once a week, 

Nine miles I'd travel, 
v. 
Thy dedication to G. H., 
An unco bonnie hame-spur speech, 
Wi' winsome glee the heart can teach 

A better lesson 
Than servile bards, who fawn and fieech, 

Like beggar's messon. 

VI. 

When slighted love becomes your theme, 
And woman's faithless vows you blame, 
With so much pathos you exclaim 

In your Lament ; 
But glanc'd by the most frigid dame, 

She would relent. 



G 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



681 



quested, but for the hurry of this new business. 
I have heard of her and her compositions in 
this country ; and I am happy to add, always 
to the honour of her character. The fact is, I 
know not well how to write to her : I should 
sit down to a sheet of paper that I knew not 
how to stain. I am no dab at fine-drawn let- 
ter-writing • and, except when prompted by 
friendship or gratitude, or, which happens ex- 
tremely rarely, inspired by the Muse (I know 
not her name) that presides over epistolary 
writing, I sit down, when necessitated to write, 
as I would sit down to beat hemp. 

Some parts of your letter of the 20th August 
struck me with the most melancholy concern 
for the state of your mind at present. 

Would I could write you a letter of comfort ; 
I would sit down to it with as much pleasure 
as I would to write an epic poem, of my own 
composition, that should equal the Iliad. Re- 
ligion, my dear friend, is the true comfort ! A 
strong persuasion in a future state of existence ; 
a proposition so obviously probable that, set- 
ting revelation aside, every nation and people, 
so far as investigation has reached, for at least 
near four thousand years, have, in some mode 
or other, firmly believed it. In vain would we 
reason and pretend to doubt. I have myself 
done so to a very daring pitch ; but when I 
reflected that I w r as opposing the most ardent 
wishes and the most darling hopes of good 
men, and flying in the face of all human belief 
in all ages, I was shocked at my own conduct. 

I know not whether I have ever sent you the 
following lines, or if you have ever seen them ; 
but it is one of my favourite quotations, which 
I keep constantly by me in my progress 
through life, in the language of the book of 
Job, 

" Against the day of battle and of war" — 

spoken of religion : 

" 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright, 
'Tis this that gilds the horror of our night. 
When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few 
When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue ; 
'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart, 
Disarms affliction, or repels his dart ; 
Within the breast bids purest raptures rise, 
Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies." 



The daisy, too, ye sing wi' skill ; 
And weel ye praise the whiskey gill ; 
In vain I blunt my feckless quill, 

Your fame to raise ; 
While echo sounds frae ilka hill, 

To Burns's praise. 



Did Addison or Pope but hear, 

Or Sam, that critic most severe, 

A ploughboy sing wi' throat sae clear, 

They, in a rage, 
Their works would a' in pieces tear, 

An' curse your page. 



I have been busy with Zeluco. The Doctor 
is so obliging as to request my opinion of it ; 
and I have been revolving in my mind some 
kind of criticisms on novel-writing, but it is a 
depth beyond my research. I shall however 
digest my thoughts on the subject as well as I 
can. Zeluco is a most sterling performance. 

Farewell ! A Dieu, le bon Dieu, je vous 
commende ! 

R. B. 



No. CLXV. 
TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, 



Sir, 



Ellisland, Wh Oct. 1"8: 



Big with the idea of this important day at 
Friar's Carse, I have watched the elements and 
skies, in the full persuasion that they would 
announce it to the astonished world by some 
phenomena of terrific portent. — Yesternight 
until a very late hour did I wait with anxious 
horror, for the appearance of some Comet firing 
half the sky ; or aerial armies of sanguinary 
Scandinavians, darting athwart the startled 
heavens, rapid as the ragged lightning, and 
horrid as those convulsions of nature that 
bury nations. 

The elements, however, seem to take the 
matter very quietly : they did not even usher 
in this morning with triple suns and a shower 
of blood, symbolical of the three potent heroes, 
and the mighty claret-shed of the day. — For 
me, as Thomson in his Winter says of the 
storm — I shall " Hear astonished, and aston- 
ished sing " 

The whistle and the man ; I sing 
The man that won the whistle, &c. 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys I trow are we ; 

And mony a night we've merry been, 
And mony mae we hope to be. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 

A cuckold coward loun is he ; 
Wha last beside his chair shall fa' 

He is the king amang us three. 



Sure Milton's eloquence were faint, 
The beauties of your verse to paint : 
My rude unpolish'd strokes but taint 

Their brilliancy ; 
Th' attempt would doubtless vex a saint, 

And weel may thee. 



The task I'll drop, wi' heart sincere, 
To Heaven present my humble pray'r* 
That all the blessings mortals share, 

May be by turns 
Dispens'd by an indulgent care 

To Robert Burns !] 



682 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



To leave the heights of Parnassus and come 
to the humble vale of prose — I have some 
misgivings that I take too much upon me, 
when I request you to get your guest, Sir 
Robert Lawrie, to frank the two enclosed 
covers for me, the one of them, to Sir William 
Cunningham, of Robertland, Bart., at Kilmar- 
nock, — the other, to Mr. Allan Masterton, 
Writing-Master, Edinburgh. The first has a 
kindred claim on Sir Robert, as being a brother 
Baronet, and likewise a keen Foxite ; the other 
is one of the worthiest men in the world, and 
a man of real genius ; so, allow me to say he 
has a fraternal claim on you. I want them 
franked for to-morrow, as 1 cannot get them to 
the post to-night. — I shall send a servant again 
for them in the evening. Wishing that your 
head may be crowned with laurels to-night, and 
free from aches to-morrow, 

I have the honour to be, Sir. 
Your deeply indebted humble Servant, 
R. B.* 



No. CLXVI. 
TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL. 



Sir, 



Ellisland, 1/89- 



I wish from my inmost soul it were in my 
power to give you a more substantial gratifica- 
tion and return for all the goodness to the poet, 
than transcribing a few of his idle rhymes. — 
However, " an old song," though to a proverb 
an instance of insignificance, is generally the 
only coin a poet has to pay with. 

If my poems which I have transcribed, and 
mean still to transcribe into your book, were 
equal to the grateful respect and high esteem I 
bear for the gentleman to whom I present them, 
they would be the finest poems in the language. 
— As they are, they will at least be a testimony 
with what sincerity I have the honour to be, 

Sir, 

Your devoted humble Servant, 

R. B. 



No. CLXVII. 
TO Mr. ROBERT AINSLiE. 

EUisland, 1st Nov. 1789. 

My dear Friend, 
I had w r ritten you long ere now, could I 
have guessed where to find you, for I am sure 



* [The bard seems to have prepared himself for celebrat- 
ing a contest which did not take place for a year afterwards. 
The whistle was contended for loth Oct. 1/90 : the successful 
( ompetitor, Fergusson, of Craigdarroch, was killed by a fall 



you have more good sense than to waste the 
precious days of vacation time in the dirt of 
business and Edinburgh. — Wherever you are, 
God bless you, and lead you not into tempta- 
tion, but deliver you from evil ! 

I do not know if I have informed you that I 
am now appointed to an Excise division, in the 
middle of which my house and farm lie. In 
this I was extremely lucky. Without -ever 
having been an expectant, as they call their 
journeymen excisemen, I was directly planted 
down to all intents and purposes an officer of 
excise; 1 1 iere to flourish and bring forth fruits 
— worthy of repentance. 

I know not how the word exciseman, or still 
more opprobrious, gauger, will sound in your 
ears. I too have seen the day when my 
auditory nerves would have felt very delicately 
on this subject ; but a wife and children are 
things which have a wonderful power in blunt- 
ing these kind of sensations. Fifty pounds a 
year for life, and a provision for widows and 
orphans, you will allow is no bad settlement 
for a poet. For the ignominy of the profession, 
I have the encouragement which I once heard 
a recruiting sergeant give to a numerous, if 
not a respectable, audience, in the streets of 
Kilmarnock. — " Gentlemen, for your further 
and better encouragement, I can assure you 
that our regiment is the most blackguard corps 
under the Crown, and consequently with us an 
honest fellow has the surest chance of prefer- 
ment." 

You need not doubt that I find several very 
unpleasant and disagreeable circumstances in 
my business ; but I am tired with and disgusted 
at the language of complaint against the evils 
of life. Human existence in the most favour- 
able situations does not abound with pleasures, 
and has its inconveniences and ills ; capricious 
foolish man mistakes these inconveniences and 
ills as if they were the peculiar property of his 
particular situation ; and hence that eternal 
fickleness, that love of change, which has 
ruined, and daily does ruin many a fine fellow, 
as well as many a blockhead, and is almost, 
without exception, a constant source of dis- 
appointment and misery. 

I long to hear from you how you go on — not 
so much in business as in life. Are you pretty 
well satisfied with your own exertions, and 
tolerably at ease in your internal reflections ? 
'Tis much to be a great character as a lawyer, 
but beyond comparison more to be a great 
character as a man. That you may be both 
the one and the other is the earnest wish, and 
that you will be both is the firm persuasion of, 

My dear Sir, &c. R. B. 



from his horse, many years after this jovial contest ; he 
excelled in ready eloquence, and loved witty company. — 
Cunningham. 

See the Poem of "The Whistle" page 307.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



683 



No. CLXVIII. 
TO Mr. RICHARD BROWN. 

Ellisland, 4th November, 1789. 

I have been so hurried, my ever dear friend, 
that though I got both your letters, I have not 
been able to command an hour to answer them 
as I wished ; and even now you are to look 
on this as merely confessing debt, and craving 
days. Few things could have given me so 
much pleasure as the news that you were once 
more safe and sound on terra firma, and happy 
in that place where happiness is alone to be 
found, in the fire-side circle. May the bene- 
volent Director of all things peculiarly bless 
you in all those endearing connections conse- 
quent on the tender and venerable names of 
husband and father ! I have indeed been 
extremely lucky in getting an additional in- 
come of £50 a year, while, at the same time, 
the appointment will not cost me above £10 
or £12 per annum of expenses more than I 
must have inevitably incurred. The worst 
circumstance is that the Excise division whicli 
I have got is so extensive, no less than te i 
parishes to ride over ; and it abounds besides 
with so much business that I can scarcely steal 
a spare moment. However, labour endears 
re#t, and both together are absolutely necessary 
for the proper enjoyment of human existence. 
I cannot meet you any where. No less than 
an order from the Board of Excise, at Edin- 
burgh, is necessary before I can have so much 
time as to meet you in Ayr-shire. But do you 
come, and see me. We must have a social day, 
and perhaps lengthen it out with half the 
night, before you go again to sea. You are 
the earliest friend I now have on earth, my 
brothers excepted : and is not that an endear- 
ing circumstance ? When you and I first met, 
we were at the green period of human life. 
The twig would easily take a bent, but would 
as easily return to its former state. You and I 
not only took a mutual bent, but, by the 
melancholy, though strong influence of being 
both of the family of the unfortunate, we were 
entwined with one another in our growth 
towards advanced age ; and blasted be the 
sacrilegious hand that shall attempt to undo 
the union ! You and I must have one bumper 
to my favourite toast, "May the companions 
of our youth be the friends of our old age ! ;; 
Come and see me one year ; I shall see you at 
Port Glasgow the next, and if we can contrive 
to have a gossiping between our two bed- 
fellows, it will be so much additional pleasure. 
Mrs. Burns joins me in kind compliments to 
you and Mrs. Brown. Adieu ! 

I am ever, my clear Sir, yours, 

R. B. 



No. CLXIX. 
TO R. GRAHAM, Esq. 

OF FINTRAY. 



Sir: 



9t7i December, 1789. 



I have a good while had a wish to trouble 
you with a letter, and had certainly done it 
long ere now — but for a humiliating something 
that throws cold water on the resolution, as if 
one should say, " You have found Mr. Graham 
a very powerful and kind friend indeed, and 
that interest he is so kindly taking in your 
concerns you ought, by every thing in your 
power to keep alive and cherish." Now, though 
since God has thought proper to make one 
powerful and another helpless, the connection 
of obliger and obliged is all fair : and though 
my being under your patronage is to me highly 
honourable, yet, Sir, allow me to flatter myself 
that, as a poet and an honest man, you first in- 
terested yourself in my welfare, and principally 
as such still you permit me to approach you. 

I have found the excise business go on a great 
deal smoother with me than I expected ; owing 
a good deal to the generous friendship of Mr. 
Mitchell, my collector, and the kind assistance 
of Mr. Findlater, my supervisor. I dare to be 
honest, and I fear no labour. Nor do I find 
my hurried life greatly inimical to my corres- 
pondence with the Muses. Their visits to me, 
indeed, and I believe to most of their acquaint- 
ance, like the visits of good angels, are short 
and far between : but I meet them now and 
then, as I jog through the hills of Nithsdale, 
just as I used to do on the banks of Ayr. T 
take the liberty to inclose you a few bagatelles, 
all of them the productions of my leisure 
thoughts in my excise rides. 

If you know, or have ever seen, Captain 
Grose, the antiquarian, you will enter into any 
humour that is in the verses on him. Perhaps 
you have seen them before, as I sent them to a 
London Newspaper. Though I dare say you 
have none of the solemn-league-and-covenant 
fire, which shone so conspicuous in Lord George 
Gordon, and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I 
think you must have heard of Dr. M'Gill, one 
of the clergymen of Ayr, and his heretical book. 
God help him, poor man ! Though he is one 
of the worthiest, as well as one of the 
ablest, of the whole priesthood of the Kirk 
of Scotland, in every sense of that ambi- 
guous term, yet the poor Doctor and his nu- 
merous family are in imminent danger of being 
thrown out to the mercy of the winter- winds, 
The enclosed ballad on that business is, I con- 
fess, too local, but I laughed myself at some 
conceits in it, though. I am convinced in my 
conscience that there are a good many heavy 
stanzas in it too. 

The election ballad, as you will see, alludes 
to the present canvass in our string of boroughs. 



G84 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



I do not believe there will be such a hard run 
match in the whole general election. 

I am too little a man to have any political 
attachments ; I am deeply indebted to, and 
have the wannest veneration for, individuals of 
both parties ; but a man who has it in his power 
to be the father of a country, and who * * *, 
is a character that one cannot speak of with 
patience.*' 

Sir J. J. does "what man can do," bur. yet 
I doubt his fate.f 



No. CLXX. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, 13//* December, 1789. 

Many thanks, dear Madam, for your shect- 
ful of rhymes. Though at present I am below 
the veriest prose, yet from you every thing 
pleases. I am groaning under the miseries of a 
diseased nervous system ; a system, the state of 
which is most conducive to our happiness — or 
the most productive of our misery. For now 
near three weeks I have been so ill with a ner- 
vous head-ache that I have been obliged for a 
time to give up my excise-books, being scarce 
able to lift my head, much less to ride once a 
week over ten nmir parishes. What is man? — 
To-day, in the luxuriance of health, exulting 
in the enjoyment of existence ; in a iew days, 
perhaps in a few hours, loaded with conscious 
painful being, counting the tardy pace of the 
lingering moments by the repercussions of an- 
guish, and refusing or denied a comforter. Day 
follows night, and night comes after day, only 
to curse him with life which gives him no plea- 
sure ; and yet the awful, dark termination of 
that life is something at which he recoils. 

" Tell us, ye dead ; will none of you in pity 

Disclose the secret — 

What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be? 

'tis no matter, 

A little time will make us learn'd as you are." 

Can it be possible that, when I resign this 
frail, feverish being, I shall still find myself in 
conscious existence ? When the last grasp of 
agony has announced that I am no more to 
those that knew me, and the few w r ho loved 
me ; when the cold, stiffened, unconscious, 
ghastly corse is resigned into the earth, to be 



* [Dr. Currie has here obviously suppressed a bitter 
allusion to the Duke of Queensberry.] 

t [In this letter, besides the verses on Grose, the poet en- 
closed the Kirk's Alarm, and the first ballad on Miller's elec- 
tion. His heart seems to have been with Johnstone in the 
latter affair ; he cordially disliked the Duke of Queensberry, 
a nobleman who herned the land which he ought to have 
riuriched, and squandered his rents among 

" Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera girls." 



the prey of unsightly reptiles, and to become 
in time a trodden clod, shall I be yet warm in 
life, seeing and seen, enjoying and enjoyed ? 
Ye venerable sages, and holy flamens, is there 
probability in your conjectures, truth in your 
stories, of another world beyond death ; or are 
they all alike, baseless visions, and fabricate! 
fabies ? If there is another life, it must be only 
for the just, the benevolent, the amiable, and 
the humane 5 what a flattering idea, then, is a 
world to come ! Would to God I as firmly 
believed it as I ardently wish it ! There I 
should meet an aged parent, now at rest from 
the many bufferings of an evil world, against 
which he so long and so bravely struggled. 
There should I meet the friend, the disinterested 
friend of my early life ; the man who rejoiced 
to see me, because he loved me and could serve 
me. — Muir,^: thy weaknesses were the aberra- 
tions of human nature, but thy heart glowed 
with every thing generous, manly, and noble ; 
and if ever emanation from the All-good Being 
animated a human form, it was thine ! — There 
should I, with speechless agony of rapture, 
again recognize my lost, my ever dear Mary ! 
whose bosom was fraught with truth, honour, 
constancy, and love. 

" My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of heavenly rest? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid 7 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ?" 

Jesus Christ, thou amiablest of characters ! 
I trust thou art no impostor, and that thy reve- 
lation of blissful scenes of existence beyond 
death and the grave is not one of the many 
impositions which time after time have been 
palmed on credulous mankind. I trust that in 
thee " shall all the families of the earth be 
blessed," by being yet connected together in a 
better world, where every tie that bound heart 
to heart, in this state of existence, shall be, far 
beyond our present conceptions, more endearing. 

I am a good deal inclined to think with those 
who maintain that what are called nervous 
affections are in fact diseases of the mind. I 
cannot reason, I cannot think ; and but to you 
I would not venture to write any thing above 
an order to a cobbler. You have felt too much 
of the ills of life not to sympathise with a dis- 
eased wretch, who has impaired more than half 
of any faculties he possessed. Your goodness 
will excuse this distracted scrawl, which the 



Captain Miller, the candidate in the Queensberry interest 
and son of the poet's landlord, was a Whig — yet this seems 
not to have overcome Burns's aversion to old Q-, a name 
under which the caricaturists of London loved to lampoon 
the person of his Grace.— See " Verses on the Destruction 
of the Woods of Drumlanrig," and " Lines on the Duke of 
Queensberry," pages 290-1.] 

t [Muir, so feelingly alluded to in this letter, was one of 
the poet's earliest and least assuming friends — he was mild 
and benevolent, and did deeds of kindness without seeming 
to do them.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



685 



writer dare scarcely read, and which he would 
throw into the lire, were he able to write any 
thing better, or indeed any thing at all. 

Rumour told me something of a son of yours 
who was returned from the East or West In- 
dies. If you have gotten news from James or 
Anthony, it was cruel in you not to let me 
know ; as I promise you, on the sincerity of a 
man, who is weary of one world, and anxious 
about another, that scarce any thing could give 
me so much pleasure as to hear of any good 
thing befalling my honoured friend. 

If you have a minute's leisure, take up your 
pen in pity to le pauvre miserable, R. B. 



No. CLXXI. 

TO LADY W[INIFRED] M[AXWELL] 
CONSTABLE* 

Ellisland, 16th December, 1789. 



My Lady : 

In vain have I from day to day expected to 
hear from Mrs. Young, as she promised me at 
Dalswinton that she would do me the honour 
to introduce me at Tinwald ; and it was impos- 
sible, not from your ladyship's accessibility, but 
from my own feelings, that I could go alone. 
Lately, indeed, Mr. Maxwell of Carruchen in 
his usual goodness offered to accompany me, 
when an unlucky indisposition on my part hin- 
dered my embracing the opportunity. To court 
the notice or the tables of the great, except 
where I sometimes have had a little matter to 
ask of them, or more often the pleasanter task 
of witnessing my gratitude to them, is what I 
never have done, and I trust never shall do. 
But with your ladyship I have the honour to be 
connected by one of the strongest and most 
endearing ties in the whole moral world. Com- 
mon sufferers, in a cause where even to be un- 
fortunate is glorious, the cause of heroic loyalty ! 
Though my fathers had not illustrious honours 
and vast properties to hazard in the contest, 
though they left their humble cottages only to 
add so many units more to the unnoted crowd 
that followed their leaders, yet what they could 
they did, and what they had they lost : with 
unshaken firmness and unconcealed political at- 
tachments, they shook hands with ruin for what 
they esteemed the cause of their king and their 
country. This language and the enclosed 
verses f are for your ladyship's eye alone. 
Poets are not very famous for their prudence : 
but as I can do nothing for a cause which is 



* [Representative of the ancient family of Nithsdale.] 

f [Those addressed to Mr. William Ty tier. — See p. 178. 

The above interesting letter first appeared in Hogg and 
Motherwell's Edition of the Poet's works. It was commu- 
nicated by Sir Cuthbert Sharpe, Provost of Sunderland.] 

% [The Provostj as the leading voter in Marjorie of the 



now nearly no more, I do not wish to hurt my- 
self. I have the honour to be, my lady, your 
ladyship's obliged and obedient humble servant, 

R. B. 



No. CLXXII. 



TO PROVOST MAXWELL, 

OF LOCHMABEN. 

Ellisland, 20th December, 1739. 

Dear Provost, 

As my friend Mr. Graham goes for your 
good town to - morrow, I cannot resist the 
temptation to send you a few lines, and as I 
have nothing to say, I have chosen this sheet 
of foolscap, and begun as you see at the top of 
the first page, because I have ever observed 
that when once people have fairly set out they 
"know not where to stop. Now that my first 
sentence is concluded, I have nothing to do but 
to pray heaven to help me on to another. Shall 
I write you on Politics or Religion, two master 
subjects for your sayers of nothing ? Of the 
first I dare say by this time you are nearly sur- 
feited $ and for the last, whenever they may 
talk of H who make it a kind of company 
concern, I never could endure it beyond a so- 
liloquy. I might write you on farming, on 
building, «n marketing, but my poor distracted 
mind is so torn, so jaded, so racked and be- 
deviled with the task of the superlatively 
damned to make one guinea do the business of 
three, that I detest, abhor, and swoon at the 
very word business, though no less than four 
letters of my very short surname are in it. 

Well, to make the matter short, I shall be- 
take myself to a subject ever fruitful of themes ; 
a subject the turtle feast of the sons of Satan, 
and the delicious secret sugar plum of the babes 
of grace — a subject sparkling with all the 
jewels that wit can find in the mines of genius; 
and pregnant with all the stores of learning 
from Moses and Confucius to Franklin and 
Priestley — in short, may it please your Lord- 
ship, I intend to write * * * 

\Here the Poet inserted a song which can 
only be sung at times when the Punch Bowl 
has done its duty and wild wit is set free.] 

If at any time you expect a field-day§ in 
your town, a day when Dukes, Earls, and 
Knights pay their court to weavers, tailors, and 
cobblers, I should like to know of it two or 
three days before hand. It is not that I care 



Mony Lochs, must have recently had a sufficiency of 
politics.] 

§ [The Miller and Johnstone contest at that time agitated 
the Boroughs, and to this the poet alludes when ho requests 
to receive notice of a field-day among the chief men of tb.8 
district.] 



680 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



three skips of a cur dog for the politics, but I 
should like to see such an exhibition of human 
nature. If you meet with that worthy old 
veteran in religion and good fellowship, Mr. 
Jeffrey,* or any of his amiable family, I beg 
you will give them my best compliments.f 

R, B. 



No. CLXXIII. 

TO SIR JOHN SINCLAIR. 

1790. 
Sir, 

The following circumstance has, I believe, 
been omitted in the statistical account, trans- 
mitted to you, of the parish of Dunscore, in 
Nithsdale. I beg leave to send it to you, be- 
cause it is new, and may be useful. How far 
it is deserving of a place in your patriotic pub- 
lication, you are the best judge. 

To store the minds of the lower classes with 
useful knowledge is certainly of very great 
importance, both to them as individuals, and to 
society at large. Giving them a turn for read- 
ing and reflection is giving them a source of 
innocent and laudable amusement ; and besides, 
raises them to a more dignified degree in the 
scale of rationality. Impressed with this idea, 
a gentleman in this parish, Robert Riddel, Esq., 
of Glenriddel, set on foot a species of circulat- 
ing library, on a plan so simple as to be prac- 
ticable in any corner of the country ; and so 
useful as to deserve the notice of every corn- 
try gentleman who thinks the improvement of 
that part of his own species, whom chance has 
thrown into the humble walks of the peasant 
and the artizan, a matter worthy of his 
attention. 

Mr. Riddel got a number of his own tenants 
and farming neighbours to form themselves into 
a society for the purpose of having a library 
among themselves. They entered into a, legal 
engagement to abide by it for three years ; with 
a saving clause or two, in case of a removal to 
a distance, or death. Each member, at his 
entry, paid five shillings ; and at each of their 
meetings, which were held every fourth Satur- 



* [The Reverend Andrew Jeffrey, Minister of Lochmaben, 
and father of the heroine of that exquisite song " The Blue 
eyed Lass." His son, Hugh Jeffrey, is a worthy person and 
skilful with the pen — yet one nevertheless 

" Whom fortune uses hard and sharp."] 



t [The original of this letter is in the possession of Mr. 
Henderson, of Langholm, and from the singular song which 
it contains cannot but be considered as a great curiosity.] 



X [The above letter is inserted in the third volume of Sir 
John Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, p. 598. — It 
was enclosed to Sir John by Mr. Riddel himself in the fol- 
lowing letter : — 



day, sixpence more. With their entry-money, 
and the credit which they took on the faith ot 
their future funds, they laid in a tolerable stock 
of books at the commencement. What authors 
they were to purchase was always decided by 
the majority. At every meeting, all the books, 
under certain fines and forfeitures, by way of 
penalty, were to be produced ; and the mem- 
bers had their choice of the volumes in rota- 
tion. He whose name stood for that night 
first on the list had his choice of what volume 
lie pleased in the whole collection ; the second 
had his choice after the first ; the third after 
the second, and so on to the last. At next 
meeting, he who had been first on the list at 
the preceding meeting was last at this ; he 
who had been second was first ; and so on 
through the whole three years. At the expi- 
ration of the engagement, the books were sold 
by auction, but only among the members them- 
selves ; each nfan had his share of the common 
stock, in money or in books, as he chose to be 
a purchaser or not. 

At the breaking up of this little society, 
which was formed under Mr. Riddel's patron- 
age, what with benefactions of books from him, 
and what with their own purchases, they had 
collected together upwards of one hundred and 
fifty volumes. It will easily be guessed that 
a good deal of trash would be bought. Among 
the books, however, of this little library, were 
Blair's Sermons, Robertson'' s History of Scot- 
land, Hume's History of the Stuarts, The 
Spectator, Idler, Adventurer, Mirror, Loun- 
ger, Observer, Man of Feeling, Man of the 
World, Chrysal, Don Quixote, Joseph An- 
drews, Sec. A peasant who can read and enjoy 
such books is certainly a much superior being 
to his neighbour, who perhaps stalks beside his 
team, very little removed, except in shape, 
from the brutes he drives. 

Wishing your patriotic exertions their so 
much merited success, 

I am, Sir, 

Your humble servant, 

A Peasant.]: 



" Sir John, 
" I enclose you a letter, written by Mr. Burns, as an addi- 
tion to the account of Dunscore parish. It contains an ac- 
count of a small library which he was so good (at my desire) 
as to set on toot, in the barony of Monkland, or Friar's 
Carse, in this parish. As its utility has been felt, particu- 
larly among the younger class of people, I think that if a 
similar plan were established in the different parishes of Scot- 
land it would tend greatly to the speedy improvement of the 
tenantry, trades-people, and work-people. Mr. Burns was 
so good as to take the whole charge of this small concern. 
He was treasurer, librarian, and censor, to our little society, 
who will long have a grateful sense of his public spirit and 
exertions for their improvement and information. 
I have the honour to be, Sir John, 



Your's most sincerely, 

Robert Riddel."] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



687 



No. CLXXIV. 
TO CHARLES SHARPE, Esq. 

OF HODDAM,* 

Under a fictitious Signature, enclosing a 
Ballad. 1790 or 179 J. 

It is true, Sir, you are a gentleman of rank 
and fortune, and I am a poor devil : you are a 
feather in the cap of Society, and I am a very 
hobnail in his shoes ; yet I have the honour to 
belong to the same family with you, and on 
that score I now address you. You will per- 
haps suspect that I am going to claim affinity 
with the ancient and honourable house of 
Kirkpatrick : No, no, Sir : I cannot indeed be 
properly said to belong to any house, or even 
any province or kingdom ; as my mother, who 
for many years was spouse to a marching 
regiment, gave me into this bad world aboard 
the packet-boat, somewhere beetween Donag- 
hadee and Portpatrick. By our common 
family, I mean, Sir, the family of the Muses. 
I am a fiddler and a poet ; and you, I am told, 
play an exquisite violin, and have a standard 
taste in the Belles Lettres. The other day, a 
brother catgut gave me a charming Scots air of 
your composition. If I was pleased with the 
tune, I was in raptures with the title you have 
given it ; and, taking up the idea, I have spun 
it into the three stanzas enclosed. Will you 
allow me, Sir, to present you them, as the 
dearest offspring that a misbegotten son of 
poverty and rhyme has to give? I have a 
longing to take you by the hand and unburthen 
my heart by saying, " Sir, I honour you as a 
man who supports the dignity of human nature, 
amid an age when frivolity and avarice have, 
between them, debased us below the brutes that 
perish !" But, alas, Sir ! to me you are unap- 
proachable. It is true, the Muses baptized me 
in Castalian streams, but the thoughtless gipsies 
forgot to give me a name. As the sex have 
served many a good fellow, the Nine have 
given me a great deal of pleasure, but, be- 
witching jades ! they have beggared me. 
Would they but spare me a little of their cast- 
linen ! Were it only in my power to say that 
I have a shirt on my back ! But the idle 
wenches, like Solomon's lilies, " they toil not, 
neither do they spin j" so I must e'en continue 
to tie my remnant of a cravat, like the hang- 



* [The family of Hoddam is one of old standing in the 
county of Dumfries ; it has mingled blood with some of the 
noblest names in the south of Scotland, and is at present 
worthily represented by General Sharpe, Member of Parlia- 
ment for the five boroughs. Nor is the name known through 
that alone ; my friend Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe is dis- 
tinguished by his scholarship and genius, by his critical 
knowledge both in literature and art, and by a wit terse and 
keen. The poet in this humorous letter seriously alludes to 
the connexion between his correspondent and the Knight of 



man's rope, round my naked throat, and coax 
my galligaskins to keep together their many- 
coloured fragments. As to the affair of shoes, 
I have given that up. My pilgrimages in my 
ballad-trade, from town to town, and on your 
stony-hearted turnpikes too, are what not even 
the hide of Job's behemoth could bear. The 
coat on my back is no more : I shall not speak 
evil of the dead. It would be equally un- 
handsome and ungrateful to find fault with my 
old surtout, which so kindly supplies and con- 
ceals the want of that coat. My hat indeed is 
a great favourite ; and though I got it literally 
for an old song, I would not exchange it for 
the best beaver in Britain. I was, during 
several years, a kind of fac-totum servant to a 
country clergyman, where I pickt up a good 
many scraps of learning, particularly in some 
branches of the mathematics. Whenever I 
feel inclined to rest myself on my way, I take 
my seat under a hedge, laying my poetic wallet 
on the one side, and my fiddle-case on the 
other, and, placing my hat between my legs, I 
can by means of its brim, or rather brims, go 
through the whole doctrine of the Conic 
Sections. 

However, Sir, don't let me mislead you, as 
if I would interest your pity. Fortune has so 
much forsaken me that she has taught me to 
live without her ; and, amid all my rags and 
poverty, I am as independent, and much more 
happy than a monarch of the world. Accord- 
ing to the hackneyed metaphor, I value the 
several actors in the great drama of life simply 
as they act their parts. I can look on a 
worthless fellow of a duke with unqualified 
contempt, and can regard an honest scavenger 
with sincere respect. As you, Sir, go through 
your role with such distinguished merit, permit 
me to make one in ,he chorus of universal 
applause, and assure you that with the highest 
respect, 

I have the honour to be, &c. 



No. CLXXV. 



TO Mr. GILBERT BURNS- 

Ellisland, llth January, 1790. 

Dear Brother, 

I mean to take advantage of the frank, 
though I have not in my present frame of mind 
much appetite for exertion in writing. My 



Closeburn — and, what was still more welcome, perhaps, con- 
gratulates him on his being able to reckon kin with the 
Muses. Charles Sharpe of Hoddam had not only fine taste 
in musical composition, but wrote verses with a happiness 
which justified, I am told, the commendations of Burns. — 
Cunningham. 

He was the father of Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq., 
the friend of Sir Walter Scott, and a contributor of 
Original Ballad Poetry to the Border Minstrelsy. — 
Chambers.] 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



9 

I 



nerves are in a cursed state. I feel that horrid 
hypochondria pervading every atom of both 
body and soul. This farm has undone my en- 
joyment of myself. It is a ruinous affair on 
all hands. But let it go to hell ! I'll fight it 
out and be off with it. 

We have gotten a set of very decent players 
here just now. I have seen them an evening 
or two. David Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to 
me by the manager of the company, a Mr. 
Sutherland, who is a man of apparent worth. 
On New-year-day evening I gave him the 
following prologue, which he spouted to his 
audience with applause. 

[The Poet here inserts the Prologue spoken 
at the theatre, Dumfries, on New-year-day 
evening, for which See page 287.] 

I can no more. — If once I was clear of this 
cursed farm, I should respire more at ease.* 

R. B. 



No. CLXXVI. 
TO WILLIAM DUNBAR, W.S. 

Ellisland, \4th January, 1/90. 

Since we are here creatures of a day, since 
" a few summer days, and a few winter nights, 
and the life of man is at an end," why, my 
dear much-esteemed Sir, should you and I let 
negligent indolence, for I know it is nothing 
worse, step in between us and bar the enjoy- 
ment of a mutual correspondence ? We are 
not shapen out of the common, heavy, metho- 
dical clod, the elemental stuff of the plodding 
selfish race, the sons of Arithmetic and Pru- 
dence ; our feelings and hearts are not benumb- 
ed and poisoned by the cursed influence of 
riches, which, whatever blessing they may be 
in other respects, are no friends to the nobler 
qualities of the heart : in the name of random 
sensibility, then, let never the moon change on 
our silence any more. I have had a tract of 
bad health most part of this winter, else you 
had heard from me long ere now. Thank 
Heaven, T am now got so much better as to be 
able to partake a little in the enjoyments of lite. 

Our friend, Cunningham, will perhaps have 
told you of my going into the Excise. The 
truth is, I found it a very convenient business 
to have £50 per annum, nor have I yet felt any 
of these mortifying circumstances in it that I 
was led to fear. 



* ["The best laid schems of mice and men," says the 
bard, " gang aft agiey," and surely no speculation in which 
Burns ever engaged promised more comfort to his bosom, 
and abundance to his board, than did the leasing of Ellis- 
land. Yet the farm was undoubtedly too high rented during 
the period of his occupation, and he probably had not the 
skill or the patience to enable him to cultivate ground with 
the peculiar nature of which he was unacquainted. Soon 
after he forsook it, the half of Ellisland was let to a neigh- 
bouring farmer for the same rent which the poet gave for the 



Feb. 2d. — I have not, for sheer hurry of bu- 
siness, been able to spare five minutes to finish 
my letter. Besides my farm business, I ride 
on my Excise matters at least 200 miles every 
week. I have not by any means given up the 
Muses. You will see in the 3d. vol. of John- 
son's Scots songs that I have contributed my 
mite there. 

But, my dear Sir, little ones that look up to 
you for paternal protection are an important 
charge. I have already two fine healthy stout 
little fellows, and I wish to throw some light 
upon them. I have a thousand reveries and 
schemes about them, and their future destiny. 
Not that I am an Utopian projector in these 
things. I am resolved never to breed up a son 
of mine to any of the learned professions. I 
know the value of independence ; and since I 
cannot give my sons an independent fortune, I 
shall give them an independent line of life. 
What a chaos of hurry, chance, and changes is 
this world, when one sits soberly down to re- 
flect on it ! To a father, who himself knows 
the world, the thought that he shall have sons 
to usher into it must fill him with dread ; but 
if he have daughters, the prospect in a thought- 
ful moment is apt to shock him. 

I hope Mrs. Fordyce and the two young 
ladies are well. Do let me forget that they are 
nieces of yours, and let me say that I never 
saw a more interesting, sweeter pair of sisters 
in my life. I am the fool of my feelings and 
attachments. I often take up a volume of my 
Spenser to realise you to my imagination, f and 
think over the social scenes we have had toge- 
ther. God grant that there may be another 
world more congenial to honest fellows beyond 
this. A world where these rubs and plagues 
of absence, distance, misfortunes, ill health, 
&c, shall no more damp hilarity and divide 
friendship. This I know is your throng season, 
but half a page will much oblige, my dear Sir, 
yours sincerely, 

R. B.t 



No. CLXXVII. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, 25th January, 1799- 

It has been owing to unremitting hurry of 
business that I have not written to you, Madam, 
long ere now. My health is greatly better, 



whole ; but then it must be remembered that the prospect 
of hostilities with France had raised the price of grain and 
the value of ground. Land which let with difficidty at ten 
shillings per acre in 1788, was leased with ease at three 
pounds in the course of a few years. — Cunningham.] 

t [The Poet here alludes to a present of Spenser's Poems, 
which Mr. Dunbar had previously made him. 

The above interesting letter was communicated by Mr. 
P. Buchan, of Aberdeen, and first appeared in. Hogg and 
Motherwell's Edition of the Poet's works.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



680 



and I now begin once more to share in satis- 
faction and enjoyment with the rest of my 
fellow-creatures. 

Many thanks, my much esteemed friend, for 
your kind letters ; but why will you make me 
run the risk of being contemptible and merce- 
nary in my own eyes ? When I pique myself 
on my independent spirit, I hope it is neither 
poetic license, nor poetic rant ; and I am so 
flattered with the honour you have done me, in 
making me your compeer in friendship and 
friendly correspondence, than I cannot without 
pain, and a degree of mortification, be reminded 
of the real inequality between our situations. 

Most sincerely do I rejoice with you, dear 
Madam, in the good news of Anthony. Not 
only your anxiety about his fate, but my own 
esteem for such a noble, warm-hearted, manly 
young fellow, in the little I had of his ac- 
quaintance, has interested me deeply in his 
fortunes. 

Falconer, the unfortunate author of the 
" Shipwreck," which you so much admire, is 
no more. After witnessing the dreadful catas- 
trophe he so feelingly describes in his poem, and 
after weathering many hard gales of fortune, 
he went to the bottom with the Aurora frigate ! 

I forget what part of Scotland had the honour 
of giving him birth ; but he was the son of 
obscurity and misfortune. He was one of those 
daring adventurous spirits which Scotland, be- 
yond any other country, is remarkable for pro- 
ducing.* Little does the fond mother think, 
as she hangs delighted over the sweet little* 
leech at her bosom, where the poor fellow may 
hereafter wander, and what may be his fate. 
I remember a stanza in an old Scottish ballad, 
which, notwithstanding its rude simplicity, 
speaks feelingly to the heart : 

" Little did my mother think, 
That day she cradled me, 
What land I was to travel in, 
Or what death I should die!"f 

Old Scottish songs are, you know, a favourite 
study and pursuit of mine, and now I am on 



* [" Falconer," says Currie, " was in early life a sailor-boy, 
on board a man of war, in which capacity he attracted the 
notice of Campbell, the author of the satire on Dr. Johnson, 
entitled ' Lexiphanes,' then purser of the ship. Campbell 
took him as a servant, and delighted in giving him instruc- 
tion ; and when Falconer afterwards acquired celebrity 
boasted of him as a scholar. The Editor had this informa- 
tion from a surgeon of a man of war, in 1777, who knew 
both Campbell and Falconer, and who himself perished soon 
after by shipwreck, on the coast of America." 

Falconer's parentage was humble, but his education was 
above the common : he displayed his poetic talents at an 
early age in a poem published in 1751, in memory of Frederick 
Prince of Wales : the Shipwreck, by which his name will be 
known to posterity, appeared in 1762, and obtained for him the 
notice of the Duke of York. His marine Dictionary, printed 
in 1769, introduced his name to many on whom the pathos 
of his poetry was lost : nor should it be forgotten that, be- 
fore he sailed on his last fatal expedition, he wrote a poem 
called the Demagogue, in which he satirised with skill, as 
well as bitterness, one of the profligate patriots of the day. 
Falconer was a native of one of the towns in the coast of 
Fife, and his parents, who had suffered some misfortunes, 



that subject, allow me to give you two stanzas 
of another old simple ballad, which I am sure 
will please you. The catastrophe of the piece 
is a poor ruined female, lamenting her fate. 
She concludes with this pathetic wish : 

" O that my father had ne'er on me smil'd ; 
O that my mother had ne'er to me sung! 
O that my cradle had never been rock'd ! 
But that I had died when I was young ! 

O that the grave it were my bed ; 

My blankets were my winding sheet ; 
The clocks and the worms my bedfellows a' ! 

And O sae sound as I should sleep !" 

I do not remember, in all my reading, to have 
met with any thing more truly the language of 
misery than the exclamation in the last line. 
Misery is like love ; to speak its language truly, 
the author must have felt it. 

I am every day expecting the doctor to give 
your little godson]; the small pox. They are 
rife in the country, and I tremble for his fate. 
By the way, I cannot help congratulating you 
on his looks and spirit. Every person who sees 
him acknowledges him to be the finest, hand- 
somest child he has ever seen. I am myself 
delighted with the manly swell of his little 
chest, and a certain miniature dignity in the 
carriage of his head, and the glance of his fine 
black eye, which promise the undaunted gal- 
lantry of an independent mind. 

I thought to have sent you some rhymes, but 
time forbids. I promise you poetry until you 
are tired of it, next time I have the honour of 
assuring you how truly I am, &c. 

R. B. 
4> 

No. CLXXVIII. 

TO Mr. PETER HILL, 

BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH. 

Ellisland, 2nd Feb. 1790. 

No ! I will not say one word about apologies 
or excuses for not writing — I am a poor, ras- 



removed to one of the sea-ports of England, where they both 
died soon after of an epidemic fever, leaving poor Falconer, 
then a boy, forlorn and destitute ; in consequence of which 
he entered on board a man of war. He died in 1770.] 

t [This touching sentiment occurs in the Ballad of the 
"Queen's Marie," or as some sets have it, " Mary Hamil- 
ton." One stanza will indicate the ballad to which we 
allude ; it is thus : — 

Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, 

This day she'll have but three ; 
There was Mary Seaton, and Mary Beaton, 

And Mary Carmichael, and me. 

(See Border Minstrelsy.) 

Queen Mary had four attendants of b;r own Christian 
name. In the ballad quoted by Burns, one of these gentle- 
women is described as murdering her illegitimate child, and 
suffering for the crime ; and the \?.r se quoted is one of her 
last expressions at the place of execution.] 

1 The bard's second son, Francis. 

2 Y 



,'-) 



690 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



cally gauger, condemned to gallop at least 200 
miles every week to inspect dirty ponds and 
yeasty barrels, and where can I find time to 
write to, or importance to interest, any body ? 
The upbraidings of my conscience, nay the up- 
braidings of my wife, have persecuted me on 
your account these two or three months past. — 
I wish to God I was a great man, that my cor- 
respondence might throw light upon you, to let 
the world see what you really are : and then 
I would make your fortune, without putting 
my hand in my pocket for you, which, like all 
otiier great men, I suppose I would avoid as 
much as possible. What are you doing, and 
how are you doing ? Have you lately seen 
any of my few friends? What has become of 
the borough reform, or how is the fate of 
my poor name-sake Mademoiselle Burns de- 
cided ? O man ! but for thee and thy selfish 
appetites, and dishonest artifices, that beauteous 
form, and that once innocent and still ingenuous 
mind, might have shone conspicuous and lovely 
in the faithful wife, and the affectionate mother ; 
and shall the unfortunate sacrifice to thy plea- 
sures have no claim on thy humanity !* 

I saw lately in a Review some extracts from 
a new poem, called the Village Curate ; send it 
me. I want likewise a cheap copy of The 
World. Mr. Armstrong, the young poet, who 
does me the honour to mention me so kindly in 
his works, please give him my best thanks for 
the copy of his book — I shall write him, my 
first leisure hour. I like his poetry much, but 

I think his style in prose quite astonishing. 
Your book came sale, and I am going to 

trouble you with farther commissions. I call it 
troubling you — because I want only books ; 
the cheapest way, the best ; so you may have 
to hunt for them in the evening auctions. I 
want Smollett's Works, for the sake of his 
incomparable humour. I have already Roderick 
Random, and Humphrey Clinker. — Peregrine 
Pickle, Launcelot Greaves, and Ferdinand, 
Count Fathom, I still want ; but as I said, the 
veriest ordinary copies will serve me. I am 
nice only in the appearance of my poets. I 
forget the price of Cowper's Poems, but, I 
believe, I must have them. I saw the other 
day proposals for a publication, entitled, 

II Banks's new and complete Christian's Family 
Bible," printed for C. Cooke, Paternoster-row, 
London. — He promises at least to give in the 



* [The frail female here alluded to had been the subject 
of some rather oppressive magisterial proceedings, which 
took their character from Creech, and roused some public 
feeling in her behalf.] 

t [Perhaps no set of men more effectually avail themselves 
of the easy credulity of the public than a certain descrip- 
tion of Paternoster-row booksellers. Three hundred and 
odd engravings ! — and by the first artists in London, too ! — 
no wonder that Burns was dazzled by the splendour of the 
promise. It is no unusual thing for this class of impostors 
to illustrate the Holy Scriptures by plates originally engraved 
for the History of England, and I have actually seen subjects 



work, [ think it is three hundred and odd en- 
gravings, to which he has put the names of the 
first artists in London. — You will know the 
character of the performance, as some numbers 
of it are published ; and, if it is really what it 
pretends to be, set me down as a subscriber, 
and send me the published numbers. f 

Let me hear from you, your first leisure 
minute, and trust me you shall in future have 
no reason to complain of my silence. The 
dazzling perplexity of novelty will dissipate, 
and leave me to pursue my course in the quiet 
path of methodical routine. 

R. B. 



No, CLXXIX. 
TO Mr. W. NICOL. 

Ellisland, Feb. 9th, 1790. 

My dear Sir, 
That d-nmed mare of yours is dead. I 
would freely have given her price to have saved 
her ; she has vexed me beyond description. 
Indebted as I was to your goodness beyond 
what I can ever repay, I eagerly grasped at 
your offer to have the mare with me. That I 
might at least shew my readiness in wishing to 
be grateful, I took every care of her in my 
power. She was never crossed for riding above I 
half a score of times by me, or in my keeping. 
I drew her in the plough, one of three, for one 
poor week. I refused fifty-five shillings for 
her, which was the highest bode I could squeeze 
for her. I fed her up and had her in fine order 
for Dumfries *'air ; when, four or five 'lays 
before the fair, she was seized with an unac- 
comii table disorder in the sinews, or somewhere 
in tj.»e bones of the neck - with a weakness or 
total want of power in her fillets, and in short 
the whole vertebra? of her spine seemed to be 
diseased and unhinged, and in eight-and-forty 
hours, in spite of the two best farriers in the 
country, she died and be d-mned to her ! The i 
farriers said that she had been quite strained in 
the fillets beyond cure before you had bought 
her ; and that the poor devil, though she might 
keep a little flesh, had been jaded and quite 
worn out with fatigue and oppression. While 
she was with me, she was under my own eye, 
and I assure you, my much valued friend, 
every thing was done for her that could be 



designed by our celebrated artist Stc'hard, from Clarissa 
Harlowe arid the Novelist's Magazine, converted, with in- 
credible dexterity, by these Bookselling - Breslaws, into 
Scriptural embellishments ! One of these venders of ' Family 
Bibles' lately called on me to consult me professionally 
about a folio engraving he brought with him. — It represented 
Mons. Buffon, seated, contemplating various groups of 
animals that surrounded him : he merely wished, he said, 
to be informed whether by unclothing the Naturalist, and 
giving him a rather more resolute look, the plate could not, 
at a tririingr expense, be made to p;iss for "Daniel in the 
lion's Den-!" — Cromek.J 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



m 



done ; and the accident has vexed me to the 
heart. In fact I could not pluck up spirits to 
write to you, on account of the unfortunate 
business. 

There is little new in this country. Our 
theatrical company, of which you must have 
heard, leave us this week. Their merit and 
character are indeed very great, both on the 
.stage and in private life ; not a worthless 
creature among them ; and their encouragement 
has been accordingly. Their usual run is from 
eighteen to twenty-five pounds a night : seldom 
less than the one, and the house will hold no 
more than the other. There have been repeated 
instances of sending away six, and eight, and 
ten pounds a night for want of room. A new 
theatre is to be built by subscription ; the first 
stone is to be laid on Friday first to come. 
Three hundred guineas have been raised by 
thirty subscribers, and thirty more might have 
been got if wanted. The manager, Mr. Suther- 
land, was introduced to me by a friend from 
Ayr ; and a worthier or cleverer fellow I have 
rarely met with. Some of our clergy have 
slipt in by stealth now and then ; but they 
have got up a farce of their own. You must 
have heard how the Rev. Mr. Lawson of 
Kirkmahoe, seconded by the Rev. Mr. 
Kirkpatrick of Dunscore, and the rest of that 
faction, have accused, in formal process, the 
unfortunate and Rev. Mr. Heron of Kirk- 
gunzeon, that, in ordaining Mr. Nielson to the 
cure of souls in Kirkbean, he, the said Heron, 
feloniously and treasonably bound the said 
Nielson to the confession of faith, so far as it 
was agreeable to reason and the ivord of God! 

Mrs. B. begs to be remembered most grate- 
fully to you. Little Bobby and Frank are 
charmingly well and healthy. I am jaded to 
death with fatigue. For these two or three 
months, on an average, I have not ridden less 
than two hundred miles per week. I have 
done little in the poetic way. I have given 
Mr. Sutherland two Prologues ; one of which 
was delivered last week. I have likewise strung 
four or five barbarous stanzas, to the tune of 
Chevy Chase, by way of Elegy on your poor 
unfortunate mare, beginning (the name she got 
here was Peg Nicholson) 

" Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
As ever trode on aim ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 
And past the mouth o'Cairn." 

[See page 293.] 

My best compliments to Mrs. Nicol, and 



* [The nuts, which the poet promised the son of his friend, 
might be gathered on every burn-bank in the vale of Nith ; 
not so the apples ; a few might be seen in private gardens, 
and gentlemen's orchards, but they were not to be found 
giving beauty to the hedge-rows, and fragrance to the public 
road, as in the sunnier regions of the south. The ancient 



little Neddy, and all the family ; I hope Ned 
is a good scholar, and will come out to gather 
nuts and apples with me next harvest.* 

R. B. 

4 

No. CLXXX. 
TO Mr. CUNNINGHAM. 

Ellisland, 13th February, 1790. 

I beg your pardon, my dear and much 
valued friend, for writing to you on this very 
unfashionable, unsightly sheet — 

" My poverty, but not my will, consents." 

But to make amends, since of modish post I 
have none, except one poor widowed half-sheet 
of gilt, which lies in my drawer among my ple- 
beian fool's-cap pages, like the widow of a 
man of fashion, whom that unpolite scoundrel, 
Necessity, has driven from Burgundy and Pine- 
apple, to a dish of Bohea, with the scandal- 
bearing helpmate of a village priest ; or a glass 
of whisky-toddy, with a ruby-nosed yoke-fel- 
low of a foot-padding exciseman — I make a 
vow to enclose this sheet-full of epistolary frag- 
ments in that my only scrap of gilt paper. 

I am indeed your unworthy debtor for three 
friendly letters. I ought to have written to 
you long ere now, but it is a literal fact I have 
scarcely a spare moment. It is not that I will 
not write to you ; Miss Burnet is not more dear 
to her guardian angel, nor his grace the Duke 
of Queensberry to the powers of darkness, than 
my friend Cunningham to me. It is not that 
I cannot write to you : should you doubt it, 
take the following fragment, which was in- 
tended for you some time ago, and be convinced 
that I can antithesize sentiment, and circumvo- 
lute periods, as well as any coiner of phrase in 
the regions of philology. 

December, 1789. 

My dear Cunningham, 

Where are you ? And what are you doing? 
Can you be that son of levity, who takes up a 
friendship as he takes up a fashion ; or are you, 
like some other of the worthiest fellows in the 
world, the victim of indolence, laden with 
fetters of ever-increasing weight ? 

What strange beings we are ! Since we have 
a portion of conscious existence, equally capa- 
ble of enjoying pleasure, happiness, and rap- 
ture, or of suffering pain, wretchedness, and 
misery, it is surely worthy of an inquiry, whe- 
ther there be not such a thing as a science of 



golden pippin, and the true honey-pear, were plentiful in 
the old orchard of the house of Comyn, at Dalswinton, but 
the garden of Ellisland, during the superintendence of the 
poet, produced only green kale and gooseberries — it is other- 
wise now. — Cunningham.] 

2 Y 2 



— © 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



life ; whether method, economy, and fertility 
of expedients, be not applicable to enjoyment ; 
and whether there be not a want of dexterity 
i in pleasure, which renders our little scantling 
of happiness still less ; and a profuseness, an 
intoxication in bliss, which leads to satiety, dis- 
| gust, and self-abhorrence. There is not a doubt 
| but that health, talents, character, decent com- 
; petency, respectable friends, are real substan- 
| tial blessings ; and yet do we not daily see those 
j who enjoy many or all of these good things 
1 contrive notwithstanding to be as unhappy as 
[ others to whose lot few of them have fallen ? I 
believe one great source of this mistake or mis- 
conduct is owing to a certain stimulus, with us 
called ambition, which goads us up the hill of 
life, not as we ascend other eminences, for the 
laudable curiosity of viewing an extended land- 
scape, but rather for the dishonest pride of look- 
ing down on others of our fellow creatures, 
seemingly diminutive in humbler stations, &c. 

Sunday, 14th February, 1?90. 

God help me ! I am now obliged to join 

" Night to day, and Sunday to the week." 

If there be any truth in the orthodox faith of 
these churches, I am d-mned past redemption, 
and what is worse, d-mned to all eternity. I 
am deeply read in Boston's Four-fold State, 
Marshal on Sanctification, Guthrie's Trial of a 
Saving Interest, &c. ; but " there is no balm in 
Gilead, there is no physician there," for me ; 
so I shall e'en turn Arminian, and trust to 
" Sincere though imperfect obedience." 

Tuesday, 16th. 

Luckily for me, I was prevented from the 
discussion of the knotty point at which I had 
just made a full stop. All my fears and cares 
are of this world : if there is another, an honest 



* [The following letters from the pen of Alexander Cun- 
ningham will be read with interest : — 

Edinburgh, May 25th, 1789. 

"My dear Burns, 

I am much indebted to you for your last friendly elegant 
epistle, and it shall make a part of the vanity of my compo- 
sition to retain your correspondence through life. It was 
remarkable your introducing the name of Miss Burnet at a 
time when she was in such ill health ; and I am sure it will 
grieve your gentle heart to hear of her being in the last stage 
of consumption. Alas ! that so much beauty, innocence, 
and virtue, should be nipt in the bud ! Hers was the smiie 
of cheerfulness — of sensibility, not of allurement ; and her 
elegance of manners corresponded with the purity and ele- 
vation of her mind. 

How does your friendly muse ? I am sure she still retains 
her affection for you, and that you have many of her favours 
in your possession, which I have not seen. I weary much to 
hear from you. * * * * I beseech you do not forget me. 
* * * * I most sincerely hope all your concerns in life 
prosper, and that your roof-tree enjoys the blessing of good 
health. All your friends here are well, among whom, and 
not the least, is your acquaintance Cleghorn. As for myself, 
I am well, as far as * * * * will let a man be ; but with 
these I am happy. When you meet with my very agreeable 
friend, J. Syme, give him for me a hearty squeeze, and bid 
God bless him. 

Is there any probability of your being soon in Edinburgh?" 



man has nothing to fear from it. I hate a man 
that wishes to be a Deist ; but I fear, every fair, 
unprejudiced inquirer must in some degree be a 
Sceptic. It is not that there are any very stag- 
gering arguments against the immortality of 
man ; but, like electricity, phlogiston, &c., the 
subject is so involved in darkness that we want 
data to go upon. One thing frightens me much ; 
that we are to live for ever, seems too good 
news to be true. That we are to enter into a 
new scene of existence, where, exempt from 
want and pain, we shall enjoy ourselves and 
our friends without satiety or separation — how 
much should I be indebted to any one who 
could fully assure me that this was certain ! 

My time is once more expired. I will write 
to Mr. Cleghorn soon. God bless him and all 
his concerns ! And may all the powers that 
preside over conviviality and friendship be 
present with all their kindest influence, when 
the bearer of this, Mr. Syme, and you meet ! 
I wish I could also make one. 

Finally, brethren, farewell ! Whatsoever 
things are lovely, whatsoever things are gentle, 
whatsoever things are charitable, whatsoever 
things are kind, think on these things, and 
think on 

R. B.* 



No. CLXXXI. 
TO Mb. HILL. 

Ellisland, 2nd March, 1790. 

At a late meeting of the Monkland Friendly 
Society, it was resolved to augment their library 
by the following books, which you are to send 
us as soon as possible : — The Mirror, The 
Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of the World, 
(these, for my own sake, I wish to have by the 



January 28th, 1/90. 
" In some instances it is reckoned unpardonable to quote 
any one's own words, but the value I have for your friend- 
ship nothing can more truly or more elegantly express than 
' Time but the impression stronger makes, 
As streams their channels deeper wear.' 

" Having; written to you twice without having heard from 
you, I am apt to think my letters have miscarried. My con- 
jecture is only framed upon the chapter of accidents turning 
up against me, as it too often does, in the trivial, and I may 
with truth add, the more important affairs of life; but I 
shall continue occasionally to inform you what is going on 
among the circle of your friends in these parts. In these 
days of merriment, I have frequently heard your name pro- 
claimed at the jovial board— under the roof of our hospitable 
friend at Steuhouse-mills, there were no 

' Lingering moments number'd with care.' 

" I saw your Address to the New-year, in the Dumfries 
Journal. Of your productions I shall say nothing, but my 
acquaintances allege that when your name is mentioned, 
which every man of celebrity must know often happens, I 
am the champion, the Mendoza, against all snarling critics, 
and narrow-minded reptiles, of whom a few on this planet 
do crawl. 

" With best compliments to your wife, and her black-eyed 
sister, I remain, yours, &c."] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



693 



first carrier), Knox's History of the Reforma- 
tion ; Rae's History of the Rebellion in 1715 ; 
any good History of the Rebellion in 1745 ; A 
Display of the Secession Act and Testimony, 
by Mr. Gibb ; Hervey's Meditations ; Beve- 
ridge's Thoughts ; and another copy of Wat- 
son's Body of Divinity. 

I wrote to Mr. A. Masterton three or four 
months ago, to pay some money he owed me 
into your hands, and lately I wrote to you to 
the same purpose, but I have heard from neither 
one nor other of you. 

In addition to the books I commissioned in 
my last, I want very much an Index to the 
Excise Laws, or an Abridgment of all the 
Statutes now in force, relative to the Excise, 
by Jellinger Symons ; I want three copies of 
this book : if it is now to be had, cheap or 
dear, get it for me. An honest country neigh- 
bour of mine wants, too, a Family Bible, the 
larger the better, but second-handed, for he 
does not choose to give above ten shillings for 
the book. I want likewise for myself, as you 
can pick them up, second-handed or cheap, 
copies of Otway's Dramatic "Works, Ben 
Jonson's, Dryden's, Congreve's, Wycherley's, 
Vanbrugh's, Gibber's, or any Dramatic Works 
of the more modern, Macklin, Garrick, Foote, 
Colman, or Sheridan. A good copy, too, of 
Moli-'re, in French, I much want. Any other 
good dramatic authors in that language I want 
also ; but comic authors chiefly, though I should 
wish to have Racine, Corneille, and Voltaire 
too. I am in no hurry for all, or any of these, 
but if you accidentally meet with them very 
cheap, get them for me.* 

And now, to quit the dry walk of business, 
how do you do, my dear friend ? and how is 
Mrs. Hill ? I trust, if now and then not so ele- 
gantly handsome, at least as amiable, and sings 
as divinely as ever. My good wife too has a 
charming "wood-note wild;" now could we 
four 

I am out of all patience with this vile world, 
for one thing. Mankind are by nature bene- 
volent creatures, except in a few scoundrelly 
instances. I do not think that avarice of the 
good things we chance to have is born with 
us ; but we are placed here amid so much 
nakedness, and hunger, and poverty, and want, 
that we are under a cursed necessity of study- 
ing selfishness, in order that we may exist ! 
Still there are, in every age, a few souls that 
all the wants and woes of life cannot debase to 
selfishness, or even to the necessary alloy of 
caution and prudence. If ever I am in danger 
of vanity, it is when I contemplate myself on 



this side of my disposition and character. God 
knows I am no saint ; I have a whole host of 
follies and sins to answer for ; but if I could, 
and I believe I do it as far as I can, I would 
wipe away all tears from all eyes. Adieu ! 

R. B. 



* [That Burns at this period had turned his thoughts on 
the drama, his order to his bookseller for dramatic works, 
and his letters to Lady Harriet Don, plainly enough inti- 
mate. "No man knows," he thus writes, "what nature 
has fitted him for till he try : and if, after a preparatory 
course of some > ears' study of men and books, I should find 



No. CLXXXII. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, 10th April, 1790. 

I have just now, my ever honoured friend, 
enjoyed a very high luxury, in reading a paper 
of the Lounger. You know my national preju- 
dices. I had often read and admired the 
Spectator, Adventurer, Rambler, and World ; 
but still with a certain regret that they were 
so thoroughly and entirely English. Alas ! 
have I often said to myself, what are all the 
boasted advantages which my country reaps 
from the union, that can counterbalance the 
annihilation of her independence, and even her 
very name ! I often repeat that couplet of my 
favourite poet, Goldsmith — 

" States, of native liberty possest, 

Tho' very poor, may yet be very blest." 

Nothing can reconcile me to the common 
terms, ' English Ambassador, English Court," 
•Sec. And I am out of all patience to see that 
equivocal character, Hastings, impeached by 
" the Commons of England." Tell me, my 
friend, is this weak prejudice ? I believe in my 
conscience such ideas as ' ' my country ; her in- 
dependence ; her honour ; the illustrious names 
that mark the history of my native land ;" &c. 
— I believe these, among your men of the 
world, men who in fact guide for the most part 
and govern our world, are looked on as so 
many modifications of wrong-headedness. They 
know the use of bawling out such terms, to 
rouse or lead the rabble ; but for their own 
private use, with almost all the able statesmen 
that ever existed, or now exist, when they talk 
of right and wrong, they only mean proper and 
improper ; and their measure of conduct is, not 
what they ought, but what they dare. For 
the truth of this I shall not ransack the history 
of nations, but appeal to one of the ablest 
judges of men that ever lived — the celebrated 
Earl of Chesterfield. In fact, a man who 
could thoroughly control his vices whenever 
they interfered with his interests, and who could 
completely put on the appearance of every vir- j 
tue as often as it suited his purposes, is, on the 



myself unequal to the task, there is no great harm done. 
Virtue and study are their own reward. I have got Shak- 
speare, and begun with him ; and I shall stretch a point, 
and make myself master of all the dramatic authors of any 
repute in both English and French — the only language* I 
which I know."] 



094 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Stanhopian plan, the perfect man ; a. man to 
lead nations. But are great abilities, complete 
without a flaw, and polished without a blemish, 
the standard of human excellence? This is 
certainly the staunch opinion of men of the 
world ; but I call on honour, virtue, and worth, 
to give the Stygian doctrine a loud negative ! 
However, this must be allowed, that, if you 
abstract from man the idea of an existence 
beyond the grave, then, the true measure of 
human conduct is, proper and improper : virtue 
t:nd vice, as dispositions of the heart, are, in 
that case, of scarcely the same import and value 
to the world at large as harmony and discord 
in the modifications of sound ; and a delicate 
sense of honour, like a nice ear for music, 
though it may sometimes give the possessor an 
ecstacy unknown to the coarser organs of the 
herd, yet, considering the harsh gratings, and 
inharmonic jars, in this ill-tuned state of being, 
it is odds but the individual would be as happy, 
and certainly would be as much respected by 
the true judges of society as it would then 
stand, without either a good ear or a good 
heart. 

You must know I have just met with the 
Mirror and Lounger for the first time, and I 
am quite in raptures with them ; I should be 
glad to have your opinion of some of the papers. 
The one I have just read, Lounger, No. 61, 
has cost me more honest tears than any thing I 
have read of a long time.* Mackenzie has 
been called the Addison of the Scots, and, in 
my opinion, Addison would not be hurt at the 
comparison. If he has not Addison's exquisite 
humour, he as certainly outdoes him in the 
tender and the pathetic. His Man of Feeling 
(but I am not counsel learned in the laws of 
criticism) I estimate as the first performance in 
its kind I ever saw. From whet book, moral 
or even pious, will the susceptible young mind 
receive impressions more congenial to humanity 
and kindness, generosity and benevolence ; in 
short, more of all that ennobles the soul to her- 
self, or endears her to others — than from the 
simple affecting tale of poor Harley ? f 

Still, with all my admiration of Mackenzie's 



* [This paper relates to attachments between servants and 
masters, and concludes with the story of Albert Blane.] 

t [Of all the letters which Burns wrote to Henry Macken- 
zie, not one has been handed down to us ; the following is 
from the pen of the Man of Feeling, and was addressed to 
the poet when about to set off on his Border tour : — 

" Dear Sir, 

" Amidst a variety of occupations in which I am at this 
moment engaged, J have only time to scrawl these few lines 
to return you very sincere and cordial thanks for the engrav- 
ing and the letter accompanying it. The anecdote you 
obligingly communicate is not less gratifying to the feelings 
< f the man than flattering to the vanity of the author. 

" I heartily wish you a pleasant journey and all hap-iness 
and success in the cause and in the objects of it. I hope, is 
soon as you return to Edinburgh, to have the pleasure of 
eeeing you. Mr. Stewart told me he had given you a letter 
to Mr. Brydone, otherwise I would have written a few lines 



writings, I do not know if they are the fittest 
reading for a young man who is about to set 
out, as the phrase is, to make his way into life. 
Do not you think, Madam, that among the 
few favoured of Heaven in the structure of 
their minds (for such there certainly are), there 
may be a purity, a tenderness, a dignity, and 
elegance of soul which are of no use, nay, in 
some degree, absolutely disqualifying for the 
truly important business of making a man's way 
into life ? If I am not much mistaken, my 
gallant young friend, A******, J is very 
much under these disqualifications ; and for the 
young females of a family I could mention, 
well may they excite parental solicitude, for I. 
a common acquaintance, or as my vanity will 
have it, an humble friend, have often trembled 
for a turn of mind which may render them emi- 
nently happy- — or peculiarly miserable ! 

I have been manufacturing some verses lately ; 
but as I have got the most hurried season of 
excise business over, I hope to have more lei- 
sure to transcribe any thing that may show how 
much I have the honour to be, Madam, 



Yours, &c. 

~& 

No. CLXXXIII. 



R. B. 



TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL.* 



Sir: 



Ellisland, 1790. 



I shall not fail to wait on Captain Riddel 
to-night — I wish and pray that the goddess of 
justice herself would appear to-morrow among 
our hon. gentlemen, merely to give them a 
word in their ear that mercy to the thief is in- 
justice to the honest man. For my part I have 
galloped over my ten parishes these four days, 
until this moment that I am just alighted, or 
rather, that my poor jackass-skeleton of ahorse 
has let me down ; for the miserable devil has 
been on his knees half a score of times within 
the last twenty miles, telling me in his own way, 



to him by you, as he expressed to me a very strong desire to 
see you at his Louse on the banks of the Tweed. Once 
more I wish you every thing pleasant and prosperous. 

" Yours very faithfully, 

" Henry Mackenzie." 

It is singular that trie poet read the Mirror and Lounger 
for the first time in 1790— in the year 1786 there appeared in 
the latter a generous article from the pen of Mackenzie on 
the poems of Burns, in which he was placed nigh the sum- 
mit of the Scottish Parnassus.] 

% [Probably Anthony, a son of Mrs. Dunlop, is here alluded 
to.] 

§ [Collector Mitchell was a kind and considerate gentle, 
man, and befriended the poet on several occasions ; to his 
grandson, Mr. John Camphell, surgeon, in Aberdeen, we arc 
indebted for this characteristic letter.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



695 



' Behold, am not I thy faithful jade of a horse, 
on which thou hast ridden these many years V 

In short, Sir, I have broke my horse's wind, 
and almost broke my own neck, besides some 
injuries in a part that shall be nameless, owing 
to a hard-hearted stone for a saddle. I find 
that every offender has so many great men to 
espouse his cause that I shall not be surprised 
if I am committed to the strong hold of the law 
to-morrow for insolence to the dear friends of 
the gentlemen of the country. 

I have the honour to be, Sir, 

Your obliged and obedient humble 

R. B. 



No. CLXXXIV. 
TO Dr. MOORE. 



Excise-Office, Dumfries, \Uh July, 1/90. 



Sir: 



Coming into town this morning, to a+tend 
my duty in this office, it being collection-day, 
I met with a gentleman who tells me he is on 
his way to London ; so I take the opportunity 
of writing to you, as franking is at present 
tinder a temporary death. I shall have some 
snatches of leisure through the day, amid our 
horrid business and bustle, and I shall improve 
tliem as well as I can ; but let my letter be as 
stupid as ****** * ? as miscellaneous as a 
newspaper, as short as a hungry grace-before- 
meat, or as long as a law-paper in the Douglas 
cause; as ill spelt as country John's billet-doux, or 
as unsightly a scrawl as Betty Byre- Mucker's 
answer to it ; I hope, considering circumstances, 
you will forgive it ; and as it will put you to 
no expense of postage, I shall have the less re- 
flection about it. 

I am sadly ungrateful in not returning you 
my thanks for your most valuable present, 
Zeluco. In fact, you are in some degree blame- 
able for my neglect. You were pleased to ex- 
press a wish for my opinion of the work, which 
so flattered me that nothing less would serve 
my over- weening fancy than a formal criticism 
on the book. In fact, I have gravely planned 
a comparative view of you. Fielding, Richard- 
son, and Smollett, in your different qualities 
and merits as novel-writers. This, I own, be- 
trays my ridiculous vanity, and I may probably 
never bring the business to bear ; but I am 
fond of the spirit young Elihu shews in the 



* [The sonnets to which Burns alludes were those of 
Charlotte Smith ; in the volume which belonged to the poet 
one note alone intimates that the book passed through his 
hands ; the fair authoress, in giving the source of line 14, in 
the 8th sonnef — 



book of Job — " And I said, I will also declare 
my opinion." I have quite disfigured my copy 
of the book with my annotations. I never take 
it up without at the same time taking my pen- 
cil, and marking with asterisms, parentheses, 
&c, wherever I meet with an original thought, 
a nervous remark on life and manners, a re- 
markable well-turned period, or a character 
sketched with uncommon precision. 

Though I should hardly think of fairly wri- 
ting out my "Comparative View," I shall 
certainly trouble you with my remarks, such as 
they are. 

I have just received from my gentleman that 
horrid summons in the book of revelations — 
" That time shall be no more !" 

The little collection of sonnets have some 
charming poetry in them. If indeed I am in- 
debted to the fair author for the book, and not, 
as I rather suspect, to a celebrated author of the 
other sex, I should certainly have written to the 
lady, with my grateful acknowledgments, and 
my own ideas of the comparative excellence of 
her pieces. I would do this last, not from any 
vanity of thinking that my remarks could be of 
much consequence to Mrs. Smith, but merely 
from my own feelings as an author, doing as I 
would be done by.* 

R. B. 
^ . 

No. CLXXXV. 

TO Mr. MURDOCH, 

TEACHER OF FRENCH, LONDON. 

Ellisland, Jul// 16, 1790. 

My dear Str, 
I received a letter from you a long time 
ago, but unfortunately as it was in the time of 
my peregrinations and journeyings through 
Scotland, I mislaid or lost it, and by conse- 
quence your direction along with it. Luckily 
my good star brought me acquainted with 
Mr. Kennedy, who, I understand, is an ac- 
quaintance of yours : and by his means and 
mediation I hope to replace that link which 
my unfortunate negligence had so unluckily 
broken in the chain of our correspondence. I 
Avas the more vexed at the vile accident as my 
brother William, a journeyman saddler, has 
been for some time in London ; and wished 
above all things for your direction, that he 
might have paid his respects to his Father's 
Friend. 



'Ha 



i power to cure all sadness but despair," 



<juotes Milton— 



" Vernal delight and joy, able to drive 
All sadness but despair." 

To this Burns added with the pen 

" He sang sae sweet as might dispel 
A' rage but fell despair." 

These lines are to be found in one version at least of the fine 
j ballad of Gil Morice.] 



TPIE WORKS OF BURNS. 



His last address he sent me was, " Win. 
Burns, at Mr. Barber's, saddler, No. 181, 
Strand." I wrote him by Mr. Kennedy, but 
neglected to ask him for your address ; so, if 
you find a spare half minute, please let my 
brother know by a card where and when he 
will find you, and the poor fellow will joyfully 
wait on you, as one of the few surviving friends 
of the man whose name, and Christian name 
too, he has the honour to bear. 

The next letter I write you shall be a long 
one. I have much to tell you of " hair-breadth 
'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach," with 
all the eventful history of a life, the early 
years of which owed so much to your kind 
tutorage ; but this at an hour of leisure. My 
kindest compliments to Mrs. Murdoch and 
family. 

I am ever, my dear Sir, 

Your obliged friend, 
R. B.* 



* [The reply to this letter was as follows : — 
From Mr. Murdoch to the Bard. 



Hart-street, Bloomsbury Square, 
London, September 14th, 1790. 
"My dear Friend, 

" Yours of the l6th of July, I received on the 26th, in 
the afternoon, per favour of my friend Mr. Kennedy, and at 
the same time was informed that your brother was ill. 
Being engaged in business till late that evening, I set out 
next morning to see him, and had thought of three or four 
medical gentlemen of my acquaintance, to one or other of 
whom I might apply for advice, provided it should be neces- 
sary. But when I went to Mr. Barber's, to my great as- 
tonishment and heart-felt grief I found that my young friend 
had, on Saturday, bid an everlasting farewell to all sublunary 
things. — It was about a fortnight before that he had found 
me out, by Mr. Stevenson's accidentally calling at my shop 
to buy something. We had only one interview, and that 
was highly entertaining to me in several respects. He 
mentioned some instruction I had given him when very 
young, to which he said he owed, in a great measure, the 
philanthropy he possessed. He also took notice of my 
exhorting you all, when I wrote, about eight years ago, to 
the man who, of all mankind that I ever knew, stood highest 
in my esteem, "not to let go your integrity." You may 
easily conceive that such conversation was both pleasing 
and encouraging to me : I anticipated a deal of rational 
happiness from future conversations. Vain are our expecta- 
tions and hopes. They are so almost always — perhaps 
(nay, certainly), for our good. Were it not for disapp'ointed 
hopes, we could hardly spend a thought on another state of 
existence, or be in any degree reconciled to the quitting of 
this. I know of no one source of consolation to those who 
have lost young relatives equal to that of their being of a 
good disposition, and of a promising character. 



Be assured, my dear friend, that I cordially sympathize 
with you all, and particularly with Mrs. W. Burness, who is 
undoubtedly one of the most tender and affectionate mothers 
that ever lived. Remember me to her in the most friendly 
manner, when you see her. or write. Please present my best 
compliments to Mrs. R. Burns, and to your brother and 
sisters. There is no occasion for me to exhort you to filial 
duty; and to use your united endeavours in rendering the 
evening of life as comfortable as possible to a mother who 
has dedicated so great a part of it in promoting your tem- 
poral and spiritual welfare. 

Your letter to Dr. Moore I delivered at his house, and 
shall most likely know your opinion of Zeluco, the first time 
I meet with him. I wish and hope for a long letter. Be 
particular about your mother's health. I hope she is too much 
a christian to be afflicted above measure, or to sorrow aa 
those who have no hope. 



No. CLXXXVI. 
TO Mr. M'MURDO. 



Sir, 



Ellisland, 2nd August, 1730. 



Now that you are over with the sirens of 
Flattery, the harpies of Corruption, and the 
furies of Ambition, these infernal deities, that 
on all sides, and in all parties, preside over the 
villainous business of Politics, permit a rustic 
muse of your acquaintance to do her best to 
soothe you with a song. — ■ 

You knew Henderson — I have not flattered 
his memory. 

I have the honour to be, Sir, 

Your obliged humble servant, 
R. B.f 



One of the most pleasing hopes I have is to visit you all ; 
but I am commonly disappointed in what I most ardently 
wish for. 

I am, dear Sir, yours sincerely, 

John Murdoch.", 

The promised account of himself was never written : but 
this is the less to be regretted since we have that which he 
rendered of his earlier days to Dr. Moore — a valuable me- 
moir, from which all biographers have borrowed. This letter 
was communicated to Cromek by Mr. Murdoch, accompanied 
by the following interesting note : — 

London, Hart-street, Bloomsbury, 
Dec. 28tk, 1807. 
" Dear Sir, 
" The enclosed letter, which I lately found among my 
papers, I copy for your perusal, partly because it is Burns's, 
partly because it makes honourable mention of my rational 
christian friend, his father ; and likewise because it is rather 
flattering to myself. I glory in no one thing so much as an 
intimacy with good men — the friendship of others reflect no 
honour, when I recollect the pleasure (and I hope benefit) I 
received from the conversation of William Burness, 
especially when on the Lord's Day we walked together for 
about two miles to the house of prayer, there publicly to 
adore and praise the Giver of all good. I entertain an ardent 
hope that together we shall renew the glorious theme in 
distant worlds, with powers more adequate to the mighty 

subject, THE EXUBERANT BENEFICENCE OF THE GREAT 

Creator. 

But to the letter : — 

I promised myself a deal of happiness in the conversation 
of my dear young friend ; but my promises of this nature 
generally prove fallacious. Two visits were the utmost that 
I received. At one of them, however, he repeated a lesson 
which I had given him about twenty years before, when he 
was a mere child, concerning the pity and tenderness due to 
animals. To that lesson (which it seems was brought to the 
level of his capacity) he declared himself indebted for almost 
all the nhilanthropy he possessed. 

Let not parents and teachers imagine that it is needless to 
talk seriously to children. They are sooner fit to be reasoned 
with than is generally thought. Strong and indelible im- 
pressions are to be made before the mind be agitated and 
ruffled by the numerous train of distracting cares and unruly 
passions, whereby it is frequently rendered almost unsuscep- 
tible of the principles and precepts of rational religion and 
sound morality. 

But 1 find myself digressing again. Poor William ! then 
in the bloom and vigour of youth, caught a putrid fever, and, 
in a few days, as real chief mourner, I followed his remains 
to the land of forgetfulness. 

John Murdoch."] 

t [This brief letter enclosed the admirable poem on the 
death of Captain Matthew Henderson, and no one could 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



:l 



No. CLXXXVII. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

8th August, 1790. 

Dear Madam, 

After a long day's toil, plague, and care, 
I sit down to write to you. Ask me not why 
I have delayed it so long ! It was owing to 
hurry, indolence, and fifty other things ; in 
short to any thing — but forgetfulness of la plus 
aimable de son sexe. \By the bye, you are 
indebted your best courtesy to me for this last 
compliment ; as I pay it from my sincere con- 
viction of its truth — a quality rather rare in 
compliments of these grinning, bowing, scrap- 
ing times. 

Well, I hope writing to you will ease a little 
my troubled soul. Sorely has it been bruised 
to-day ! A ci-devant friend of mine, and an 
intimate acquaintance of yours, has given my 
feelings a wound that I perceive will gangrene 
dangerously ere it cure. He has wounded my 
pride !* R. B. 



No. CLXXXVIII. 
TO Mr. CUNNINGHAM. 

Ellisland, 8th August, 1790. 

Forgive me, my once dear, and ever dear, 
friend, my seeming negligence. You cannot 
sit down and fancy the busy life I lead. 

I laid down my goose feather to beat my 
brains for an apt simile, and had some thoughts 
of a country grannum at a family christening ; 
a bride on the market-day before her marriage ; 



or a tavern-keeper at an election -dinner ; but 
the resemblance that hits my fancy best is that 
blackguard miscreant, Satan, who roams about 
like a roaring lion, seeking, searching whom 
he may devour. However, tossed about as I 
am, if I choose (and who would not choose) to 
bind down with the crampets of attention the 



brazen foundation of integrity, I may rear up 
the superstructure of Independence, and, from 
its daring turrets, bid defiance to the storms of 
fate. And is not this a tl consummation de- 
voutly to be wished 1" 

" Thy spirit, Independence, let me share : 

Lord of the lion-heart, and eagle-eye ! 

Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, 

Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky !" 

Are not these noble verses ? They are the 
introduction of Smollet's Ode to Independence : 
if you have not seen the poem, I will send it 
to you. — How wretched is the man that hangs 
on by the favours of the great ! To shrink 
from every dignity of man, at the approach of 
a lordly piece of self-consequence, who amid 
all his tinsel glitter, and stately hauteur, is but 
a creature formed as thou art — and perhaps not 
so well formed as thou art — came into the 
world a puling infant as thou didst, and must 
go out of it as all men must, a naked corse. 

R. B. 



better feel than the gentleman to whom it was addressed the 
difference between the dissonance of politics, and the har- 
mony of the muse. Who Henderson was has been a source 
of some solicitude; Mrs. Burns had only heard of his name, 
and Mrs. M'Murdo remembered him as an agreeable and 
witty man, but knew nothing of his lineage. Sir Thomas 
Wallace was applied to, and his communication afforded a 
little more light. He was intimate, he said, with Henderson, 
and much attached to him, as all who knew him were. 
During the stay of Burns in Edinburgh the Captain lived 
in the High Street, dined regularly at Fortune's Tavern, and 
was a member of the Capillaire Club, which was composed of 
all who inclined to the witty and the joyous. "With his 
family," says Sir Thomas, "I was not acquainted: but he 
was a gentleman of true principles and probity, and for 
abilities, goodness of heart, gentleness of nature, sprightly 
wit, and sparkling humour would have been an honour to any 
family in the land."] 

* [Who this ci-devant friend was, and what was the nature 
of the quarrel between him and the poet, remain in ob- 
scurity. 



No. CLXXXIX. 
TO Dr. ANDERSON.* 



Sir: 



[1790.] 



I am much indebted to my worthy friend 
Dr. Blacklock for introducing me to a gentle- 
man of Dr. Anderson's celebrity ; but when 
you do me the honour to ask my assistance in 
your proposed publication, alas, Sir ! you might 
as well think to cheapen a little honesty at the 
sign of an advocate's wig, or humility under 
the Geneva band. I am a miserable hurried 
devil, worn to the marrow in the friction of 
holding the noses of the poor publicans to the 
grindstone of the Excise ! and like Milton's 
Satan, for private reasons, am forced 

" To do what yet, tho^ damn'd, I would abhor." 

— and except a couplet or two of honest exe- 
cration 

****** R. B. 



"The preceding letter to Mrs. Dunlop explains the feel- 
ings under which this was written. The strain of indignant 
invective goes on some time longer in the style which our 
bard was too apt to indulge, and of which the reader has 
already seen so much." — Cukrie.] 

* [Dr. Robert Anderson was one of the kindest and most 
benevolent authors of his time : his door was never shut 
against the deserving, and he held out his hand to almost all 
young literary aspirants. He was one of the first to disco- 
ver the genius of Campbell, and the poet acknowledged his 
discernment in a dedication. He has been for some time 
numbered with the dead. — Cunningham. 

This fragment, first puulished by Cromek, is placed by 
him and subsequent editors under 1794, and by Mr. Cun- 
ningham is supposed to be addressed to Dr. Robert Ander- 
son, the editor of the British Poets. We have little doubt 
that the gentleman addressed wa3 Dr. James Anderson, a 
well-known agricultural and miscellaneous writer, and the 
editor of a weekly miscellany entitled "The Bee." This 
publication was commenced in Edinburgh, December, 1790, 
and concluded in January 1794, when it formed eighteen 



098 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CXC. 
TO CRAWFORD TAIT, Esq. 

EDINBURGH. 

Ellisland, 15th October, 1790. 

Dear Sir: 

Allow me to introduce to your acquaintance 
the bearer, Mr. Yfm. Duncan, a friend of mine, 
-v^om I have long known and long loved. His 
father, whose only son he is, has a decent little 
property in Ayr-shire, and has bred the young 
man to the law, in which department he comes 
up an adventurer to your good town. I shall 
give you my friend's character in two words : 
as to his head, he has talents enough, and more 
than enough, for common life; as to his heart, 
when nature had kneaded the kindly clay that 
composes it, she said, " I can no more." 

You, my good Sir, were born under kinder 
stars ; but your fraternal sympathy, I well 
know, can enter into the feelings of the young 
man, who goes into life with the laudable am- 
bition to do something, and to he something 
among his fellow-creatures ; but whom the con- 
sciousness of friendless obscurity presses to the 
earth, and wounds to the soul ! 

Even the fairest of his virtues are against 
him. That independent spirit, and that inge- 
nuous modesty, qualities inseparable from a 
noble mind, are, with the million, circumstances 
not a little disqualifying. What pleasure is in 
the power of the fortunate and the happy, by 
their notice and patronage, to brighten the 
countenance and glad the heart of such de- 
pressed youth ! I am not so angry with man- 
kind for their deaf economy of the purse : — 
The goods of this world cannot be divided 
without being lessened — but why be a niggard 
of that which bestows bliss on a fellow-creature, 
yet takes nothing from our own means of en- 
joyment ? We wrap ourselves up in the cloak 
of our own better fortune, and turn away our 



volumes. The above letter by Burns, from the allusion it 
makes to his extreme occupation by business, as well as from 
the bitterness of its tone, seems to have been written in the 
latter part of 1790, immediately after the poet had com- 
menced exciseman ; it "vas an answer, probably, to an appli- 
cation for aid in the conduct of "The Bee," then about to 
be started. For these reasons, the present editor has shifted 
its place in the poet's correspondence. — Chambers. 

That this is evident will appear by the following Poetical 
Epistle of Dr. Blacklock to the Poet :— 

Edinburgh, September 1st, 1790. 
" How does my dear friend, much I languish to hear, 
His fortune, relations, and all that are dear? 
With love of the Muses so strongly still smitten, 
I meant this epistle in verse to have written ; 
But from age and infirmity, indolence flows,. 
And this, much I fear, will restore me to prose- 
Anon to my business I wish to proceed, — 
Dr. Anderson guides and provokes me to speed, 
A man of integrity, genius, and worth, 
Who soon a performance intends to set forth ; 
A work miscellaneous, extensive, and free, 
Which will weekly appear, by the name of the Bee, 



eyes, lest the wants and woes of our brother- 
mortals should disturb the selfish apathy of 
our souls ! 

I am the worst hand in the world at asking 
a favour. That indirect address, that insinu- 
ating implication, which, without any positive 
request, plainly expresses your wish, is a talent 
not to be acquired at a plough-tail. Tell me 
then, for you can, in what periphrasis of lan- 
guage, in what circumvolution of phrase, I 
shall envelope, yet not conceal, this plain story, 
— " My dear Mr. Tail;, my friend Mr. Dun- 
can, whom I have the pleasure of introducing 
to you, is a young lad of your own profession, 
and a gentleman of much modesty, and great 
worth. Perhaps it may be in your power to 
assist him in the, to him, important considera- 
tion of getting a place ; but, at all events, your 
notice and acquaintance will be a very great 
acquisition to him ; and I dare pledge myself 
that he will never disgrace your favour." 

You may possibly be surprised, Sir, at such a' 
letter from me ; 'tis, I own, in the usual way 
of calculating these matters, more than our ac- 
quaintance entitles me to ; but my answer is 
short : Of all the men at your time of life, 
whom I knew in Edinburgh, you are the most 
accessible on the side on which I have assailed 
you. You are very much altered indeed from 
what you were when I knew you, if generosity 
point the path you will not tread, or humanity 
call to you in vain. 

As to myself, a being to whose interest I be- 
lieve you are still a well-wisher, I am here, 
breathing at all times, thinking sometimes, and 
rhyming now and then. Every situation has 
its share of the cares and pains of life, and my 
situation, I am persuaded, has a full ordinary 
allowance of its pleasures and enjoyments. 

My best compliments to your father and Miss 
Tait. If you have an opportunity, please re- 
member me in the solemn-league-and-covenant 
of friendship to Mrs. Lewis Hay.* I am a 
wretch for not writing her • but I am so hack- 



Of this from himself I inclose you a plan, 

And hope you will give what assistance you can. 

Entangled with business, and haunted with care, 

In which more or less human nature must share, 

Some moments of leisure the Muses will claim, 

A sacrifice due to amusement and fame, 

The Bee, which sucks honey from ev'ry gay bloom, 

With some rays of your genius her work may allume, 

Whilst the flow'r whence her honey spontaneously flows, 

As fragrantly smells, and as vig'rously grows. 

Nov/ with kind gratulations 'tis time to conclude, 

And add, your promotion is here understood; 

Thus free from the servile employ of excise, Sir, 

We hope, soon to hear you commence supervisor ; 

You then, more at leisure, and free from controul, 

May indulge the strong passion that reigns in your soul : 

But I, feeble I, must to nature give way ; 

Devoted cold death's, and longevity's prey. 

From verses though languid my thoughts must unbend, 

Tho' still I remain your affectionate friend, 

Thos. Blacklock."] 



* [Formerly Miss Margaret Chalmers.] 



= 3 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



699 



neyed with self-accusation in that way that 
my conscience lies in my bosom with scarce the 
sensibility of an oyster in "ts shell. Where is 
Lady M'Kenzie? wherever she is, God bless 
her ! I likewise beg leave to trouble you with 
compliments to Mr. Wm. Hamilton ; Mrs. 
Hamilton and family ; and Mrs. Chalmers, 
when you are in that country. Should you 
meet with Miss Nimmo, please remember me 
kindly to her. 

B.B. 



No. CXCI. 



TO 



Ellisland, 1790. 



Dear Sir : 



Whether, in the way of my trade, I can 
be of any service to the Rev. Doctor, is I fear 
very doubtful. Ajax's shield consisted, I think, 
of seven bull hides and a plate of brass, which 
altogether set Hector's utmost force at defiance. 
Alas ! I am not a Hector, and the worthy Doc- 
tor's foes are as securely armed as Ajax was. 
Ignorance, superstition, bigotry, stupidity, ma- 
levolence, self-conceit, envy — all strongly bonnet 
in a massy frame of brazen impudence ! Good 
God, Sir ! to such a shield, humour is the peck 
of a sparrow, and satire the pop-gun of a 
school-boy. Creation-disgracing scelerats such 
as they, God only can mend, and the devil only 
can punish. In the comprehending way of 
Caligula, I wish they all had but one neck. I 
feel impotent as a child to the ardour of my 
wishes ! O for a withering curse to blast the 
germins of their wicked machinations ! O for 
a poisonous tornado, winged from the torrid 
zone of Tartarus, to sweep the spreading cro^ 
of their villainous contrivances to the lowest 
hell !* 

R. B. 



No. CXCII. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, November, 179c. 

" As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good 
news from a far country." 

Fate has long owed me a letter of good news 
from you, in return for the many tidings of 
sorrow which I have received. In this instance 
I most cordially obey the apostle — " Rejoice 
with them that do rejoice" — for me, to sing for 
joy, is no new thing ; but to preach for joy, as 
I have done in the commencement of this 



* [This letter I suspect was addressed to Gavin Hamilton : 
it enclosed the Kirk's Alarm, written to aid the cause of 
Dr. M' Gill. Both the preacher and the poet failed: M'Gill 
recanted his heresy, and Burns had the mortification of 



epistle, is a pitch of extravagant rapture to 
which I never rose before. 

I read your letter — I literally jumped for joy 
— How could such a mercurial creature as a 
poet lumpishly keep his seat, on the receipt of 
the best news from his best friend ? I seized my 
gilt - headed Wangee rod, an instrument indis- 
pensably necessary in my left hand, in the 
moment of inspiration and rapture ; and stride, 
stride — quick and quicker — out skipt I among 
the broomy banks of Nith to muse over my 
joy by retail. To keep within the bounds of 
prose was impossible. Mrs. Little's is a more 
elegant, but not a more sincere, compliment to 
the sweet little fellow than I, extempore 
almost, poured out to him in the following 
verses. 

" Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 
And ward o* mony a prayer, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na move 
Sae helpless, sweet, an fair !" 

(Vide p. 2490 

I am much flattered by your approbation of 
my Tarn 0' Shanter, which you express in 
your former letter ; though, by the bye, you 
load me in that said letter with accusations 
heavy and many ; to all which I plead, not 
guilty ! Your book is, I hear, on the road 'to 
reach me. As to printing of poetry, when you 
prepare it for the press, you have only to spell 
it right, and place the capital letters properly : 
as to the punctuation, the printers do that 
themselves. 

I have a copy of Tarn o' Shanter ready to 
send you by the first opportunity : it is too 
heavy to send by post. 

I heard of Mr. Corbet f lately. He, in con- 
sequence of your recommendation, is most 
zealous to serve me. Please favour me soon 
with an account of your good folks; if Mrs. H. 
is recovering, and the young gentleman doing 
well. R. B. 



No. CXCIII. 
TO LADY W. M. CONSTABLE. 

Ellisland, Wth January, \7Q\. 

My Lady, 

Nothing less than the unlucky accident of 
having lately broken my right arm could have 
prevented me, the moment I received your lady- 
ship's elegant present by Mrs. Miller, from 
returning you my warmest and most grateful 
acknowledgments; I assure your ladyship, I 
shall set it apart : the symbols of religion shall 
only be more sacred. In the moment of poetic 
composition, the box shall be my inspiring 



hurting the feelings of many, without benefiting one.- 

CUNNINGHAM.] 

t [One of the general supervisors of Excise.] 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



genius. When I would breath the compre- 
hensive wish of benevolence for the happiness 
of others, I shall recollect your ladyship ; when 
I would interest my fancy in the distresses 
incident to humanity, I shall remember the 
unfortunate Mary.* 

R. B. 



No. CXCIV. 



TO WILLIAM DUNBAR, W. S.f 

Ellisland, Vjth January, 1/91. 

I am not gone to Elysium, most noble 
colonel,]: but am still here in this sublunary 
world, serving my God by propagating his 
image, and honouring ray king by begetting 1 
him loyal subjects. 

Many happy returns of the season await my 
friend. May the thorns of care never beset 
his path ! May peace be an inmate to his 
bosom, and rapture a frequent visitor of his 
soul ! May the blood-hounds of misfortune 
never track his steps, nor the screech-owl of 
sorrow alarm his dwelling ! May enjoyment 
tell thy hour., and pleasure number thy days, 
thou friend of the bard ! " Blessed be he that 
blesseth thee, and cursed be he that curseth 
thee ! ! !" 

As a further proof that I am still in the land 
of existence, I send you a poem, the latest I 
have composed. I have a particular reason for 
wishing you only to show it to select friends, 
should you think it worthy a friend's perusal ; 
but if, at your first leisure hour, you will favour 
me with your opinion of, and strictures on, the 
performance, it will be an additional obligation 
on, dear Sir, your deeply indebted humble 
servant. 

R. B. 



* [This letter was written acknowledging the present of 
a valuable snuff-box, with a fine picture of Mary Queen of 
Scots on the lid. This was the gift of Lady Winifred 
Maxwell Constable, in grateful return for the Poet's 
" Lament" of that ill-starred Princess, Lady Winifred was 
the last in descent of the noble family of Nithsdale ; a lady 
equally generous and gentle, and who was not the less 
respected by the people around because her house had 
suffered in the cause of the Stuarts. The possessions of the 
family were once very ample : but few estates thrive in civil 
wars, rebellions, and confiscations: one noble barony after 
another passed out of the hands of the Maxwells: and the 
title was extinguished, never, I fear, to be revived. 

The baaonial Castle of Cats-laverock on the Solway, and 
the College of Lhicluden on the banks of the Nith. are still 
included in the family poesessions, and are preserved with 
more care than what is usual with ruins in the South of 
Scotland. At the family seat, the bed in which Queen Mary 
slept, during her flight from the fatal field of Langside : a 
letter from Charles the First, summoning Lord Maxwell 
with as many armed men as he could muster, to aid him in 
supporting the Crown against the Parliament: and the letter 
from the last Countess, describing the all but miraculous 



No. CXCV. 
TO Mrs. GRAHAM, 

OF FINTRAY. 

Ellisland, January, 1791. 

Madam, 

Whether it is that the story of our Mary 
Queen of Scots has a peculiar effect on the 
feelings of a poet, or whether I have, in the 
enclosed ballad, succeeded beyond my usual 
poetic success, I know not ; but it has pleased 
me beyond any effort of my muse for a good 
while past ; on that account I enclose it parti- 
cularly to you. It is true, the purity of my 
motives may be suspected. I am already deeply 
indebted to Mr. Graham's goodness ; and what, 
in the usual ways of men, h of infinitely 
greater importance, Mr. G. can do me service 
of the utmost importance in time to come. 1 
was born a poor dog ; and however I may 
occasionally pick a better bone than I used to 
do, I know I must live and die poor : but I 
will indulge the flattering faith that my poetry 
will considerably outlive my poverty ; and, 
without any fustian affectation of spirit, I can 
promise and affirm that it mu.i be no ordinary 
craving of the latter shall ever make me do 
any thing injurious to the honest fame of the 
former. Whatever may be my failings, for 
failings are a part of human nature, may they 
ever be those of a generous heart, and an 
independent mind ! It is no fault of mine that 
I was born to dependence ; nor is it Mr. 
Graham's chiefest praise that he can command 
influence ; but it is his merit to bestow, not 
only with the kindness of a brother, but with 
the politeness of a gentleman; and I trust it 
shall be mine to receive with thankfulness, 
and remember with undiminished gratitude. 

R. B. 



escape of her husband from the Tower of London in 1715 — 
unite in telling the history of the House of Nithsdale, and 
the cause — the honourable cause — of its decline.— Cun- 
ningham.] 

t [The gentleman to whom the above letter is addressed, 
and which is for the first time published, was a writer to the 
Signet in Edinbugh, with whom the poet appears to have 
been on very intimate and friendly terms. For this and 
three other letters to the same individual, inserted afterwards, 
we are indebted to the activity and industry of Mr. P. Buchan 
of Aberdeen, who has been unremitting in his exertions to 
recover every scrap connected with the name or fame of our 
national Bard. In his commun" 'ations to us, Mr. Buchan 
states that "the four letters referred to belong to Misses 
Ogilvie, daughters of the late Rev. and ingenious John 
Ogilvie, D. D, of Midmar, author of the poems on ' Provi- 
dence,' 'Paradise,' and 'Britannia,' and that after having 
made the tour or part of Europe and America, they had 
again crossed the Atlantic, and are now first given to the 
public in this complete edition of Burns' works." — 
Motherwell.] 

X [So styled as President of the Convivial Society, known 
by the name of The Crochallan Fencibles.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



701 



No. CXCVI. 
TO Mr. PETER HILL, 

Ellisland, 17 th January, 1791 . 

Take these two guineas, and place them over 
against that damned account of yours ! which 
has gagged my mouth these five or six months ! 
I can as little write good things as apologies to 
the man I owe money to. O the supreme curse 
of making three guineas do the business of 
five ! Not all the labours of Hercules ; not all 
the Hebrews' three centuries of Egyptian 
bondage, were such an insuperable business, 
such an infernal task ! ! Poverty ; thou half- 
sister of death, thou cousin-german of hell! 
where shall I find force of execration equal to 
the amplitude of thy demerits ? Oppressed by 
thee, the venerable ancient, grown hoary in the 
practice of every virtue, laden with years and 
wretchedness, implores a little — little aid to 
support his existence, from a stony-hearted son 
of Mammon, whose sun of prosperity never 
knew a cloud ; and is by him denied and in- 
sulted. Oppressed by thee, the man of senti- 
ment, whose heart glows with independence, 
and melts with sensibility, inly pines under the 
neglect, or writhes in bitterness of soul under 
the contumely, of arrogant, unfeeling wealth. 
Oppressed by thee, the son of genius, whose 
ill-starred ambition plants him at the tables of 
the fashionable and polite, must see, in suffering 
silence, his remarks neglected, and his person 
despised, while shallow greatness, in his idiot 
attempts at wit, shall meet with countenance 
and applause. Nor is it only the family of 
worth that have reason to complain of thee : 
the children of folly and vice, though in com- 
mon with thee the offspring of evil, smart 
equally under thy rod. Owing to thee, the 
man of unfortunate disposition and neglected 
education is condemned as a fool for his dissi- 
pation, despised and shunned as a needy wretch, 
when his follies, as usual, bring him to want ; 
and when his unprincipled necessities drive him 
to dishonest practices, he is abhorred as a 



* [The poet's eloquent apostrophe to Poverty has all his 
usual strength of sentiment and language. In conversation 
he loved to dwell upon the subject : he felt that without 
wealth he could not have full independence : he beheld the 
little that his poems brought melt silently away, and he 
looked forward with much fear and with little hope. — 
Cunningham.] 

t [The following is an extract of a letter from Mr. 
Alexander Cunningham to the Poet, dated Edinburgh, 
October Uth, 1790. 

" I lately received a letter from our friend Barncallie. 
[John Syme, Esq., of Barncallie, afterwards of Kyedale.] 
What a charming fellow lost to society — born to great ex- 
pectations — with superior abilities, a pure heart, and un- 
tainted morals, his fate in life has been hard indeed — still I 
am persuaded he is happy ; not like the gallant, the gay 
Lothario, but in the simplicity of rural enjoyment, unmixed 
with re»ret at the remembrance of the days of other years. 

I saw Mr. Dunbar put under the cover of your newspaper, 



miscreant, and perishes by the justice of his 
country. But far otherwise is the lot of the 
man of family and fortune. His early follies 
and extravagance are spirit and fire ; his con- 
sequent wants are the embarrassments of an 
honest fellow ; and when, to remedy the matter, 
he has gained a legal commission to plunder 
distant provinces, or massacre peaceful nations, 
he returns, perhaps, laden with the spoils of 
rapine and murder ; lives wicked and respected, 
and dies a scoundrel and a lord. — Nay, worst 
of all, alas for helpless woman ! the needy 
prostitute, who has shivered at the corner of 
the street, waiting to earn the wages of casual 
prostitution, is left neglected and insulted, ridden 
down by the chariot wheels of the coroneted 
Rip, hurrying on to the guilty assignation ; 
she who, without the same necessities to plead, 
riots nightly in the same guilty trade. 

Well ! divines may say of it what they 
please; but execration is to the mind what 
phlebotomy is to the body : the vital sluices of 
both are wonderfully relieved by their respective 
evacuations.* 

R. B. 



No. CXCVII. 

TO Mr. ALEX R . CUNNINGHAM.! 

Ellisland, 23i January, 1/91. 

Many happy returns of the season to you, 
my dear friend ! As many of the good things 
of this life as are consistent with the usual 
mixture of good and evil in the cup of Being ! 

I have just finished a poem (Tarn o' Shanter) 
which you will receive enclosed. It is my first 
essay in the way of tales. 

I have these several months been hammering 
at an elegy on the amiable and accomplished 
Miss Burnet. I have got, and can get, no 
farther than the following fragment, on which 
please give me your strictures. In all kinds of 
poetic composition, I set great store by your 
opinion ; but in sentimental verses, in the poetry 
of the heart, no Roman Catholic ever set more 



Mr. Wood's poem on Thomson. This poem has suggested 
an idea to me which you alone are capable to execute — a song 
adapted to each season of the year. The task is difficult, 
but the theme is charming ; should you succeed, I will 
undertake to get new music worthy of the subject. What a 
fine field for your imagination, and who is there alive can 
draw so many beauties from Nature and pastoral imagery 
as yourself? It is, by the way, surprising that there does not 
exist, so far as I know, a proper song for each season. We 
have son^s on hunting, fishing, skaiting, and one autumnal 
song, Harvest Hume. As your muse is neither spavined nor 
rusty, you may mount the hill of Parnassus, and return 
with a sonnet in your pocket for every season. For my 
suggestions, if I be rude, correct me ; if impertinent, 
chastise me; if presuming, despise me. But if you blend 
all my weaknesses, and pound out one grain of insincerity, 
then am I not thy 

Faithful Friend &c."J 



702 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



value on the infallibility of the Holy Father 
than 1 do on yours. 

I mean the introductory couplets as text 
verses. 

[Here follows a portion of the elegy on Miss Burnet, for 
the whole of which see pages 308-9.] 

Let me hear from vou soon. Adieu ! 

R. B. 



No. CXCVIII. 
TO A. F. TYTLER, Esq. 



Sir, 



Ellisland, February, 1791. 



Nothing less than the unfortunate accident 
I have met with could have prevented my 
grateful acknowledgments for your letter. His 
own favourite poem, and that an essay in the 
walk of the muses entirely new to him, where 
consequently his hopes and fears were on the 
most anxious alarm for his success in the at- 
tempt ; to have that poem so much applauded 
by one of the first judges, was the most delicious 
vibration that ever thrilled along the heart- 
strings of a poor poet. However, Providence, 
to keep up the proper proportion of evil with the 
good, which it seems is necessary in this sub- 
lunary state, thought proper to check my ex- 



* [That no one welcomed the appearance of the far-famed 
Tarn o' Shanter with a livelier sense of its merits than the 
late Lord Woodhouselee, the following letter will testify. 

Edinburgh, March 12th, 1791. 

" Mr. Hill yesterday put info my hands a sheet of Grose's 
Antiquities, containing a Poem of yours, entitled, Tarn 0' 
Shunter, a tale. The very high pleasure I have received 
from the perusal of this admirable piece I feel demands the 
warmest acknowledgments. 

" Hill tells me he is to send off a packet for you this day ; 
I cannot resist, therefore, putting on paper what I must have 
told you in person, had I met with you after the recent 
perusal of your tale, which is, that I feel I owe you a debt 
which, if undischarged, would reproach me with ingratitude. 
I have seldom in my life tasted of higher enjoyment from 
any work of genius than I have received from this compo- 
sition ; and I am much mistaken if this poem alone, had 
you never written another syllable, would not have been 
sufficient to have transmitted your name down to posterity 
with high reputation. In the introductory part, where you 
paint the character of your hero, and exhibit him at the 
ale-house ingle, with his tippling cronies, you have delineated 
nature with a humour and naivete that would have done 
honour to Matthew Prior ; but when you describe the in- 
fernal orgies of the witches' sabbath, and the hellish 
scenery in which they are exhibited, you display a power of 
imagination that Shakspeare himself could not have ex- 
ceeded. I know not that I have ever met with a picture of 
more horrible fancy than the following : 

' Coffins stood round like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 
And by some devilish cantrip sleight, 
Each in his cauld hand held a light.' 

But when I came to the succeeding lines, my blood ran 
cold within me : — 

' A knife a father's throat had mangled, 
Whom his ain son of life bereft ; 
The grey hairs net stack to the heft.' 



ultation by a very serious misfortune. A day 
or two after I received your letter, my horse 
came down with me and broke my right arm. 
As this is the first service my arm has done me 
since its disaster, I find myself unable to do 
more than just in general terms thank you for 
this additional instance of your patronage and 
friendship. As to the faults you detected in 
the piece, they are truly there: one of them, 
the hit at the lawyer and priest, I shall cut out ; 
as to the falling off in tSie catastrophe, for the 
reason you justly adduce it cannot easily be 
remedied. Your approbation, Sir, has given 
me such additional spirits to persevere in this 
species of poetic composition that I am already 
revolving two or three stories in my fancy. If 
I can bring these floating ideas to bear any 
kind of embodied form, it will give me an 
additional opportunity of assuring you how 
much I have the honour to be, &c. 

R. B.* 



No. CXCIX. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, 7th Feb. 1791. 

When I tell you, Madam, that by a fall, 
not from my horse, but with my horse, I have 
been a cripple some time, and that this is the 
first day my arm and hand have been able to 
serve me in writing • you will allow that it is 



"And here, after the two following lines, ' Wi' mair o' 
horrible andawfu',' &c, the descriptive part might perhaps 
have been better closed than the four lines which succeed, 
which, though good in themselves, yet, as they derive all their 
merit from the satire they contain, are here rather misplaced 
among the circumstances of pure horror.f The initiation of 
the young witch is most happily described— the effect of her 
charms exhibited in the dance on Satan himself — the apos- 
trophe — 'Ah, little thought thy reverend graunie !' — the 
transport of Tarn, who forgets his situation, and enters 
completely into the spirit of the scene, are all features of 
high merit in this excellent composition. The only fault it 
possesses is that the winding up, or conclusion, of the story, 
is not commensurate to the interest which is excited hy the 
descriptive and characteristic painting of the preceding parts. 
— The preparation is fine, but the result is not adequate. 
But for this perhaps you have a good apology — you stick to 
the popular tale. 

" And now that I have got out my mind, and feel a little 
relieved of the weight of that debt I owed you, let me end 
this desultory scroll by an advice ; — You have proved your 
talent for a species of composition, in which but a very few 
of our own poets have succeeded— Go on — write more tales 
in the same style — you will eclipse Prior and La Fontaine ; 
for, with equal wit, equal power of numbers, and equal 
naivete of expression, you have a bolder and more vigorous 
imagination."] 



f [Our Bard profited by Mr. Tytler's criticism, and ex- 
punged the four lines accordingly. 

CURKIE 

They are as follow : — 

Three lawyers' tongues turn'd inside out, 
Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout, 
And priests' hearts rotten, black as muck, 
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk.] 



" 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



too good an apology for my seemingly ungrate- 
ful silence. I am now getting better, and am 
able to rhyme a little, which implies some tole- 
rable ease ; as I cannot think that the most 
poetic genius is able to compose on the rack. 

I do not remember if ever I mentioned to 
you my having an idea of composing an ©legy 
on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo. I had 
the honour of being pretty well acquainted 
with her, and have seldom felt so much at the 
loss of an acquaintance as when I heard that 
so amiable and accomplished a piece of God's 
work was no more. I have, as yet, gone no 
farther than the following fragment, of which 
please let me have your opinion. You know 
that elegy is a subject so much exhausted that 
any new idea on the business is not to be ex- 
pected : 'tis well if we can place an old idea in 
a new light. How far I have succeeded as to 
this last, you will judge from what follows : 
(See the Elegy page 308.) 

I have proceeded no further. 

Your kind letter, with your kind remem- 
brance of your godson, came safe. This last, 
Madam, is scarcely what my pride can bear. 
As to the little fellow, he is, partiality apart, 
the finest boy I have for a long time seen. He 
is now seventeen months old, has the small -pox 
and measles over, has cut several teeth, and 
never had a grain of doctor's drugs in his 
bowels. 

I am truly happy to hear that the " little 
floweret" is blooming so iresh and fair, and 
that the " mother plant" is rather recovering 
her drooping head. Soon and well may her 
"cruel wounds" be healed! I have written 
thus far with a good deal of difficulty. When 
I get a little abler you shall hear farther from, 
Madam, yours, R. B. 



No. CC. 
TO THE Rev. ARCH. ALISON. 

Ellisland, near Dumfries, \4th Feb. 1/91. 

Sir, 
You must by this time have set me down as 
one of the most ungrateful of men. You did 



* [The eloquent Alison was much pleased with this rustic 
recognition of the principles which he laid clown in his able 
and popular work. The theory, however, has been rudely 
shaken by various hands. A man must have forgot nature 
who at any time preferred a rank weed to a fragrant flower, 
or thought the skreigh of a clockin' hen more martial than 
the clang of a trumpet or the cry of the eagle. But "legs 
were made for stockings," says Voltaire, " therefore we wear 
stockings." — Cunningham. 

" A present which Mr. Alison sent him afterwards of his 
' Essays on Taste ' drew from Burns a letter of acknowledg- 
ment, which I remember to have read with some degree of 
surprise at the distinct conception he appeared from it to 
have formed of the general principles of the doctrine of as- 
sociation. When I saw Mr. Alison in Shrop-shire last autumn, 
I forgot to enquire if the letter be still in existence. If it is, 
you may easily procure it by means of our friend Mr. Houl- 
brooke," — Dugald Stewart. 

The above letter is the one alluded to by the learned 
Professor. 



me the honour to present me with a book, 
which does honour to science and the intellec- 
tual powers of men, and I have not even so 
much as acknowledged the receipt of it. The 
fact is, you yourself are to blame for it. Flat- 
tered as I was by your telling me that you 
wished to have my opinion of the work, the 
old spiritual enemy of mankind, who knows 
well that vanity is one of the sins that most 
easily beset me, put it into my head to ponder 
over the performance with the look-out of a 
critic, and to draw up, forsooth, a deep learned 
digest of strictures on a composition, of which, 
in fact, until I read the book, I did not even 
know the first principles. I own, Sir, that, at 
first glance, several of your propositions startled 
me as paradoxical. That the martial clangor 
of a trumpet had something in it vastly more 
grand, heroic, and sublime, than the twingle 
twangle of a jew's-harp ; that the delicate 
flexure of a rose-twig, when the half-blown 
flower is heavy with the tears of the dawn, was 
infinitely more beautiful and elegant than the 
upright stub of a burdock ; and that from 
something innate and independent of all asso- 
ciations of ideas ; — these I had set down as 
irrefragable, orthodox truths, until perusing 
your book shook my faith. — In short, Sir, ex- 
cept Euclid's Elements of Geometry, which I 
made a shift to unravel by my father's fire-side, 
in the winter evening of the first season I held 
the plough, I never read a book which gave 
me such a quantum of information, and added 
so much to my stock of ideas, as your " Essays 
on the Principles of Taste." One thing, Sir, 
you must forgive my mentioning as an uncom- 
mon merit in the work, I mean the language. 
To clothe abstract philosophy in elegance of 
style sounds something like a contradiction in 
terms ; but you have convinced me that they 
are quite compatible.* 

I enclose you some poetic bagatelles of my 
late composition. The one in print is my first 
essay in the way of telling a tale. 



I am, Sir, &c. 



R. B. 



" It is difficult to read without a smile that letter of Mr. 
Dugald Stewart, in which he describes himself to Mr. Alison, 
as being surprised to discover that Burns, after reading the 
latter author's elegant Essay on Taste, had really been able 
to form some shrewd -enough notion of the general principles 
of the association o. ideas ! It is amusing enough to trace 
the lingering reluctance of some of these polished scholars; 
about admitting even to themselves in his absent, what it is 
certain they all felt sufficiently when they were actually in 
his presence. The extraordinary resources Burns displayed 
in conversation — the strong vigorous sagaciiy of his observa- 
tions on life and manners — the splendour of his wit, and the 
glowing energy of his eloquence, when his feelings were 
stirred, made him the object of serious admiration among 
those practised masters of the art of talk; that galaxy of 
eminent men of letters, who, in their various departments, 
shed lustre at that period on the name of Scotland." — 
Lockhart. 

The doctrine here alluded to is one peculiar, we believe, to 
the Scotch school of metaphysicians, and mainly consists in 



704 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CCI. 
TO THE Rev. G. BAIRD.* 

Ellisland, February, 1791 • 

Reverend Sir, 
Why did you, my dear Sir, write to me in 
such a hesitating style on the business of poor 
Bruce? Don't I know, and have I not felt, 
the many ills, the peculiar ills, that poetic flesh 
is heir to ? You shall have your choice of all 
the unpublished poems I have ; and, had your 
letter had my direction so as to have reached 
me sooner (it only came to my hand this mo- 
ment), I should have directly put you out of 
suspense on the subject. I only ask that some 
prefatory advertisement in the book, as well as 
the subscription bills, may bear that the publi- 
cation is solely for the benefit of Bruce's mother. 
I would not put it into the power of ignorance 
to surmise, or malice to insinuate, that I clubbed 
a share in the work from mercenary motives. 
Nor need you give me credit for any remark- 
able generosity in my part of the business. I 
have such a host of peccadilloes, failings, fol- 
lies, and backslidings (any body but myself 



an assertion that our ideas of beauty in objects of all kinds 
arise from our associating with them some other ideas of an 
agreeable kind. For instance, our notion of beauty in the 
cheek of a pretty maiden arises from our notions of her health, 
innocence, and so forth ; our notion of the beauty of a High- 
land prospect, such as the Trosachs, from our notions of the 
romantic kind of life formerly led in it ; as if there was no 
female beauty independent of both health and innocence, 
or fine scenery where men had not formerly worn tartans 
and claymores. The whole of this letter of Burns is, in 
reality (though perhaps unmeant by him), a satire on this 
doctrine, which, notwithstanding the eloquence of an Alison, 
a Stewart, and a Jeffrey, must now be considered as amongst 
the dreams of philosophy. — Chambers.] 

* [The poet's reverend correspondent solicited his help in 
the contemplated edition of Bruce in these words : — 

" London, 8th February, 1/91. 
"Sir, 

" I trouble you with this letter to inform you that I am 
in hopes of being able very soon to bring to the press a new 
edition (long since talked of) of Michael Bruce's Poems. 
The profits of the edition are to go to his mother — a woman 
of eighty years of age — poor and helpless. The poems are 
to be published by subscription ; and it may be possible, I 
think, to make out a 2s. 6d. or 3s. volume, with the assist- 
ance of a few hitherto unpublished verses, which I have got 
from the mother of the poet. 

"But the design I have in view in writing to you is not 
merely to inform you of these facts ; it is to solicit the aid of 
your name and pen in support of the scheme. The reputa- 
tion of Bruce is already high with every reader of classical 
taste, and I shall be anxious to guard against tarnishing his 
character, by allowing any new poems to appear that may 
lower it. For this purpose, the MSS. I am in possession of 
have been submitted to the revision of some whose critical 
talents I can trust to, and I mean still to submit them to 
others. 

" May I beg to know, therefore, if you will take the trou- 
ble of perusing the MSS. — of giving your opinion, and 
suggesting what curtailments, alterations, or amendments, 
occur to you as advisable ? And will you allow us to let it be 
known that a few lines by you will be added to the volums ? 

" I know the extent of this request. It is bold to make it. 
But I have this consolation, that, though you see it proper to 
refuse it, you will not blame me for having made it ; you 
will see my apology in the motive. 



might perhaps give some of them a worse ap- 
pellation), that by way of some balance, how- 
ever trifling, in the account, I am fain to do 
any good that occurs in my very limited power 
to a fellow-creature, just for the selfish purpose 
of clearing a little of the vista of retrospection. 
* * * * * 

R. B. 



No. CCII. 
TO Dr. MOORE. 

Ellisland, 28th February, 1/91. 

I do not know, Sir, whether you are a sub- 
scriber to Grose's Antiquities of Scotland. If 
you are, the enclosed poem will not be altoge- 
ther new to you. Captain Grose did me the 
favour to send me a dozen copies of the proof 
sheet, of which this is one. Should you have 
read the piece before, still this will answer the 
principal end I have in view : it will give me 
another opportunity of thanking you for all 
your goodness to the rustic bard ; and also of 
shewing you that the abilities you have been 
pleased to commend and patronize are still 
employed in the way you wish.-f 



" May I just add, that Michael Bruce is one in whose 
oompany, from his past appearance, you would not, I am 
convinced, blush to be found, and as I would submit every 
line of his that should now be published to your own criti- 
cisms, you would be assured that nothing derogatory either 
to him or you would be admitted in that appearance he may 
make in future. 

" You have already paid an honourable tribute to kindred 
genius, in Fergusson — I fondly hope that the mother of 
Bruce will experience your patronage. 

" I wish to have the subscription papers circulated by the 
14th of March, Bruce's birth-day ; which I understand some 
friends in Scotland talk this year of observing — at that time 
it will be resolved, I imagine, to place a plain, humble stone 
over his grave. This, at least, I trust you will agree to do — ■ 
to furnish, in a few couplets, an inscription for it. 

" On these points may I solicit an answer as early as pos- 
sible ; a short delay might disappoint us in procuring that 
relief to the mother which is the object of the whole. 

" You will be pleased to address for me under cover to the 
Duke of Athole, London." G. B. 

P.S. Have you ever seen an engraving published here some 
time ago, from one of your poems, " O thou pale Orb?" If 
you have not, I shall have the pleasure of sending it to you.] 

t [Dr. Moore, it would appear, was less enthusiastic than 
Lord Woodhouselee in the cause of Tarn o'Shanter ; nor did 
he feel the exquisite poetry of the Elegy on Matthew Hen- 
derson — he has spoken for himself on the subject — the 
following is his letter : 

London, 2Qth March, 1791. 
"Dear Sir, 

" Your letter of the 28th February I received only two 
days ago, and this day I had the pleasure of waiting on the 
Rev. Mr. Baird, at the Duke of Athole' s, who had been so 
obliging as to transmit it to me, with the printed verses on 
Alloa Church, the Elegy on Capt. Henderson, and the Epi- 
taph. There are many poetical beauties in the former ; what 
I particularly admire are the three striking similes from 

' Or like the snow falls on the river,' 
and the eight lines which begin with 

' By this time he was cross the ford,' 
so exquisitely expressive of the superstitious impressions of 
the country. And the twenty-two lines from 

' Coffins stood round like open presses,' 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



The Elegy on Captain Henderson is a tri- 
bute to the memory of a man I loved much. 
Poets have in this the same advantage as Roman 
Catholics ; they can be of service to their friends 
after they have past that bourne where all other 
kindness ceases to be of avail. Whether, after 
all, either the one or the other be of any real 
service to the dead is, I fear, very problematical ; 
but I am sure they are highly gratifying to the 
living : and as a very orthodox text, I forget 
where in scripture, says, " whatsoever is not of 
faith is sin ;" so say I, whatsoever is not detri- 
mental to society, and is of positive enjoyment, 
is of God, the giver of all good things, and 
ought to be received and enjoyed by his crea- 
tures with thankful delight. As almost all my 
religious tenets originate from my heart, I am 
wonderfully pleased with the idea that I can 
still keep up a tender intercourse with the dearly 
beloved friend, or still more dearly beloved 
mistress, who is gone to the world of spirits. 

The ballad on Queen Mary was begun while 
I was busy with Percy's Reliqnes of English 
Poetry. By the way, how much is every ho- 
nest heart, which has a tincture of Caledonian 
prejudice, obliged to you for your glorious story 
of Buchanan and Targe ! 'Twas an unequi- 
vocal proof of your loyal gallantry of soul 
giving Targe the victory. I should have been 
mortified to the ground if you had not. 

I have just read over, once more of many 
times, your Zeluco. I marked with my pencil, 
as I went along, every passage that pleased me 
particularly above the rest ; and one or two, I 
think, which, with humble deference, I am dis- 
posed to think unequal to the merits of the 
book. I have sometimes thought to transcribe 
these marked passages, or at least so much of 
them as to point where they are, and send them 
to you. Original strokes that strongly depict 
the human heart is your and Fielding's pro- 
vince, beyond any other novelist I have ever 
perused. Richardson indeed might, perhaps, be 



which, in my opinion, are equal to the ingredients of Shak- 
speare's cauldron in Macbeth. 

" As for the Elegy, the chief merit of it consists in the 
graphical description of the objects belonging to the country 
in which the poet writes, and which none but a Scottish poet 
could have described, and none but a real ]!>oet and close 
observer of Nature could have so described. 

il There is something original, and wonderfully pleasing, 
in the Epitaph. 

" I remember you once hinted before, what you repeat in 
your last, that you had made some remarks on Zeluco, on the 
margin. I should be very glad to see them, and regret you 
did not send them before the last edition, which is just pub- 
lished. Pray transcribe them forme ; I sincerely value your 
opinion very highly, and pray do not suppress one of those 
in which you censure the sentiment or expression. Trust 
me it will break no squares between us — I am not akin to 
the Bishop of Grenada. 

" I must now mention what has been on my mind for some 
time; I cannot help thinking you imprudent, in scattering 
abroad so many copies of your verses. It is most natural to 
give a few to confidential friends, particularly to those who 
are connected with the subject, or who are perhaps them- 
selves the subject, but this ought to be done under promise 
not to give other copies. Of the poem you sent me on Queen 
Mary, I refused every solicitation for copies, but I lately saw 



excepted ; but unhappily, his dramatis personam 
are beings of another world ; and, however they 
may captivate the inexperienced, romantic 
fancy of a boy or a girl, they will ever, in pro- 
portion as we have made human nature our 
study, dissatisfy our riper years. 

As to my private concerns, I am going on, a 
mighty tax-gatherer before the Lord, and have 
lately had the interest to get myself ranked on 
the list of Excise as a supervisor. I am not yet 
employed as such, but in a few years I shall 
fall into the file of supervisorship by seniority. 
I have had an immense loss in the death of the 
Earl of Glencairn ; the patron from whom all 
my fame and fortune took its rise. Independent 
of my grateful attachment to him, which was 
indeed so strong that it pervaded my very soul, 
and was entwined with the thread of my 
existence ; as soon as the prince's friends had 
got in (and every dog you know has his day), 
my getting forward in the Excise would have 
been an easier business than otherwise it will 
be. Though this was a consummation devoutly 
to be wished, yet, thank Heaven, I can live 
and rhyme as I am ! and as to my boys, poor 
little fellows ! if I cannot place them on as 
high an elevation in life as I could wish, I 
shall, if I am favoured so much by the Disposer 
of events as to see that period, fix them on as 
broad and independent a basis as possible. 
Among the many wise adages which have been 
treasured up by our Scottish ancestors, this is 
one of the best, Better be the head o' the com- 
monalty than the tail o f the gentry. 

But I am got on a subject which, however 
interesting to me, is of no manner of conse- 
quence to you ; so I shall give you a short 
poem on the other page, and close this with 
assuring you how sincerely I have the honour 
to be, Yours, &c. R. B. 



Written on the blank leaf of a book, which 



it in a newspaper. My motive for cautioning you on this 
subject is that I wish to engage you to collect all your fugi- 
tive pieces, not already printed, and after they have been re- 
considered, and polished to the utmost of your power, I 
would have you publish them by another subscription ; i" 
promoting of which I will exert myself with pleasure. 

" In your future compositions I wish you would use the 
modern' English. You have shewn your powers in Scottish 
sufficiently. Although in cer:ain subjects it gives additions! 
zest to the humour, yet it is lost to the English ; and why 
should you write only" for a pirt of the island, when you can 
command the admiration of the whole ? 

" If you chance to write to my friend Mrs. Dunlop, oi 
Dunlop, I beg to be affectionately remembered to her. She 
must not judge of the warmth cf my sentiments respecting 
her, by the number of my letters ; I hardly ever write a lino 
but on business ; and I do not know that I should have 
scribbled all this to you, but for the business part, that is, to 
instigate you to a new publication ; and to tell you that, 
when you think you have a sufficient number to make a 
volume, you should set your friends on getting subscriptions. 
I wish I could have a few hours' conversation with you ; I 
have many things to say, which I cannot write. If I ever 
go to Scotland, I will let you know, that you may meet me 
at your own house, or my friend Mrs. Hamilton's, or both. 
"Adieu, my dear Sir, &c."] 
2 Z 



706 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



I presented to a very young lady, whom I had 
formerly characterised under the denomination 
of The Rose Bud. — (See Lines to Miss Cruik- 
shank, page 249.) 



No. CCIII. 
TO Mr. ALEX. CUNNINGHAM. * 

Ellisland, \2th March, 1791. 

If the foregoing piece be worth your stric- 
tures, let me have them. For my own part, a 
tiling that I have just composed always ap- 
pears through a double portion of that partial 
medium in which an author will ever view his 
own works. I believe, in general, novelty has 
something in it that inebriates the fancy, and 
not unfrequently dissipates and fumes away 
like other intoxication, and leaves the poor 
patient, as usual, with an aching heart. A 
striking instance of this might be adduced, in 
the revolution of many a hymeneal honeymoon. 
But lest I sink into stupid prose, and so sacri- 
legiously intrude on the office of my parish 
priest, I shall fill up the page in my own way, 
and give you another song of my late compo- 
sition, which will appear perhaps in Johnson's 
work, as well as the former. 

You must know a beautiful Jacobite air, 
There'll never be peace Hill Jamie comes fiame. 
When political combustion ceases to be the ob- 
ject of princes and patriots, it then, you know, 
becomes the lawful prey of historians and poets. 

" By yon castle wa' at the close of the day, 
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey ; 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame."t 

[See page 397-3 

If you like the air, and if the stanza hit your 
fancy, you cannot imagine, my dear friend, how 
much you would oblige me if, by the charms 
of your delightful voice, you would give my 
honest effusion to " the memory of joys that are 
past/' to the few friends whom you indulge in 
that pleasure. But I have scribbled on 'till 
I hear the clock has intimated the near ap- 
proach of — 



* [This gentleman was joyous and companionable ; told a 
pleasing story ; sung songs merry or sad with much taste, 
and was always welcome where wine flowed and mirth 
abounded. He was from first to last the stedfast friend of 
Burns ; he bestirred himself actively, too, in behalf of the 
poet's family.] 

t [This beautiful little Jacobite ditty having appeared in 
Johnson's Museum with the old song mark at it, it has been 
received as an old song all over Scotland. There was an old 
song, but I do not know where to find it. I remember only 
two lines : 

My heart it is sair, and will soon break in twa ; 
For there's few good fellows sin' Jamie's awa. 

This last line is the name of the air in the very old collec- 
tions of Scottish tunes.— Hogg.] 



" That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane." — 

So good night to you ! Sound be your sleep, 
and delectable your dreams ! Apropos, how 
do you like this thought in a ballad I have 
just now on the tapis ? 

" I look to the west when I gae to rest, 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 
Far, far in the west is he I lo'e best, 
The lad that is dear to my babie and me I" 

Good night, once more, and God bless you ! 

R. B. 
<$. 

No. CCIV. 
TO Mr. ALEXANDER DALZEL,J 

FACTOR, FINDLAYSTON. 



Ellisland, 19th March, 1791. 

My dear Sir: 

I have taken the liberty to frank this letter 
to you, as it encloses an idle poem of mine, 
which I send you ; and God knows you may 
perhaps pay dear enough for it if you read it 
through. Not that this is my own opinion; 
but the author, by the time he has composed and 
corrected his work, has quite pored away all 
his powers of critical discrimination. 

I can easily guess from my own heart what 
you have felt on a late most melancholy event. 
God knows what I have suffered, at the loss ot 
my best friend, my first and dearest patron and 
benefactor ; the man to whom I owe all that I 
am and have ! I am gone into mourning for 
him, and with more sincerity of grief than I 
fear some will, who by nature's ties ought to 
feel on the occasion. 

I will be exceedingly obliged to you indeed, 
to let me know the news of the noble family, 
how the poor mother and the two sisters sup- 
port their loss. I had a packet of poetic baga- 
telles ready to send to Lady Betty, when I saw 
the fatal tidings in the newspaper. I see by 
the same channel that the honoured remains 
of my noble patron are designed to be brought 
to the family burial place. Dare I trouble you 



X [This gentleman, the factor, or steward, of Burns's 
noble friend, Lord Glencairn, with a view to encourage a 
second edition of the poems, laid the volume before his lord- 
ship, with such an account of the rustic bard's situation and 
prospects as from his slender acquaintance with him he could 
furnish. The result, as communicated to Burns by Mr. 
Dalzel, is highly creditable to the character of Lord Glen- 
cairn. After reading the book, his lordship declared that its 
merits greatly exceeded his expectation, and he took it with 
him as a literary curiosity to Edinburgh. He repeated his 
wishes to be of service to Burns, and desired Mr. Dalzel to 
inform him that, in patronizing the book, ushering it with 
effect into the world, or treating with the booksellers, he 
would most willingly give every aid in his power; adding his 
request that Burns would take the earliest opportunity a{ 
letting him know in what way or manner he could best 
further his interests.— Ceomek.] 



• y> 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



707 



to let me know privately before the clay of in- 
terment, that I may cross the country, and steal 
among the crowd, to pay a tear to the last sight 
of my ever revered benefactor ? It will oblige 
me beyond expression. 

R. B. 



No. CCV. 



TO — 



Ellisland, March, 1791. 



Dear Sir : 



I am exceedingly to blame in not writing 



you long i 



but the truth is that I am the 



most indolent of all human beings ; and when 
I matriculate in the Herald's office, I intend that 
my supporters shall be two sloths, my crest a 
slow- worm, and the motto, " Deil tak the fore- 
most/' So much by way of apology for not 
thanking you sooner for your kind execution of 
my commission. 

I would have sent you the poem ; but some- 
how or other it found its way into the public 
papers, where you must have seen it.* 
I am ever, dear Sir, yours sincerely, 

R. B. 



No. CCVI. 



TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Ellisland, 1 1 th April, 1 "9 1 . 

I AM once more able, my honoured friend, 
to return you, with my own hand, thanks for 
the many instances of your friendship, and par- 
ticularly for your kind anxiety in this last dis- 
aster that my evil genius had in store for me. 
However, life is chequered — joy and sorrow — 
for on Saturday morning last, Mrs. Burns made 
me a present of a fine boy ; rather stouter, but 



* [The poem to which the poet alludes is the Lament of 
Mary Queen of Scots ; that his works found their way to the 
newspapers could excite no wonder ; he gave copies to many 
of his friends, and they in their turn distributed copies 
among their acquaintances. Burns seems never to have 
surmised that he was injuring his own pocket by this prac- 
tice ; the poems which he wrote at Ellisland, and the songs 
which he composed for Johnson and Thomson, would have 
made a volume, and brought him a thousand pounds. — 
Cunningham.] 

t [To illustrate what the poet says here, it may be men- 
tioned that the accouchement had taken place (as we learn 
from his family bible) only two days before, namely, April 
9th. This child was named William Nicol, after the eccen- 
tric teacher of the Edinburgh High School.] 

% [Homer's description of the Cestus of Venus has been 
rendered into English by many skilful hands- ; here are four 
versions : 

" In this was every art and every charm, 
To win the wisest, and the coldest warm ; 
Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire, 
The kind deceit, the still-reviving fire, 



not so handsome as your godson was at his time 
of life. Indeed I look on your little name- sake 
to be my chef d'eeuvre in that species of manu- 
facture, as I look on Tam o' Shanter to be my 
standard performance in the poetical line. 'Tig 
true, both the one and the other discover a 
spice of roguish waggery that might perhaps 
be as well spared ; but then they also shew, in 
my opinion, a force of genius, and a finishing 
polish, that I despair of ever excelling. Mrs. 
Burns is getting stout again, and laid as lustily 
about her to-day at breakfast as a reaper from 
the corn-ridge. That is the peculiar privilege 
and blessing of our hale, sprightly damsels, that 
are bred among the hay and heather, f We 
cannot hope for that highly polished mind, that 
charming delicacy of soul, which is found 
among the female world in the more elevated 
stations of life, and which is certainly by far 
the most bewitching charm in the famous cestus 
of Venus. J It is indeed such an inestimable 
treasure that, where it can be had in its native 
heavenly purity, unstained by some one or other 
of the many shades of affectation, and unal- 
loyed by some one or other of the many species 
of caprice, I declare to heaven, I should think 
it cheaply purchased at the expense of every 
other earthly good ! But as this angelic crea- 
ture is, I am afraid, extremely rare in any sta- 
tion and rank of life, and totally denied to such 
a humble one as mine, we meaner mortals must 
put up with the next rank of female excellence 
— as fine a figure and face we can produce as 
any rank of life whatever ; rustic, native grace ; 
unaffected modesty, and unsullied purity j na- 
ture's mother-wit, and the rudiments of taste ; a 
simplicity of soul, unsuspicious of, because un- 
acquainted with, the crooked ways of a selfish, 
interested, disingenuous world ; and the dearest 
charm of all the rest, a yielding sweetness of 
disposition, and a generous warmth of heart, 
grateful for love on our part, and ardently 
glowing with a more than equal return ; these, 
with a healthy frame, a sound, vigorous consti- 
tution, which your higher ranks can scarcely 



Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs, 
Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes." 

Pope, 

" She spoke, and from her heaving bosom loosed the vari- 
ous girdle with care. There were contained her soul- winning 
charms ; there was love ; there melting desire ; there, of 
lovers, the tender vows — the pleasing flattery was there which 
takes by stealth the souls of the wise."— Macpherson. 

" It was an ambush of sweet snares, replete 
With love, desire, soft intercourse of hearts, 
And music of resistless whisper'd sounds, 
Which from the wisest win their best resolves." 

Cowper. 

" Then from her breast unclasp'd the embroider'd zone, 
Where each embellishment divinely shone : 
There dwell the allurements, all that love inspire, 
There soft seduction, there intense desire, 
There witchery of words, whose flatteries weave 
Wiles that the wisdom of the wise deceive." 

Sotiikmt.] 
2 Z 2 



703 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



ever hope to enjoy, are the charms of lovely 
woman in my humble walk of life. 

This is the greatest effort my broken arm has 
yet made. Do let me hear, by the first post, 
how cher petit Monsieur * comes on with the 
small-pox. May almighty goodness preserve 
and restore him ! 

R. B. 



No. CCVII. 
TO Mr. ALEX. CUNNINGHAM. 

\\th June, 1791. 

Let me interest you, my dear Cunningham, 
in behalf of the gentleman who waits on you 
with this. He is a Mr. Clarke, of Moffat, 
principal schoolmaster there, and is at present 
suffering severely under the persecution of one 
or two powerful individuals of his employers. 
He is accused of harshness to boys that were 
placed under his care. God help the teacher, 
if a man of sensibility and genius, and such 
is my friend Clarke, when a booby lather pre- 
sents him with his booby son, and insists on 
lighting up the rays of science in a fellow's 
head whose skull is impervious and inac- 
cessible by any other way than a positive 
fracture with a cudgel : a fellow whom in fact 
it savours of impiety to attempt making a scho- 
lar of, as he has been marked a blockhead in 
the book of fate, at the almighty fiat of his 
Creator. 

The patrons of Moffat-school are, the minis- 
ters, magistrates, and town-council of Edin- 
burgh, and as the business comes now before 
them, let me beg my dearest friend to do every 
thing in his power to serve the interests of a 
man of genius and worth, and a man whom I 
particularly respect and esteem. You* know 
some good fellows among the magistracy and 
council, but particularly you have much to say 
with a reverend gentleman to whom you have 
the honour of being very nearly related, and 
whom this country and age have had the ho- 
nour to produce. I need not name the histo- 
rian of Charles V.f I tell him, through the 
medium of his nephew's influence, that Mr. 
Clarke is a gentleman who will not disgrace 
even his patronage. I know the merits of the 
cause thoroughly, and say it, that my friend 
is falling a sacrifice to prejudiced ignorance. 



* [Mrs. Henri's child, and the grand-child of Mrs. Dun- 
lop. — See note to the Verses on the Birth of a posthumous 
Child, page 249.] 

t [Dr. Robertson was uncle to Mr. Alex. Cunningham.] 

% [To the person on whose behalf he sought to interest 
his friend, Burns addressed many letters, which were care- 
fully preserved till the death of Mr. Clarke, when his widow, 
offended by some free language in which they indulged, 
committed them to the flames.] 

§ [In the following terms the noble lord invited the poet 
to his seat : Dryburgh Abbey, June 17th, 1791. 

" Lord Buchan has the pleasure to invite Mr. Burns to 
make one at the coronation of the bust of Thomson, on 
Ednam Hill, on the 22nd of September; for which day 



God help the children of dependence ! Hated 
and persecuted by their enemies, and too often, 
alas ! almost unexceptionably, received by their 
friends with disrespect and reproach, under the 
thin disguise of cold civility and humiliating 
advice. O ! to be a sturdy savage, stalking in 
the pride of his independence, amid the solitary 
wilds of his deserts, rather than in civilized 
life, helplessly to tremble for a subsistence, pre- 
carious as the caprice of a fellow-creature ! 
Every man has his virtues, and no man is with- 
out his failings ; and curse on that privileged 
plain-dealing of friendship which, in the hour 
of my calamity, cannot reach forth the helping 
hand without at the same time pointing out 
those failings, and apportioning them their share 
in procuring my present distress. My friends, 
for such the world calls ye, and such ye think 
yourselves to be, pass by my virtues, if you 
please, but do, also, spare my follies ; the first 
will witness in my breast for themselves, and 
the last will give pain enough to the ingenuous 
mind without you. And, since deviating more 
or less from the paths of propriety and recti- 
tude must be incident to human nature, do 
thou, Fortune, put it in my power always from 
myself and of myself to bear the consequence 
of those errors ! I do not want to be independ- 
ent that I may sin, but I want to be independ- 
ent in my sinning. 

To return in this rambling letter to the sub- 
ject I set out with, let me recommend my 
friend, Mr. Clarke, to your acquaintance and 
good offices ; his worth entitles him to the one, 
and his gratitude will merit the other.} I 
long much to hear from you. Adieu ! 

R. B 



No. CCVIII. 
TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN. 



My Lord, 



Ellisland, June, 1791. 



Language sinks under the ardour of my 
feelings when I would thank your lordship for 
the honour you have done me in inviting me to 
make one at the coronation of the bust of 
Thomson. § In my first enthusiasm in reading 
the card you did me the honour to write me, 



perhaps his muse may inspire an ode suited to the occasion. 
Suppose Mr. Burns should, leaving the Nith, go across the 
country, and meet the Tweed at the nearest point from his 
farm — and, wandering along the pastoral banks of Thomson's 
pure parent stream, catch inspiration on the devious walk, 
till he finds Lord Buchan sitting on the ruins of Dryburgh. 
There the Commendator will give him a hearty welcome, and 
try to light his lamp at the pure flame of native genius, upon 
the altar of Caledonian virtue. This poetical perambulation 
of the Tweed is a thought of the late Sir Gilbert Elliot, 
and of Lord Minto, followed out by his accomplished grand- 
son, the present Sir Gilbert, who having been with Lord 
Buchan lately, the project was renewed, and will, they hope, 
be executed in the manner proposed."] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



709 



[ overlooked every obstacle, and determined 
to go ; but I fear it will not be in my power. 
A week or two's absence, in the very middle of 
my harvest, is what I much doubt I dare not 
venture on. I once already made a pilgrimage 
up the whole course of the Tweed, and fondly 
would I take the same delightful journey down 
the windings of that delightful stream. 

Your lordship hints at an ode for the oc- 
casion : but who would write after Collins ? I 
read over his verses to the memory of Thomson, 
and despaired. — I got indeed to the length of 
three or four stanzas, in the way of address to 
the shade of the bard, on crowning his bust. 
I shall trouble your lordship with the subjoined 
copy of them, which, I am afraid, will be but 
too convincing a proof how unequal I am to 
the task. However, it affords me an oppor- 
tunity of approaching your lordship, and de- 
claring how sincerely and gratefully I have the 
honour to be, &c, R. B.* 

[Here follow the verses, for which see page 310.] 



No. CCIX. 



TO Mr. THOMAS SLOAN.f 

Ellisland, Sept. 1, 1791. 

My dear Sloan, 

Suspense is worse than disappointment ; for 
that reason I hurry to tell you that I just now 
learn that Mr. Ballantine does not choose to 
interfere more in the business. I am truly 
sorry for it. but cannot help it. 

You blame me for not writing you sooner, 
but you will please to recollect that you omitted 
one little necessary piece of information — 
your address. 

However, you know equally well my hurried 
life, indolent temper, and strength of attach- 
ment. It must be a longer period than the 
longest life " in the world's hale and unde- 
generate days," that will make me forget so 
dear a friend as Mr. Sloan. I am prodigal 



* [The public praised the verses, on which the Commen- 
dator of Dryburgh wrote to the poet as follows : — 

September 16th, 1791. 

" Your address to the shade of Thomson has been well 
received by the public ; and though I should disapprove of 
your allowing Pegasus to ride you off the field of your 
honourable and useful profession, yet I cannot resist an 
impulse which I feel at this moment to suggest to your muse, 
Harvest Home, as an excellent subject for her grateful song, 
in which the peculiar aspects and manners of our country 
might furnish an excellent portrait and landscape of Scotland, 
for the employment of happy moments of leisure and recess, 
from your more important occupations. 

" Your Halloween, and Saturday Night, will remain to 
distant posterity as interesting pictures of rural innocence 
and happiness in your native country, and were happily 
written in the dialect of the people ; but Harvest Home being 
suited to descriptive poetry, except where colloquial, may 
escape the disguise of a dialect which admits of no elegance 
or dignity of expression. Without the assistance of any 
gcd or goddess, and without the invocation of any foreign 
siiuse, you may convey in epistolary form the description of a 



enough at times, but I will not part with such 
a treasure as that. 

I can easily enter into the embarras of your 
present situation. You know my favourite 
quotation from Young — 

" On Reason build Resolve ! 

That column of true majesty in man." — 

And that other favourite one from Thomson's 
Alfred— 

" What proves the hero truly great, 
Is never, never to despair." 

Or shall I quote you an author of your ac- 
quaintance ? 

" Whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 

You may do miracles by — persevering." 

I have nothing new to tell you. The few 
friends we have are going on in the old way. 
I sold my crop on this day se'eimight, and sold 
it very well. A guinea an acre, on an average, 
above value. But such a scene of drunken- 
ness was hardly ever seen in this country. 
After the roup was over, about thirty people 
engaged in a battle, every man for his own 
hand, and fought it out for three hours. Nor 
was the scene much better in the house. No 
fighting, indeed, but folks lying drunk on the 
floor, and decanting, until both my dogs got 
so drunk by attending them that they could 
not stand. -You will easily guess how 1 en- 
joyed the scene ; as I was no farther over than 
you used to see me. 

Mrs. B. and family have been in Ayr-shire 
these many weeks. 

Farewell ! and God bless you, mv dear 
friend! R. B. 
-^ 

No. CCX. 

TO LADY E. CUNNINGHAM.: 

Ellisland, September, 1/91, 

My Lady, 
I would, as usual, have availed myself of 
the privilege your goodness has allowed me, of 



scene so gladdening and picturesque, with all the concomitant 
local position, landscape and costume, contrasting the peace, 
improvement, and happiness of the borders, of the once 
hostile nations of Britain, with their former oppression and 
misery, and showing, in lively and beautiful colours, the 
beauties and joys of a rural life. And as the unvitiated 
heart is naturally disposed to overflow with gratitude in the 
moment of prosperity, such a subject would furnish you with 
an amiable opportunity of perpetuating the names of Glen- 
cairn, Miller, and your other eminent benefactors ; which, 
from what I know of your spirit, and have seen of 3'our 
poems and letters, will not deviate from the chastity of 
praise, that is so uniformly united to true taste and 
genius."] 

f [Thomas Sloan was a west of Scotland man, and seems 
to have been on intimate terms with Burns. He accompanied 
him on that excursion to Wanlockhcad when Burns moved a 
blacksmith, by his verse and his wit, to frost the shoes of his 
horse, as related at page 306.] 

X [Sister of the recently deceased, and of the then exist- 
ing:, Earls of Glencairn. Her ladyship died unmarried, in 
August, 1801.] 



710 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



sending you any thing I compose in my poetical 
way; but as I had resolved, so soon as the 
shock of my irreparable loss would allow me, 
to pay a tribute to my late benefactor, I de- 
termined to make that the first piece I should 
do myself the honour of sending you. Had 
the wing of my fancy been equal to the ardour 
of my heart, the enclosed had been much more 
worthy your perusal : as it is, I beg leave to 
lay it at your ladyship's feet. As all the world 
knows my obligations to the late Earl of 
Glencairn, I would wish to shew, as openly, 
that my heart glows, and shall ever glow, with 
the most grateful sense and remembrance of 
his lordship's goodness. The sables I did myself 
the honour to wear to his lordship's memory 
were not the " mockery of woe." Nor shall 
my gratitude perish with me ! — If, among my 
children, I shall have a son that has a heart, 
he shall hand it down to his child as a family 
honour, and a family debt, that my dearest 
existence I owe to the noble house of Glen- 
cairn ! 

I was. about to say, my lady, that if you 
think the poem may venture to see the light, 
I would, in some way or other, give it to the 
world.* 

R. B. 



* [The poem enclosed was The Lament for James, Earl of 
Glencairn. It is probable that the Earl's sister thought well 
of the verses — for they were published soon after. The poet 
sent copies of "The Lament" and " The Whistle" to Mr. 
Tytler, afterwards Lord Woodhouselee ; the answer which he 
received contains judicious censure as well as merited praise : 

Edinburgh, November 2/th, 1/91. 
" Dear Sir, 

"You have much reason to blame me for neglecting till 
now to acknowledge the receipt of a most agreeable packet, 
containing The Whistle, a ballad; and the Lament; which 
reached me about six weeks ago in London, whence I am 
just returned. Your letter was forwarded to me from Edin- 
burgh, where, as I observed by the date, it had lain for some 
days. This was an additional reason for me to have answered 
it immediately on receiving it ; but the truth was, the bustle 
of business, engagements and confusion of one kind or 
another, in which I found myself immersed all the time 1 
was in London absolutely put it out of my power. But to 
have done with apologies, let me now endeavour to prove 
myself in some degree deserving of the very flattering com- 
pliment you pay me, by giving you at least a frank and a 
candid, if it should not be a judicious, criticism on the 
poems you sent me. 

"The ballad of ' The Whistle' is, in my opinion, truly 
excellent. The old tradition which you have taken up is 
the best adapted for a Bacchanalian composition of any I 
have ever met with, and you have done it full justice. In 
the first place, the strokes of wit arise naturally from the 
subject, and are uncommonly happy. For example, 

' The bands grew the tighter, the mor.e they were wet.' 

' Cynthia hinted she'd find them next morn.' 

' Tho' fate said a hero should perish in light, 
So up rose bright Phoebus, and down fell the knight.' 

Tn the next place, you are singularly happy in the discrimi- 
nation of your heroes, and in giving each the sentiments and 
language suitable to his character. And lastly, you have 
much merit in the delicacy of the panegyric which you have 
contrived to throw on each of the dramatis personee, per- 
fectly appropriate to his character. The compliment to Sir 



No. CCXI. 
TO COLONEL FULLARTON, 



OF FULLABTON.f 



Sir, 



Ellisland, October 3d, 1791. 



I have just this minute got the frank, and 
next minute must send it to post, else I pur- 
posed to have sent you two or three other 
bagatelles that might have amused a vacant 
hour, about as well as "Six excellent new 
Songs," or the " Aberdeen prognostications for 
the year to come."t I shall probably trouble 
you soon with another packet, about the gloomy 
month of November, when the people of 
England hang and drown themselves — any 
thing generally is better than one's own 
thoughts. 

Fond as I may be of my own productions, it 
is not for their sake that I am so anxious to 
send you them. I am ambitious, covetously 
ambitious, of being known to a gentleman 
whom I am proud to call my countryman ;§ a 
gentleman who was a foreign ambassador as 
soon as he was a man ; and a leader of armies 
as soon as he was a soldier : and that with an 



Robert, the blunt soldier, is peculiarly fine. In short, this 
composition, in my opinion, does you great honour, and I 
see not a line or a word in it which I could wish to be 
altered. 

"As to 'The Lament,' I suspect, from some expressions 
in your letter to me, that you are more doubtful with respect 
to the merits of this piece than of the other, and I own I 
think you have reason ; for, although it contains some 
beautiful stanzas, as the first, 'The wind blew hollow,' &c. ; 
the fifth, ' Ye scatter'd birds ;' the thirteenth, ' Awake thy 
last sad voice,' &c , yet it appears to me faulty as a whole, 
and inferior to several of those you have already published 
in the same strain. My principal objection lies against the 
plan of the piece. I think it was unnecessary and improper 
to put the lamentation in the mouth of a fictitious character, 
an aged bard. — It had been much better to have lamented 
your patron in your own person, to have expressed your 
genuine feelings for his loss, and to have spoken the language 
of nature, rather than that of fiction, on the subject. Com- 
pare this with your poem of the same title in your printed 
volume, which begins, ' thou pale Orb /' and observe what 
it is that forms the charm of that composition. It is that 
it speaks the language of truth and of nature. 

"The change is, in my opinion, injudicious, too, in this 
respect, that an aged bard has much less need of a patron 
and protector than a young one. I have thus given you with 
much freedom my opinion of both the pieces. I should have 
made a very ill return to the compliment you paid me, if I 
had given you any other than my genuine sentiments. 

" It will give me great pleasure to hear from you when yoxi 
find leisure, and I beg you will believe me ever 

Dear Sir, yours, &c."] 

f [This gentleman, it will be recollected ; s honourably 
mentioned in " The Vision." — See page 206, " Brydone's 
brave ward," &c. 

% [A conspicuous branch of popular literature in Scotland 
till a recent period consisted of coarse brochures of fou* 
leaves, sold at a half- penny, and generally containing some- 
thing appropriate to the title of " Six Excellent New Songs," 
&c. The other branch of popular literature mentioned in 
the text consisted of almanacks, published at Aberdeen, 
at the price of a penny.] 

§ [Meaning, probably, a native of the same county.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



711 



eclat unknown to the usual minions of a Court 
— men who, with all the adventitious advan- 
tages of princely connections, and princely 
fortunes, must yet, like the caterpillar, labour 
a whole life-time before they reach the wished- 
for height, there to roost a stupid chrysalis, 
and doze out the remaining glimmering exist- 
ence of old age. 

If the gentleman that accompanied you 
when you did me the honour of calling on me 
is with you, I beg to be respectfully remembered 
to him. I have the honour to be your highly 
obliged and most devoted humble servant,* 

R. B. 



No. CCXII. 
TO Mr. AINSLIE. 

Ellisland, 1791. 

My dear Ainslie, 

Can you minister to a mind diseased ? can 
you, amid the horrors of penitence, regret, 
remorse, head-ache, nausea, and all the rest of 

the d d hounds of hell that beset a poor 

wretch who has been guilty of the sin of 
drunkenness — can you speak peace to a troubled 
soul? 

Miserable perdu that I am, I have tried 
every thing that used to amuse me, but in vain : 
here must I sit, a monument of the vengeance 
laid up in store for the wicked, slowly counting 
every chick of the clock as it slowly, slowly, 
numbers over these lazy scoundrels of hours, 
who, d — n them, are ranked up before me, 
every one at his neighbour's backside, and 



* [This letter originally appeared in the Paisley Magazine, 
1828, accompanied by the following note. " With the fol- 
lowing relic from the pen of our Poet, we have been favoured 
by a friend. It was addressed to Colonel Fullarton whilst 
resident in England, accompanied as would also seem by 
some verses. It is not perhaps to be expected that any thing 
will be discovered tending further to elucidate the character 
of Burns : indeed, his genius may be said to have been of 
such an open and uncompromising nature as irrepressibly to 
have unfolded in almost every sentence of his inimitable 
writings. Yet, as an additional fragment of that frame of 
thought so characteristic of its great author, the present 
letter is worthy of preservation. Colonel Fullarton had not 
been introduced to Burns prior to his return from Iudia 
about 1784 ; but, having at this period met with him, he con- 
tinued ever after an enthusiastic and warm friend of his 
distinguished countryman ; and, to his imperishable honour, 
he has been commemorated in some of the Poet's finest 
productions. We shall only farther add that the original 
letter remains in the possession of the honourable Mrs. 
Hamilton Fullarton, the Colonel's widow, and till now has 
never been published. 

"The letter of the Poet to his cousin James Burness, dated 
June 21, 1/83, exhibits Burns in the character of a man of 
business, and we humbly think he writes upon the evils of 
paper currency, the depression of trade, and the decay of the 
agricultural interests, with the best political economist of 
the present day. He has generally been supposed to be a 
very indifferent farmer, but tne following compliment paid to 
his observation in dairy matters, by no incompetent judge, 
we think right to insert. In a note to a General View of the 
Agriculture of the County of Ayr, by Colonel Fullarton, of 
Fullarton, drawn up for the consideration of the Board of 
Agiiculture, and internal improvement, and published at 



every one with a burthen of anguish on his 
back, to pour on my devoted head — and there 
is none to pity me. My wife scolds, me ; my 
business torments me, and my sins come staring 
me in the face, every one telling a more bitter 
tale than his fellow. — When I tell you even 
* * * has lost its power to please, you will guess 
something of my hell within, and all around me — 
I began Elibaiilis and Elibraes, but the stanzas 
fell unenjoyed and unfinished from my listless 
tongue : at last I luckily thought of reading 
over an old letter of yours, that lay by me in 
my book-case, and I felt something, for the first 
time since I opened my eyes, of pleasurable 

existence. Well — I begin to breathe a little, 

since I began to write to you. How are you, 
and what are you doing ? How goes Law ? 
Apropos, for connexion's sake do not address to 
me supervisor, for that is an honour I cannot 
pretend to — 1 am on the list, as we call it, for 
a supervisor, and will be called out by and bye 
to act as one ; but at present, I am a simple 
gauger, tho' t'other day I got an appointment 
to an excise division of 25Z. per annum better 
than the rest. My present income, down 
money, is 70Z. per annum. 

I have one or two good fellows here whom 
you would be glad to know.f R. B. 



No. CCXIII. 

TO Miss DAVIES.} 

It is impossible, Madam, that the generous 
warmth and angelic purity of your youthful 



Edinburgh, 1793, the author says, at p. 58, 'In order to 
prevent the danger arising from horned cattle in studs and 
straw yards, the best mode is to cut out the budding knob, 
or root of the horn, while the calf is very young. This was 
suggested to me by Mr. Robert Burns, whose general talents 
are no less conspicuous than the poetic powers which have 
done so much honour to the county where he was born.' "] 

t [The poet was one of the most candid of correspond- 
ents : he confessed his follies freely lo his friends ; nay, it 
has been surmised that he sometimes aggravated them, in 
order to excuse his indolence in answering letters — or from 
imagining that it was incumbent in a son of song to main- 
tain a reputation for irregularity. — Cunningham.] 

% [Those who remember the pleasing society which, in 
the year 1791, Dumfries afforded, cannot have forgotten "the 
charming lovely Davies" of the lyrics of Burns. Her maiden 
name was Deborah, and she was the youngest daughter of 
Dr. Davies of Tenby in Pembroke-shire ; between her and the 
Riddels of Friars Carse there were ties of blood or friendship, 
and her eldest sister, Harriet, was married to Captain Adam 
Gordon, of the noble family of Kenmure. Her education 
was superior to that of most young ladies of her station of 
life ; she was equally agreeable and witty ; her company was 
much courted in Nithsdale, and others than Burns respected 
her talents in poetic composition. She was then in her 
twentieth year, and so little and so handsome that some one, 
who desired to compliment her, welcomed her to the Vale of 
Nith as one of the Graces in miniature. 

It was the destiny of Miss Davies to become acquainted 
with Captain Delany, a pleasant and sightly man, who made 
himself acceptable to her by sympathizing in her pursuits, 
and by writing verses to her, calling her his " Stella," an 
ominous name, which might have brought the memory of 
Swift's unhappy mistress to her mind. An offer of marriage 



712 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



mind can have any idea of that moral disease 
under which I unhappily must rank as the 
chief of sinners ; I mean a torpitude of the 
moral powers, that may be called a lethargy 
of conscience. — In vain Remorse rears her 
horrent crest, and rouses all her snakes : be- 
neath the deadly-fixed eye and leaden hand of 
Indolence, their wildest ire is charmed into the 
torpor of the bat, slumbering out the rigours of 
winter in the chink of a ruined wall. Nothing 
less, Madam, could have made me so long neg- 
lect your obliging commands. Indeed I had 
one apology — the bagatelle was not worth 
presenting. Besides, so strongly am I interested 
in Miss Davies's fate and welfare in the serious 
business of life, amid its chances and changes, 
that to make her the subject of a silly ballad 
is downright mockery of these ardent feelings ; 
'tis like an impertinent jest to a dj T ing friend. 

Gracious Heaven ! why this disparity be- 
tween our wishes and our powers ? Why is 
the most generous wish to make others blest 
impotent and ineffectual — as the idle breeze 
that crosses the pathless desert ? In my walks 
of life I have met with a few people to whom 
how gladly would I have said — " Go, be 
happy ! I know that your hearts have been 
wounded by the scorn of the proud, whom 
accident has placed above you — or worse still, 
in whose hands are, perhaps, placed many of 
the comforts of your life. But there ! ascend 
that rock, Independence, and look justly down 
on their littleness of soul. Make the worthless 
tremble under your indignation, and the foolish 
sink before your contempt ; and largely impart 
that happiness to others which, I am certain, 
will give yourselves so much pleasure to 
bestow." 

Why, dear Madam, must I wake from this 
delightful reverie, and find it all a dream? 
Why, amid my generous enthusiasm, must I 
find myself poor and powerless, incapable of 
wiping one tear from the eye of pity, or of ad- 
ding one comfort to the friend I love ! Out 
upon the world ! say I, that its affairs are ad- 
ministered so ill ! They talk of reform ; — good 



was made and accepted; but Delany's circumstances were 
urged as an obstacle ; delays ensued ; a coldness on the 
lover's part followed; his regiment was called abroad— he 
went with it ; she heard from him once and no more, and 
was left to mourn the change of affection — to droop and die. 
He perished in battle or by a foreign climate, soon after the 
death of the young lady of whose love he was unworthy. 

The following verses on this unfortunate attachment form 
part of a poem found among her papers at her death ; she 
takes Delany's portrait from her bosom, presses it to her 
lips, and says,- 

' Next to thyself 'tis all on earth, 

Thy Stella dear doth hold, 
The glass is clouded with my breath, 

And as my bosom cold : 
That bosom which so oft has glowed 

With love and friendship's name, 
Where you the seed of love first sowed, 

That kindled into flame. 



Heaven ! what a reform would I make among 
the sons, and even the daughters, of men ! — 
Down, immediately, should go fools from the 
high places where misbegotten chance has 
perked them up, and through life should they 
skulk, ever haunted by their native insignifi- 
cance, as the body marches accompanied by its 
shadow. — As for a much more formidable class, 
the knaves, I am at a loss what to do with 
them : Had I a world, there should not be a 
knave in it. 

But the hand that could give I would libe- 
rally fill : and I would pour delight on the 
heart that could kindly forgive, and generously 
love. 

Still the inequalities of life are, among men, 
comparatively tolerable — but there is a delicacy, 
a tenderness, accompanying every view in 
which we can place lovely Woman, that are 
grated and shocked at the rude, capricious dis- 
tinctions of Fortune. Woman is the blood- 
royal of life : let there be slight degrees of pre- 
cedency among them — but let them be all 
sacred. — Whether this last sentiment be right 
or wrong, I am not accountable ; it is an ori- 
ginal component feature of my mind. 

R. B. 



No. CCXIV. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP.* 

Ellisland, 17th December, 1791. 

Many thanks, to you, Madam, for your good 
news respecting the little floweret and the mo- 
ther-plant. I h-ope my poetic prayers have been 
heard, and will be answered up to the warmest 
sincerity of their fullest extent ; and then Mrs. 
Henri will find her little darling the representa- 
tive of his late parent, in every thing but his 
abridged existence. 

I have just finished the following song which, 
to a lady the descendant of Wallace — and many 
heroes of his truly illustrious line — and herself 



' You there neglected let it burn, 

It seized the vital part, 

And left my bosom as an urn 

To hold a broken heart ; 
I once had thought I should have been 

A tender happy wife, 
And past my future days serene 

With thee, my James, through life.' 
The information contained in this note was obligingly 
communicated by H. P Davies, Esq., nephew of the lady. — 
Cunningham.] 

* [To the friendship of this accomplished lady we owe many 
of the best of the poet's letters : — it was one of his remarks 
that between the men of rustic life and the polite world he 
observed little difference — that in the former, though unpo- 
lished by fashion, and unenlightened by science, he had 
found much observation and much intelligence ; but a re- 
fined and accomplished woman was a being almost new to 
him, and of which he had formed but a very inadequate 
idea. — Cromek.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



718 



the mother of several soldiers, needs neither 

preface nor apology. 

" Scene — A field of battle — time of the day, 
evening ; the icounded and dying of the vic- 
torious army are supposed to join in the 
following 

SONG OF DEATH. 
" Farewell, thou fair clay, thou gieen earth, and ye skies, 
Now gay with the bright setting sun ; 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, tender ties — 
Our race of existence is run !" 

[Seepage 414.] 

The circumstance that gave rise to the fore- 
going verses was — looking over with a musical 
friend M 'Donald's collection of Highland airs, 
I was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, 
entitled " Oran an Ao or, the Song of 
Death," to the measure of which I have 

! adapted my stanzas. I have of late composed 
two or three other little pieces, which, ere yon 

J full-orbed moon, whose broad impudent lace 
now stares at old mother earth all night, shall 
have shrunk into a modest crescent, just peep- 
ing forth at dewy dawn, I shall find an hour to 
transcribe for you. A Dieuje vous commende. 

R. B. 



No. CCXV. 



TO Mr. WILLIAM SMELLIE,* 



Dumfries, 22nd January, 1792. 

I sit down, my dear Sir, to introduce a 
young lady to you, and a lady in the first ranks 
of fashion, too. What a task ! to you — who 
care no more for the herd of animals called young 
ladies than you do for the herd of animals called 
young gentlemen. To you — who despise and 
detest the groupings and combinations of fashion, 
as an idiot painter that seems industrious to 
place staring fools and unprincipled knaves in 
the foreground of his picture, while men of 
sense and honesty are too often thrown in the 
dimmest shades. Mrs. Riddel,f who will take 
this letter to town with her, and send it to you, 
is a character that, even in your own way, as a 
naturalist and a philosopher, would be an ac- 
quisition to your acquaintance. The lady, too, 
is a votary of the muses ; and, as I think my- 
self somewhat of a judge in my own trade, I 



* [William Smelhe was the son of a mason in Edinburgh, 
and served an apprenticeship to learn the art of printing 
with Hamilton and Balfour. The hours of remission from 
labour — too often scmandered — were employed by Smellie in 
acquiring knowledge, and he attended some of the Univer- 
sity classes with such success that he was enabled to put 
forth that edition of Terence which gained the prize offered 
by the Philosophical Society. He aided too in the composi- 
tion of Buchan's Domestic Medicine ; wrote the chief arti- 
cles in the first edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, 
aided Gilbert Stuart in editing the Edinburgh Mag.izine and 
Review, which perished because of the satiric and acrimoni- 



assure you that her verses, always correct, and 
often elegant, are much beyond the common 
run of the lady-poetesses of the claj^. She is a 
great admirer of your book ; J and, hearing me 
say that I was acquainted with you, she begged 
to be known to you, as she is just going to pay 
her first visit to our Caledonian capital. I told 
her that her best way was to desire her near 
relation, and your intimate friend, Craigdarroch, 
to have you at his house while she was there ; 
and, lest you might think of a lively West In- 
dian girl of eighteen, as girls of eighteen too 
often deserve to be thought of, I should take 
care to remove that prejudice. To be impar- 
tial, however, in appreciating the lady's merits, 
she has one unlucky failing : a failing which 
you will easily discover, as she seems rather 
pleased with indulging in it ; and a failing that 
you will easily pardon, as it is a sin which very 
much besets yourself; — where she dislikes, or 
despises, she is apt to make no more a secret of 
it than where she esteems and respects. 

I will not present you with the unmeaning 
compliments of the season, but I will send you 
my warmest wishes and most ardent prayers, 
that Fortune may never throw your subsist- 
ence to the mercy of a knave, nor set your 
character on the judgment of a fool ; but, 
that, upright and erect, you may walk to an 
honest grave, where men of letters shall say, 
" Here lies a man who did honour to science," 
and men of worth shall say, " Here lies a man 
who did honour to human nature." 

R. B 



No. CCXVI. 
TO Mr. PETER HILL, 

BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH. 

Dumfries, February 5th, 1792, 

My dear Friend : 
I send you by the bearer, (Mr. Clark, a par- 
ticular friend of mine), six pounds and a shil- 
ling, which you will dispose of as follows : — 
Five pounds ten shillings, per account I owe 
Mr. R. Burn, architect, for erecting the stone 
over the grave of poor Fergusson. He was 
two years in erecting it, after I had commis- 
sioned him for it ; and I have been two years 
in paying him, after he sent me his account ; so 



ous spirit of the said Gilbert, and translated Buffon's Na- 
tural History. But the work through which his name will 
likely be remembered, is the Philosophy of Natural History, 
the first volume of which was published in 1/90. He died 
June 24th, 1795, leaving a name of no common eminence as 
a naturalist.] 

t [Maria Woodleigh, by marriage Mrs. Riddel, resided at 
Woodleigh Park, near Dumfries. She is to be carefully dis- 
tinguished from Mrs. Riddel, of Friar's Carse, another friend 
of the Poet. — Chambers.] 

} [The Philosophy of Natural History.] 



=fl 



714 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



he and I are quits. He had the hardiesse to 
ask me interest on the sum ; but, considering 
that the money was due by one Poet for put- 
ting a tomb-stone over the grave of another, he 
may, with grateful surprise, thank Heaven that 
ever he saw a farthing of it. 

With the remainder of the money pay your- 
self for the " Office of a Messenger," that I 
bought of you ; and send me by Mr. Clark a 
note of its price. Send me, likewise, the fifth 
volume of the " Observer," by Mr. Clark ; and 
if any money remain let it stand to account. 

My best compliments to Mrs. Hill. 

I sent you a maukin by last week's fly, 
which I hope you received.* 

Yours most sincerely, 

Robert Burns. 



No. CCXVII. 
TO Mr. W. NICOL. 

20th February, 1792. 

O thou, wisest among the wise, meridian 
blaze of prudence, full moon of discretion, and 
chief of many counsellors ! How infinitely is 
thy puddle-headed, rattle-headed, wrong-head- 
ed, round-headed slave indebted to thy super- 
eminent goodness, that from the luminous path 
of thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest 
benignly down on an erring wretch, of whom 
the zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of 
calculation, from the simple copulation of units, 
up to the hidden mysteries of fluxions ! May 
one feeble ray of that light of wisdom which 
darts from thy sensorium, strait as the arrow of 
heaven, and bright as the meteor of inspiration, 
may it be my portion, so that I may be less un- 
worthy of the face and favour of that father of 
proverbs, and master of maxims, that antipode 
of folly, and magnet among the sages, the wise 
and witty Willie Nicol ! Amen ! Amen ! Yea, 
so be it ! 

For me ! I am a beast, a reptile, and know 
nothing ! From the cave of my ignorance, amid 
the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential fumes 
of my political heresies, I look up to thee, as 
doth a toad through the iron-barred lucerne of 
a pestiferous dungeon, to the cloudless glory of 
a summer sun ! Sorely sighing in bitterness of 
soul, I say, when shall my name be the quota- 
tion of the wise, and my countenance be the 



* [The original of the above curious letter of the Poet was 
given to Mr. Cochrane by his old friend and school-fellow, 
David Constable ; the eldest and talented son of the late 
Archibald Constable— the prince of Edinburgh Publishers. 
It was afterwards in the possession of the late Geo. H. King, 
Esq., of Glasgow, who died on the 17th of January, 1840.] 

t [Mr. Nicol had purchased a small piece of ground called 
Laggan, on the Nith. There took place the Bacchanalian 
scene which called forth " Willie brew'd a peck o' Maut."] 

t [This strain of irony was occasioned by a letter from 
Mr. Nicol, containing good advice. The poet seems to have 



delight of the godly, like the illustrious lord of 
Laggan's many hills ?f As for him, his works 
are perfect : never did the pen of calumny blur 
the fair page of his reputation, nor the bolt of 
hatred fly at his dwelling. 

Thou mirror of purity, when shall the elfine 
lamp of my glimmerous understanding, purged 
from sensual appetites and gross desires, shine 
like the constellation of thy intellectual powers ! 
— As for thee, thy thoughts are pure, and thy 
lips are holy. Never did the unhallowed breath 
of the powers of darkness, and the pleasures of 
darkness, pollute the sacred flame of thy sky- 
descended and heaven-bound desires : never did 
the vapours of impurity stain the unclouded 
serene of thy cerulean imagination. O that 
like thine were the tenor of my life, like thine 
the tenor of my conversation ! — then should n( 
friend fear for my strength, no enemy rejoice in 
my weakness ! Then should I lie down and rise 
up, and none to make me afraid, — May thy 
pity and thy prayer be exercised for, O thou 
lamp of wisdom and mirror of morality ! thy 
devoted slave,;}; R. B. 

No. CCXVIII. 
TO FRANCIS GROSE, Esq., F.S.A.§ 



Sir, 



Dumfries, 1792. 



I believe among all our Scots literati you 
have not met with Professor Dugald Stewart, 
who fills the moral philosophy chair in the 
University of Edinburgh. To say that he is a 
man of the first parts, and, what is more, a man 
of the first worth, to a gentleman of your gene- 
ral acquaintance, and who so much enjoys the 
luxury of unencumbered freedom and undis- 
turbed privacy, is not perhaps recommendation 
enough : — but when I inform you that Mr. 
Stewart's principal characteristic is your favou- 
rite feature 5 that sterling independence of 
mind, which, though every man's right, so few 
men have the courage to ciaim, and fewer still 
the magnanimity to support : — When I tell 
you that, unseduced by splendour, and undis- 
gusted by wretchedness, he appreciates the 
merits of the various actors in the great drama 
of life, merely as they perform their parts — in 
short, he is a man after your own heart, and I 
comply with his earnest request in letting you 
know that he wishes above all things to meet 



been reading the love-letter written by the schoolmaster at 
the request of Mr. Thomas Pipes. — Cunningham.] 

§ [Mr. Grose, in the introduction to his "Antiquities of 
Scotland," acknowledges his obligations to Burns in the fol- 
lowing paragraph, some of the terms of which will scarcely 
fail to amuse the modern reader : — 

" To my ingenious friend, Mr. Robert Burns, I have been 
seriously obligated ; he was not only at the pains of making 
out what was most worthy of notice in Ayr-shire, the coun- 
try honoured by his birth, but he also wrote, expressly for 
this work, the pretty tale annexed to Alloway Church." 

This "pretty tale" being " Tarn o'Shanter !"] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



715 



with yot.. His house, Catrine, is within less 
than a mile of Sorn Castle, which you proposed 
visiting ; or, if you could transmit him the en- 
closed, he would with the greatest pleasure 
meet you any where in the neighbourhood. I 
write to Ayr-shire to inform Mr. Stewart that 
I have acquitted myself of my promise. Should 
3 r our time and spirits permit your meeting with 
Mr. Stewart, 'tis well ; if not, I hope you will 
forgive this liberty, and I have at least an op- 
portunity of assuring you with what truth and 
respect, 

I am, Sir, 

Your great admirer, 

and very humble servant, 

R. B. 



No. CCXIX. 
TO THE SAME. 

Dumfries, 1792. 

Among the many witch stories I have heard, 
relating to Alloway kirk, I distinctly remember 
only two or three. 

Upon a stormy night, amid whistling squalls 
of wind, and bitter blasts of hail ; in short, on 
such a night as the devil would choose to take 
the air in ; a farmer or farmer's servant was 
plodding and plashing homeward with his 
plough-irons on his shoulder, having been get- 
ting some repairs on them at a neighbouring 
smithy. His way lay by the kirk of Alloway, 
and, being rather on the anxious look out in ap- 
proaching a place so well known to be a favour- 
ite haunt of the devil, and the devil's friends 
and emissaries, he was struck aghast by disco- 
vering through the horrors of the storm and 
stormy night, a light, which on his nearer ap- 
proach plainly showed itself to proceed from 
the haunted edifice. Whether he had been 
fortified from above on his devout supplication, 
as is customary with people when they suspect 
the immediate presence of Satan ; or whether, 
according to another custom, he had got cou- 
rageously drunk at the smithy, I will not pre- 
tend to determine ; but so it w 7 as that he 
ventured to go up to, nay, into, the very kirk. 
As luck would have it, his temerity came off 
unpunished. 

The members of the infernal junto were all 
out on some midnight business or other, and he 
saw nothing but a kind of kettle or caldron, 
depending from the roof, over the fire, simmer- 
ing some heads of unchristened children, limbs 
of executed malefactors, &c, for the business of 
the night. — It was in for a penny, in for a 
pound, with the honest ploughman : so without 
ceremony he unhooked the caldron from off the 
fire, and pouring out the damnable ingredients, 
inverted it on his head, and carried it fairly 



home, where it remained long in the family, a 
living evidence of the truth of the story. 

Another story, which I can prove to be 
equally authentic, was as follows : 

On a market day in the town of Ayr, a far- 
mer from Carrick, and consequently whose way 
lay by the veiy gate of Alloway kirk-yard, in 
order to cross the river Doon at the old bridge, 
which is about two or three hundred yards far- 
ther on than the said gate, had been detained 
by his business, till bj the time he reached Al- 
loway it was the wizard hour, between night, 
and morning. 

Though he was terrified with a blaze stream- 
ing from the kirk, yet it is a well-known fact 
that to turn back on these occasions is running 
by far the greatest risk of mischief, — he pru- 
dently advanced on his road. When he had 
reached the gate of the kirk-yard, he was sur- 
prised and entertained, through the ribs and 
arches of an old Gothic window, which still 
faces the highway, to see a dance of witches 
merrily footing it round their old sooty black- 
guard master, who was keeping them all alive 
with the power of his bag-pipe. The farmer, 
stopping his horse to observe them a little, 
could plainly descry the faces of many old 
women of his acquaintance and neighbourhood. 
How the gentleman was dressed tradition does 
not say, but that the ladies were all in their 
smocks : and one of them happening unluckily 
to have a smock which was considerably too 
short to answer all the purpose of that piece of 
dress, our farmer was so tickled that he invo- 
luntarily burst out, with a loud laugh, " Weel 
luppen, Maggy wi' the short sark !" and, recol- 
lecting himself, instantly spurred his horse to 
the top of his speed. I need not mention the 
universally known fact that no diabolical 
power can pursue you beyond the middle of a 
running stream. Lucky it was for the poor 
farmer that the river Doon was so near, for 
notwithstanding the speed of his horse, which 
was a good one, against he reached the middle 
of the arch of the bridge, and consequently 
the middle of the stream, the pursuing, venge- 
ful hags, were so close at his heels that one of 
them actually sprung to seize him ; but it was 
too late, nothing was on her side of the stream 
but the horse's tail, which immediately gave 
way at her infernal grip, as if blasted by a 
stroke of lightning ; but the farmer was beyond 
her reach. However, the unsightly, tail-less 
condition of the vigorous steed was, to the last 
hour of the noble creature's life, an awful 
warning to the Carrick farmers not to stay too 
late in Ayr markets. 

The last relation I shall give, though equally 
true, is not so well identified as the two former, 
with regard to the scene ; but, as the best au- 
thorities give it for Alloway, I shall relate it. 

On a summer's evening, about the time that 



716 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



nature puts on her sables to mourn the expiry 
of the cheerful clay, a shepherd boy belonging 
to a farmer in the immediate neighbourhood of 
Alloway Kirk had just folded his charge, and 
was returning home. As he passed the kirk, 
in the adjoining field, he fell in with a crew of 
men and women, who were busy pulling stems 
of the plant Ragwort. He observed that, as 
each person pulled a Ragwort, he or she got 
astride of it, and called out, " Up horsie \" on 
which the Ragwort flew off, like Pegasus, 
through the air with its rider. The foolish boy 
likewise pulled his Ragwort, and cried with the 
rest, " Up horsie !" and, strange to tell, away 
he flew with the company. The first stage at 
which the cavalcade stopt was a merchant's 
wine cellar in Bourdeaux, where, without saying 
By your leave, they quaffed away at the best 
the cellar could afford, until the morning, foe to 
the imps and works of darkness, threatened to 
throw light on the matter, and frightened them 
from their carousals. 

The poor shepherd lad, being equally a stran- 
ger to the scene and the liquor, heedlessly got 
himself drunk ; and when the rest took horse, 
he fell asleep, and was found so next day by 
some of the people belonging to the Merchant. 
Somebody, that understood Scotch, asking him 
what he was, he said such-a-one's herd in Al- 
loway, and, by some means or other getting 
home again, he lived long to tell the world the 
wondrous tale.* 

I am, &c. 

R. B. 



No. CCXX. 
TO Mr. J. CLARKE, 

EDINBURGH. 

July 16, 1792. 

Mr. Burns begs leave to present his most 
respectful compliments to Mr. Clarke. — Mr. B. 
some time ago did himself the honour of writing 
Mr. C. respecting coming out to the country, 
to give a little musical instruction in a highly 
respectable family, f where Mr. C. may have 
his own terms, and may be as happy as indo- 
lence, the devil, and the gout will permit him. 
Mr. B. knows well how Mr. C. is engaged 
with another family ; but cannot Mr. C. find 
two or three weeks to spare to each of them ? 



* [This letter was inserted in the " Censura Literaria." — 
It was communicated to Sir Egerton Brydges, the Editor of 
that work, by Mr. Gilchrist of Stamford, with the following 
remark. 

" In a collection of miscellaneous papers of the Antiquary 
Grose, which I purchased a few years since, I found the ac- 
companying letter written to him by Burns, when the former 
was collecting the Antiquities of Scotland. When I pre- 
mise it was on the second tradition that he afterwards formed 
the inimitable tale of ' Tain o' Shanter,' I cannot doubt of 



Mr. B. is deeply impressed with, and awfully 
conscious of, the high importance of Mr. C.'s 
time, whether in the winged moments of sym- 
phonious exhibition, at the keys of harmony, 
while listening seraphs cease their own less de- 
lightful strains ; or in the drowsy arms of slum- 
b'rous repose, in the arms of his dearly beloved 
elbow chair, where the frowsy, but potent 
power of indolence circumfuses her vapours 
round, and sheds her dews on the head of her 
darling son. But half a line conveying half a 
meaning from Mr. C. would make Mr. B. the | 
happiest of mortals. 

^ 

No. CCXXI. 

TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Annan Water Foot, 22nd August, 1792. 

Do not blame me for it, Madam — my own 
conscience, hackneyed and weather-beaten as 
it is, in watching and reproving my vagaries, 
follies, indolence, &c, has continued to punish 
me sufficiently. 

******* 

Do you think it possible, my dear and 
honoured friend, that I could be so lost to 
gratitude for many favours, to esteem for 
much worth, and to the honest, kind, plea- 
surable tie of now old acquaintance, and I 
hope and am sure of progressive, increasing 
friendship — as for a single day not to think of 
you — to ask the Fates what they are doing 
and about to do with my much loved friend 
and her wide scattered connexions, and to beg 
of them to be as kind to you and yours as they 
possibly can ? 

Apropos ! (though how it is apropos, I have 
not leisure to explain) Do you know that I 
am almost in love with an acquaintance of 
yours ? — Almost ! said I — I am in love, souse, 
over head and ears, deep as the unfathomable 
abyss of the boundless ocean ; but the word 
Love, owing to the intermingledoms of the 
good and the bad, the pure and the impure in 
this world, being rather an equivocal term for 
expressing one's sentiments and sensations, I 
must do justice to the sacred purity of my at- 
tachment. Know, then, that the heart-struck 
awe ; the distant humble approach ; the delight 
we should have in gazing upon and listening 
to a Messenger of Heaven, appearing in all 
the unspotted purity of his celestial home, 
among the coarse, polluted, far inferior sons 



its being read with great interest. It were 'burning day- 
light' to point out to a reader (and who is not a reader of 
Bums ?) the thoughts he afterwards transplanted into the 
rythmical narrative."] 

t [The family to whom this letter refers was that of 
M'Murdo, then of Drumlanrig, now of Dumfries. The re- 
marks on the Poet's songs have already intimated with what 
success the musician exerted his talents, and how Burns 
aided him by composing lyrics in honour of the charms of 
the family.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



717 i 



of men, to deliver to them tidings that make 
their hearts swim in joy, and their imagina- 
tions soar in transport — such, so delighting and 
so pure, were the emotions of my soul on meet- 
ing the other day with Miss Lesley Baillie, 

your neighbour, at M . Mr. B. with his 

two daughters, accompanied by Mr. H. of G., 
passing through Dumfries a few days ago, on 
their way to England, did me the honour of 
calling on me ; on which I took my horse 
(though God knows I could ill spare the time), 
and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, 
and dined and spent the day with them. 'Twas 
about nine, I think, when I left them, and, 
riding home, I composed the following ballad, 
of which you will probabty think you have a 
dear bargain, as it will cost you another groat 
of postage. You must know that there is an 
old ballad beginning with — 

" My bonnie Lizzie Baillie 
I'll rowe thee in my plaidie," &c. 

So I parodied it as follows, which is literally 
the first copy, " unanointed, unanneal'd ;" as 
Hamlet says. — 

" O saw ye bonny Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border? 
She's gane like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther." 

See page 446. 

So much for ballads. I regret that you are 
gone to the east country, as I am to be in Ayr- 
shire in about a fortnight. This world of ours, 
notwithstanding it has many good things in it, 
yet it has ever had this curse, that two or three 
people, who would be the happier the oftener 
they met together, are, almost without excep- 
tion, always so placed as never to meet but 
once or twice a-year, which, considering the 
few years of a man's life, is a very great " evil 
under the sun," which I do not recollect that 
Solomon has mentioned in his catalogue of the 
miseries of man. I hope and believe that there 
is a state of existence beyond the grave, where 
the worthy of this life will renew their former 
intimacies, with this endearing addition, that, 
u we meet to part no more \" 

****** 

" Tell us, ye dead, 
Will none of you in pity disclose the secret 
What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be !" 

A thousand times have I made this apostrophe 
to the departed sons of men, but not one of 
them has ever thought fit to answer the ques- 
tion. " O that some courteous ghost would 
blab it out !" but it cannot be ; you and I, my 
friend, must make the experiment by ourselves, 
and for ourselves. However, I am so convinced 
that an unshaken faith in the doctrines of reli- 
gion is not only necessary, by making us better 
men, but also by making us happier men, that 
I should take every care that your little god- 



son, and every little creature that shall call me 
father, shall be taught them. 

So ends this heterogeneous letter, written at 
this wild place of the world, in the intervals of 
my labour of discharging a vessel of rum from 
Antigua. 

R. B. 
<* 

No. CCXXII. 
TO Mr. CUNNINGHAM. 

Dumfries, 10th September, 1792. 

No ! I will not attempt an apology. — Amid 
all my hurry of business, grinding the faces of 
the publican and the sinner on the merciless 
wheels of the Excise ; making ballads, and then 
drinking, and then singing them • and, over 
and above all, the correcting the press-work of 
two different publications ; still, still I might 
have stolen five minutes to dedicate to one of 
the first of my friends and fellow-creatures. I 
might have done, as I do at present, snatched , 
an hour near " witching time of night," and j 
scrawled a page or two. I might have con- 
gratulated my friend on his marriage ; or I 
might have thanked the Caledonian archers for 
the honour they have done me (though to do 
myself justice, I intended to have done both in 
rhyme, else I had done both long ere now). 
Well, then, here is to your good health ! for 
you must know I have set a nipperkin of 
toddy by me, just by way of spell, to keep 
away the meikle-horned deil, or any of his 
subaltern imps who may be on their nightly 
rounds. 

But what shall I write to you? — "The voice 
said cry," and I said, "what shall I cry?" — 
O, thou spirit ! whatever thou art, or wherever 
thou makest thyself visible ! be thou a bogle 
by the eerie side of an auld thorn, in the dreary 
glen through which the herd - callan maun 
bicker in his gloamin route frae the faulde ! — 
be thou a brownie, set, at dead of night, to 
thy task by the blazing ingle, or in the solitary 
barn, where the repercussions of thy iron flail 
half affright thyself, as thou performest the 
work of twenty of the sons of men, ere the 
cock-crowing summon thee to thy ample cog 
of substantial brose — be thou a kelpie, haunt- 
ing the ford or ferry, in the starless night, mix- 
ing thy laughing yell with the howling of the 
storm and the roaring of the flood, as thou 
viewest the perils and miseries of man on the 
foundering horse, or in the tumbling boat != — 
or, lastly, be thou a ghost, paying thy noctur- 
nal visits to the hoary ruins of decayed gran- 
deur ; or performing thy mystic rites in the 
shadow of the time - worn church, while the 
moon looks, without a cloud, on the silent, 
ghastly dwellings of the dead around thee ; or 
taking thy stand by the bedside of the villain, 



718 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



or the murderer, pourtraying on his dreaming 
fancy, pictures, dreadful as the horrors of un- 
veiled hell, and terrible as the wrath of incensed 
Deity ! — Come, thou spirit, but not in these 
horrid forms ; come with the milder, gentle, 
easy inspirations, which thou breathest round 
the wig of a prating advocate, or the tete of a 
tea-sipping gossip, while their tongues run at 
the light -horse gallop of clish-ma-claver for 
ever and ever — come and assist a poor devil 
who is quite jaded in the attempt to share half 
an idea among half a hundred words ; to fill 
up four quarto pages, while he has not got one 
single sentence of recollection, information, or 
remark, worth putting pen to paper for. 

I feel, I feel the presence of supernatural 
assistance ! circled in the embrace of my elbow- 
chair, my breast labours, like the bloated Sybil 
on her three-footed stool, and like her, too, la- 
bours with Nonsense. — Nonsense, auspicious 
name ! Tutor, friend, and finger-post in the 
mystic mazes of law ; the cadaverous paths of 
physic ; and particularly in the sightless soar- 
ings of school divinity, who, leaving Com- 
mon Sense confounded at his strength of pinion, 
Reason, delirious with eyeing his giddy flight; 
and Truth creeping back into the bottom of her 
well, cursing the hour that ever she offered her 
scorned alliance to the wizard power of Theo- 
logic Vision — raves abroad on all the winds. 
" On earth Discord ! a gloomy Heaven above, 
opening her jealous gates to the nineteen thou- 
sandth part of the tithe of mankind ! and be- 
low, an inescapable and inexorable hell, ex- 
panding its leviathan jaws for the vast residue 
of mortals ! ! !" — O doctrine ! comfortable and 
healing to the weary, wounded soul of man ! 
Ye sons and daughters of affliction, ye pauvres 
miserables, to whom day brings no pleasure, 
and night yields no rest, be comforted ! " 'Tis 
but one to nineteen hundred thousand that your 
situation will mend in this world -" so, alas, the 
experience of the poor and the needy too often 
affirms ; and 'tis nineteen hundred thousand to 
one, by the dogmas of * * * * * *, that 
you will be damned eternally in the world to 
come ! 

But of all Nonsense, Religious Nonsense is 
the most nonsensical ; so enough, and more than 
enough of it. Only, by the bye, will you, or 
can you, tell me, my dear Cunningham, why a 
sectarian turn of mind has always a tendency 
to narrow and illiberalize the heart ? They are 
orderly ; they may be just ; nay, I have known 
them merciful : but still your children of sanc- 
tity move among their fellow-creatures with a 
nostril-snuffing putrescence, and a foot-spurning 
filth, in short, with a conceited dignity that 
your titled ****** or any other of 
your Scottish lordlings of seven centuries stand- 
ing display, when they accidentally mix among 
the many-aproned sons of mechanical life. I 
remember, in my plough-boy days, I could not 



conceive it possible that a noble lord could be a 
fool, or a godly man could be a knave. — How 
ignorant are plough-boys ! — Nay, I have since 
discovered that a godly woman may De a * * * ! 
— But hold — Here's t'ye again — this rum is 
generous Antigua, so a very unfit menstruum 
for scandal. 

Apropos, how do you like, I mean really 
like, the married life ? Ah, my friend ! matri- 
mony is quite a different thing from what your 
love-sick youths and sighing girls take it to be ! 
But marriage, we are told, is appointed by God, 
and I shall never quarrel with any of his insti- 
tutions. I am a husband of older standing than 
you, and shall give you my ideas of the conju- 
gal state (en passant ; you know I am no La- 
tinist, is not conjugal derived from jngum, a 
yoke ?) Well then, the scale of good wifeship 
I divide into ten parts. — Goodnature, four ; 
Good Sense, two ; Wit, one ; Personal Charms, 
viz., a sweet face, eloquent eyes, fine limbs, 
graceful carriage (I would add a fine waist too, 
but that is so soon spoilt, you know), all these, 
one ; as for the other qualities belonging to, or 
attending on a wife, such as Fortune, Con- 
nexion, Education (I mean education extraor- 
dinary), Family blood, &c, divide the two re- 
maining degrees among them as you please ; 
only, remember that all these minor properties 
must be expressed by fractions, for there is not 
any one of them, in the aforesaid scale, entitled 
to the dignity of an integer. 

As for the rest of my fancies and reveries — 
how I lately met with Miss Lesley Baillie, the 
most beautiful, elegant woman in the world- - 
how I accompanied her and her father's family 
fifteen miles on their journey, out of pure de- 
votion, to admire the loveliness of the works of 
God, in such an unequalled display of them — 
how, in galloping home at night, I made a 
ballad on her, of which these two stanzas make 
a part — 

Thou, bonnie Lesley, art a <?ueen 

Thy subjects we before thee ; 
Thou, bonnie Lesley, art divine, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The very Deil he could na scathe 

Whatever wad belang thee ! 
He'd look into thy bonnie face, 

And say, ' I canna wrang thee.' 

— behold all these things are written in the 
chronicles of my imagination, and shall be 
read by thee, my dear friend, and by thy be- 
loved spouse, my other dear friend, at a more 
convenient season. 

Now, to thee, and to thy before- designed 
fosom-companion, be given the precious things 
brought forth by the sun, and the precious 
things brought forth by the moon, and the be- 
nignest influences of the stars, and the living 
streams which flow from the fountains of life, 
and by the tree of life, for ever and ever ! Amen ! 
' R. B. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



719 



No. CCXXIII. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 



Dumfries, 24th September, 1792. 

I have this moment, my dear Madam, 
yours of the twenty-third. All your other 
kind reproaches, your news, &c, are out of my 
head when I read and think on Mrs. Henri's 
situation. Good God ! a heart-wounded help- 
less young woman — in a strange, foreign land, 
and that land convulsed with every horror that 
can harrow the human feelings — sick — looking, 
longing for a comforter, but finding none — a 
mother's feelings, too : — but it is too much : he 
who wounded (He only can) may He heal ! 



I wish the farmer great joy of his new ac- 
quisition to his family. * * * * ! I cannot 
say that I give him joy of his life as a farmer. 
'Tis, as a fanner paying a dear, unconscionable 
rent, a cursed life ! As to a laird farming his 
own property ; sowing his own corn in hope ; 
and reaping it, in spite of brittle weather, in 
gladness ; knowing that none can say unto 
him, " What dost thou ?" — fattening his herds ; 
shearing his flocks ; rejoicing at Christmas ; 
and begetting sons and daughters, until he be 
the venerated, grey-haired leader of a little 
tribe — 'tis a heavenly life ! but Devil take the 
life of reaping the fruits that another must eat. 

Well, your kind wishes will be gratified, as 
to seeing me when I make my Ayr-shire visit. 

I cannot leave Mrs. B , until her nine 

months' race is run, which may perhaps be in 
three or four weeks. She, too, seems deter- 
mined to make me the patriarchal leader of a 
band. However, if Heaven will be so obliging 
as to let me have them in the proportion of 
three boys to one girl, I shall be so much the 
more pleased. I hope, if I am spared with 
them, to shew a set of boys that will do honour 
to my cares and name ; but I am not equal to 
the task of rearing girls. Besides, I am too 
poor ; a girl should always have a fortune. 
Apropos, your little godson is thriving charm- 
ingly, but is a very devil. He, though two 
years younger, has completely mastered his 
brother. Robert is indeed the mildest, gentlest 
creature I ever saw. He has a most surprising 
memory, and is quite the pride of his school- 
master. 

You know how readily we get into prattle 
upon a subject dear to our heart — you can ex- 
cuse it. God bless you and yours ! 

R, B. 



* [Mrs. Henri, daughter of Mrs. Dunlop, died at Muges, 
near Aiguillon, September 15th, 1/92. The above letteris one 



No. CCXXIV. 

TO THE SAME. 



SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEE! 
MRS. HENRI, 



WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF 
HER DAUGHTER.* 



Dumfries, September, 1792. 

I had been from home, and did not receive 
your letter until my return the other day. — 
What shall I say to comfort you, my much- 
valued, much - afflicted friend ! I can but 
grieve with you ; consolation I have none to 
offer, except that which religion holds out to 
the children of affliction — children of afflic- 
tion! — how just the expression ! and, like every 
other family, they have matters among them 
which they hear, see, and feel in a serious, all- 
important manner, of which the world has not, 
nor cares to have, any idea. The world looks 
indifferently on, makes the passing remark, and 
proceeds to the next novel occurrence. 

Alas, Madam ! who would wish for many 
years ? What is it but to drag existence until 
our joys gradually expire, and leave us in a 
night of misery — like the gloom which blots 
out the stars one by one, from the face of night, 
and leaves us, without a ray of comfort, in the 
howling waste ! 

I am interrupted, and must leave off. You 
shall soon hear from me again. 

R. B. 



No. CCXXV. 
TO THE SAME. 

Dumfries, 6th December, 1792. 

I shall be in Ayr-shire, I think, next 
week ; and, if at all possible, I shall certainly, 
my much esteemed friend, have the pleasure of 
visiting at Dunlop-house. 

Alas, Madam ! how seldom do we meet in 
this world, that we have reason to congratulate 
ourselves on accessions of happiness ! I have 
not passed half the ordinary term of an old 
man's life, and yet I scarcely look over the 
obituary of a newspaper that I do not see some 
names that I have known, and which I and 
other acquaintances little thought to meet with 
there so soon. Every other instance of the 
mortality of our kind makes us cast an anxious 
look into the dreadful abyss of uncertainty, and 
shudder with apprehension for our own fate. — 
But of how different an importance are the 
lives of different individuals ! Nay, of what 
importance is one period of the same life, more 
than another ! A few years ago, I could have 



of condolence on this melancholy event. See note to the 
" Stanzas on the birth of a Posthumous Child," page 249.] 



720 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



{aid down in the dust, " careless of the voice 
of the morning ;" and now not a few, and these 
most helpless individuals, would, on losing me 
and my exertions, lose both their "staff and 
shield." By the way, these helpless ones have 

lately got an addition ; Mrs. B having 

given me a fine girl since I wrote you. There 
fs a charming passage in Thomson's " Edward 
and Eleanora:" 

" The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer ? 
Or what need he regard his single woes ?" &c. 

As I am got in the way of quotations, I 
shall give you another from the same piece, pe- 
culiarly, alas ! too peculiarly apposite, my dear 
Madam, to your present frame of mind : 

" Who so unworthy but may proudly deck him 
With his fair-weather virtue, that exults 
Glad o'er the summer main ? the tempest comes, 
The rough winds rage aloud ; when from the helm 
This virtue shrinks, and in a corner lies 
Lamenting — Heavens ! if privileged from trial 
How cheap a thing were virtue !" 

I do not remember to have heard you men- 
tion Thomson's dramas. I pick up favourite 
quotations, and store them in my mind as ready 
armour, offensive or defensive, amid the strug- 
gle of this turbulent existence. Of these is 
one, a very favourite one, from his " Alfred :" 

" Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds 
And offices of life ; to life itself, 
With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose " 

Probably I have quoted some of these to 
you formerly, as indeed, when I write from the 
heart, I am apt to be guilty of such repetitions. 
The compass of the heart, in the musical style 
of expression, is much more bounded than that 
of the imagination ; so the notes of the former 
are extremely apt to run into one another ; but 
in return for the paucity of its compass, its few 
notes are much more sweet. I must still give 
you another quotation, which I am almost sure 
I have given you before, but I cannot resist the 
temptation. The subject is religion — speaking 
of its importance to mankind, the author -.ays, 

" 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright." 

I see you are in for double postage, so I shall 
e'en scribble out t'other sheet. We, in this 
country here, have many alarms of the reform 
ing, or rather the republican, spirit of your part 
of the kingdom. Indeed, we are a good deal 
in commotion ourselves. For me, 1 am a place- 
man, you know ; a very humble one indeed, 



* [Graham, of Fintray, stood the Poet's friend in this 
hour of peril, and the Board of Excise had the generosity to 
permit him to continue to. eat the " bitter bread" of his si- 
tuation for the remainder of his life. Burns, in his letter to 
Erskine of Mar, enters fully into the history of this dark 
transaction. — Cunningham.] 



Heaven knows, but still so much as to gag me 
What my private sentiments are, you will find 
out without an interpreter. 

* * * * * 

I have taken up the subject, and the other 
day, for a pretty actress's benefit night, I wrote 
an address, which I will give on the other page, 
called " The Rights of Woman :" 

" While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things." 

[See page 314.] 

I shall have the honour of receiving your 
criticisms in person at Dunlop. 

R. B. 



No. CCXXVI. 
TO R. GRAHAM, Esq., 

FINTRAY. * 



December, 1792. 



Sir: 



I have been surprised, confounded, and dis- 
tracted by Mr. Mitchel, the collector, telling 
me that he has received an order from your 
Board f to enquire into my political conduct, 
and blaming me as a person disaffected to go- 
vernment. 

Sir, you are a husband — and a father. — You 
know what you would feel to see the much- 
loved wife of your bosom, and your helpless, 
prattling little ones, turned adrift into the world, 
degraded and disgraced from a situation in 
which they had been respectable and respected, 
and left almost without the necessary support of 
a miserable existence. Alas, Sir ! must I think 
that such, soon, will be my lot ? and from the 
d-mned, dark insinuations of hellish groundless 
envy too ! I believe, Sir, I may aver it, and 
in the sight of Omniscience, that I would not 
tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not though even 
worse horrors, if worse can be, than those I 
have mentioned, hung over my head ; and I 
say that the allegation, whatever villain has 
made it, is a lie ! To the British Constitution, 
on revolution principles, next after my God, I 
am most devoutly attached ; you, Sir, have 
been much and generously my friend. — Heaven 
knows how warmly I have felt the obligation, 
and how gratefully I have thanked you. — For- 
tune, Sir, has made you powerful, and me im- 
potent ; has given you patronage, and me 
dependence. — I would not for my single self, 
call on your humanity ; were such my insular, 
unconnected situation, 3 would despise the tear 



t [The Commissioners of the Scottish Board of Excise 
were at this period, George Brou-n, Thomas Wharton, 
James Stodart, Robert Graham, of Fintray, and John 
Grieve, Esquires.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



72) 



that now swells in my eye — I could brave mis- 
fortune, I could face ruin ; for at the worst, 
" Death's thousand doors stand open ;" but, 
good God ! the tender concerns that I have 
mentioned, the claims and ties that I see at 
this moment, and feel around me, how they un- 
nerve courage, and wither resolution ! To 
your patronage, as a man of some genius, you 
have allowed me a claim ; and your esteem, as 
an honest man, I know is my due : To these, 
Sir, permit me to appeal ; by these may I ad- 
jure you to save me from that misery which 
threatens to overwhelm me, and which, with 
my latest breath I will say it, I have not 
deserved. 

R. B. 



No. CCXXVII. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Dumfries, 3\st December, 1792. 

Dear Madam, 

A hurry of business, thrown in heaps by 
my absence, has until now prevented my re- 
turning my grateful acknowledgements to the 
I good family of Dunlop, and you in particular, 
J for that hospitable kindness which rendered the 
four days I spent under that genial roof, four 
of the pleasantest I ever enjoyed. — Alas, my 
dearest friend ! how few and fleeting are those 
things we call pleasures ! on my road to Ayr- 
shire, I spent a night with a friend whom I 
much valued ; a man whose days promised to 
be many ; and on Saturday last we laid him 
in the dust ! 

Jan. 2, 1793. 

I have just received yours of the 30th, and 
feel much for your situation. However, I 
heartily rejoice in your prospect of recovery 
from that vile jaundice. As to myself, I am 
better, though not quite free of my complaint. 
— You must not think, as you seem to insinu- 
ate, that in my way of life I want exercise. 



* [" The following extract," says Cromek, " from a letter 
addressed by Robert Bloomfield to the Earl of Buchan, con- 
tains so interesting an exhibition of the modesty inherent in 
real worth, and so philosophical, and at the same time so 
poetical an estimate of the different characters and destinies 
of Burns and its author, that I should esteem myself cul- 
pable were I to withhold it from the public view. 

" ' The illustrious soul that has left amongst us the name 
of Burns, has often been lowered down to a comparison with 
me; but the comparison exists more in circumstances than 
in essentials. That man stood up with the stamp of supe- 
rior intellect on his brow ; a visible greatness : and great and 
patriotic subjects would only have called into action the 
powers of his mind, which lay inactive while he played 
calmly and exquisitely the pastoral pipe. 

" ' The letters to which I have alluded in my preface to the 
' Rural Tales ' were friendly warnings, pointed with imme- 
diate reference to the fate of that extraordinary man. ' Re- 
member Burns !' has been the watch-word of my friends. I 
do remember Burns ; but I am not Burns ! neither have I 
his fire to fan or to quench ; nor his passions to control ! 
Where then is my merit if I make a peaceful voyage on a 
smooth sea, and with no mutiny on board ? To a lady ( I 



Of that I have enough ; but occasional hard 
drinking is the devil to me. Against this 1 
have again and again bent my resolution, and 
have greatly succeeded. Taverns I have totally 
abandoned : it is the private parties in the 
family way, among the hard drinking gentle- 
men of this country, that do me the mischief 
— but even this, I have more than half given 
over.* 

Mr. Corbet can be of little service to me at 
present ; at least, I should be shy of applying. 
I cannot possibly be settled as a supervisor for 
several years. I must wait the rotation of the 
list, and there are twenty names before mine. — 
I might indeed get a job of officiating, wL./e 
a settled supervisor was ill, or aged ; but that 
hauls me from my family, as I could not re- 
move them on such an uncertainty. Besides, 
some envious, malicious devil has raised a lit- 
tle demur on my political principles, and I wish 
to let that matter settle before I offer myself 
too much in the eye of my supervisors. I have 
set, henceforth, a seal on my lips, as to these 
unlucky politics; but to you I must breathe 
my sentiments. In this, as in every thing- 
else, I shall shew the undisguised emotions of 
my soul. War I deprecate : misery and ruin 
to thousands are in the blast that announces 
the destructive demon. * * R. B. 



No. CCXXVIII. 
TO THE SAME.f 

bth January, 1793. 

You see my hurried life, Madam : I can 
only command starts of time ; however, I am 
glad of one thing ; since I finished the other 
sheet, the political blast that threatened my 
welfare is overblown. I have corresponded 
with Commissioner Graham, for the board had 
made me the subject of their animadversions ; 
and now I have the pleasure of informing you 
that all is set to rights in that quarter.J Now 



have it from herself), who remonstrated with him on his dan- 
ger from drink, and the pursuits of some of his associates, 
he replied, ' Madam, they would not thank me for my com- 
pany, if I did not drink with them. — I must give them a 
slice of my constitution.' How much to be regretted that 
he did not give them thinner slices of his constitution, that 
it might have lasted longer !' "] 

t [In Dr. Currie's edition this letter is dated January 1/92. 
and appears in the place appropriate to that date. The pre- 
sent editor, entertaining no doubt that the real date is 1/9^. 
has transferred it from the former to the present place. What 
gives reason to believe the latter the true date is the allusion 
to the " political blast " that had threatened the poet's wel- 
fare. — Chambers. 

The Editor of the present edition agrees with Mr. Cham- 
bers.— J. C] 

% [The poet spoke mildly to Mrs. Dunlop concerning thp 
conduct of the Excise in the affair of what he called his poli- 
tical delinquencies; he was not so bird-mouthed to Erskine 
of Mar: his letter to that gentleman will remain a monu- 
ment to the eternal dishonour of the government of that day 
and the Board of Commissioners. — Cunningham.] 

3 A 



722 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



as to these informers, may the devil be let loose 
to but, hold ! I was praying most fer- 
vently in my last sheet, and I must not so soon 
fall a swearing in this. 

Alas ! how little do the wantonly or idly 
officious think what mischief they do by their 
malicious insinuations, indirect impertinence, or 
thoughtless blabbings ! What a difference there 
is in intrinsic worth, candour, benevolence, 
generosity, kindness, — in all the charities and 
all the virtues — between one class of human 
beings and another. For instance, the amiable 
circle I so lately mixed with in the hospitable 
hall of Dunlop, their generous hearts — their 
uncontaminated dignified minds — their informed 
and polished understandings — what a contrast, 
when compared — if such comparing were not 
downright sacrilege — with the soul of the mis- 
creant who can deliberately plot the destruction 
of an honest man that never offended him, and 
with a grin of satisfaction see the unfortunate 
being, his faithful wife, and prattling innocents, 
turned over to beggary and ruin ! 

Your cup, my dear Madam, arrived safe. I 
had two worthy fellows dining with me the 
other day, when I, with great formality, pro- 
duced my whigmaleerie cup, and told them 
that it had been a family-piece among the de- 
scendants of William Wallace. This roused 
such an enthusiasm that they insisted on 
bumpering the punch round in it ; and, by and 
bye, never did your great ancestor lay a Suth- 
ron more completely to rest than for a time did 
your cup my two friends. Apropos, this is the 
season of wishing. May God bless you, my 
dear friend, and bless me, the humblest and 
sincerest of your friends, by granting you yet 
many returns of the season ! May all good 
things attend you and yours wherever they are 
scattered over the earth ! 

R. B. 



No. CCXXIX. 
TO Mr. CUNNINGHAM. 

3d March, 1793. 

Since I wrote to you the last lugubrious 
sheet, I have not had time to write farther. 
When I say that I had not time, that as usual 
means that the three demons, indolence, busi- 
ness, and ennui, have so completely shared my 
hours among them as not to leave me a five 
minutes' fragment to take up a pen in. 

Thank heaven, I feel my spirits buoying up- 
wards with the renovating year. Now I shall 
in good earnest take up Thomson's songs. I 
dare say he thinks 1 have used him unkindly, 



* [The se;;l with the arms which the ingenious poet in- 
rented was carefully cut in Edinburgh and used by him 



and, I must own, with too much appearance of 
truth. Apropos, do you know the much ad- 
mired old Highland air called ." the Sutor's 
Dochter ?" It is a first-rate favourite of mine, 
and I have written what I reckon one of my 
best songs to it. I will send it to you, as it 
was sung with great applause in some fashion- 
able circles by Major Robertson, of Lude, who 
was here with his corps. 



There is one commission that I must trouble 
you with. I lately lost a valuable seal, a pre- 
sent from a departed friend, which vexes me 
much. 

I have gotten one of your Highland pebbles, 
which I fancy would make a very decent one ; 
and I want to cut my armorial bearing on it ; 
will you be so obliging as inquire what will be 
the expense of such a business ? I do not know 
that my name is matriculated, as the heralds 
call it, at all ; but I have invented arms for 
myself, so you know I shall be chief of the 
name ; and, by courtesy of Scotland, will like- 
wise be entitled to supporters. These, however, 
1 do not intend having on my seal. I am a 
bit of a herald, and shall give you, secundum 
artem, my arms. On a field, azure, a holly 
bush, seeded, proper, in base ; a shepherd's 
pipe and crook, saltier-wise, also proper, in 
chief. On a wreath of the colours, a wood-lark 
perching on a sprig of bay-tree, proper, for 
crest. Two mottoes ; round the top of the 
crest, Wood notes wild ; at the bottom of the 
shield, in the usual place, Better a wee bush 
than nae bield* By the shepherd's pipe and 
crook I do not mean the nonsense of painters 
of Arcadia, but a Stock and Horn, and a Club, 
such as you see at the head of Allan Ramsay, 
in Allan's quarto edition of the Gentle 
Shepherd. By the bye, do you know Allan? 
He must be a man of very great genius — Why 
is he not more known ? — Has he no patrons ? 
or do " Poverty's cold wind and crushing rain 
beat keen and heavy" on him ? I once, and 
but once, got a glance of that noble edition of 
the noblest pastoral in the world ; and dear as 
it was, I mean, dear as to my pocket, I would 
have bought it ; but I was told that it was 
printed and engraved for subscribers only. He 
is the only artist who has his genuine pastoral 
costume. What, my dear Cunningham, is there 
in riches, that they narrow and harden the 
heart so ? I think that, were I as rich as the 
sun, I should be as generous as the day ; but as 
I have no reason to imagine my soul a nobler 
one than any other man's, I must conclude that 
wealth imparts a bird-lime quality to the pos- 
sessor, at which the man, in his native poverty, 
would have revolted. What has led me to 



the remainder of his life, 
garded as a relique.] 



It is still in the family, and re- 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



723 



this is the idea of such merit as Mr. Allan 
possesses, and such riches as a nabob or go- 
vernment contractor possesses, and why they 
do not form a mutual league. Let wealth 
shelter and cherish unprotected merit, and the 
gratitude and celebrity of that merit will 
richly repay it.* 

R. B, 



No. CCXXX. 

TO Miss BENSON, 

NOW MRS. BASIL MONTAGU. 

Dumfries, 2\st March, 1793. 

Madam, 
Among many things for which I envy those 
hale, long-lived old fellows before the flood, is 
this in particular, that, when they met with any 
body after their own heart, they had a charming 
long prospect of many, many happy meetings 
with them in after-life. 

Now, in this short, stormy, winter day of 
our fleeting existence, when you now and then, 
in the chapter of accidents, meet an individual 
whose acquaintance is a real acquisition, there 
are all the probabilities against you that you 
shall never meet with that valued character 
more. On the other hand, brief as this mise- 
rable being is, it is none of the least of the 
miseries belonging to it, that if there is any 
miscreant whom you hate, or creature whom 
you despise, the ill-run of the chances shall be 
so against you that, in the overtakings, turn- 
ings, and jostlings of life, pop, at some unlucky 
corner, eternally comes the wretch upon you, 
and will not allow your indignation or con- 
tempt a moment's repose. As I am a sturdy 
believer in the powers of darkness, I take these 
, to be the doings of that old author of mischief, 
I ! the devil. It is well-known that he has some 
kind of short-hand way of taking down our 
thoughts, and I make no doubt that he is 
perfectly acquainted with my sentiments re- 



* [That Burns admired such a painter as Allan was to be 
expected : they both wrought on nature of Scottish growth, 
and both excelled in pictures of humour and glee. As an 
artist, however, Allan's merits are of a limited nature ; he 
neither excelled in fine drawing nor in harmonious colouring, 
and grace and grandeur were beyond his reach. He painted 
portraits, which are chiefly remarkable for a strong homely re- 
semblance : he painted landscapes, but these want light and air, 
and he attempted the historical, but, save in one picture, 
"The Corinthian Maid," all his efforts in that way were 
failures. His genius Jay in expression, especially in grave 
humour and open drollery. Yet it would be difficult perhaps 
to name one of his pictures where nature is not overcharged : 
he could not stop his hand till he had driven his subject into 
the debateable land that lies between truth and caricature. 
He is among painters what Allan Ramsay is among poets, a 
fellow of infinite humour, and excelling in all manner of 
rustic drollery, but deficient in fine sensibility of conception, 
and little acquainted with lofty emotion or high imagination. 

Allan was born at Alloa, in Stirling-shire ; studied in 



specting Miss Benson : how much I admired 
her abilities and valued her worth, and how 
very fortunate I thought myself in her ac- 
quaintance. For this last reason, my dear 
Madam, I must entertain no hopes of the very 
great pleasure of meeting with you again. 

Miss Hamilton tells me that she is sending a 
packet to you, and I beg leave to send you the 
enclosed sonnet, though, to tell you the real 
truth, the sonnet is a mere pretence, that I may 
have the opportunity of declaring with how 
much respectful esteem I have the honour to 
be, &c. 

R. B. 



No.. CCXXXI. 



TO PATRICK MILLER, Esq, 



OF DALSWINTON. 



Sir, 



Dumfries, April, 1/93. 



My poems having just come out in another 
edition — will you do me the honour to accept of 
a copy ? A mark of my gratitude to you, as a 
gentleman to whose goodness I have been much 
indebted ; of my respect for you, as a patriot 
who, in a venal, sliding age, stands forth the 
champion of the liberties of my country j and 
of my veneration for you, as a man whose 
benevolence of heart does honour to human 
nature. 

There was a time,f Sir, when I was your 
dependant : this language then would have 
been like the vile incense of flattery— I could 
not have used it. — Now that connexion is at an 
end, do me the honour to accept of this honest 
tribute of respect from, Sir, 

Your much indebted humble servant, 

R. B. 



Glasgow and at Rome; returned to his native land, became 
Master of the Edinburgh Academy, and died there 6th 
August, 1796, in the fifty-third year of his age. In person 
he was under the middle size, his form slender, his face 
coarse and long, and his hair of the colour of sand. His 
looks were mean and unpromising, till he was in company 
to his liking, when his large grey eyes grew bright and 
penetrating, his manners pleasing, and his conversation 
sprightly and humourous, inclining to satire, and replete 
with observation and anecdote. — Cunningham. 

At his death, he left a series of drawings illustrative of 
Burns's Works.] 

t [The time to which Burns alludes was when he held 
the farm of Ellisland as tenant to Mr. Miller. Eetwecn the 
laird and the farmer there p;issed no stern words respecting 
the relinquishing of the lease — but it occasioned a coldness 
which continued till the death of the latter. At the burial 
of the Bard, the eyes of Miller were wet when many around 
were dry. — Cunningham.] 

3 A 2 



724 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CCXXXII. 
TO JOHN FRANCIS ERSKINE, Esq., 

OF MAR.* 

Dumfries, \2th April, 1793. 

Sir: 

Degenerate as human nature is said to be — 
and, in many instances, worthless and unprinci- 
pled it is — still there are bright examples to the 
contrary : examples that, even in the eyes of 
superior beings, must shed a lustre on the name 
of Man. 

Such an example have I now before me, 
when you, Sir, came forward to patronise and 
befriend a distant obscure stranger, merely be- 
cause poverty had made him helpless, and his 
British hardihood of mind had provoked the 
arbitrary wantonness of power. My much 
esteemed friend, Mr. Riddel of Glenriddel, has 
just read me a paragraph of a letter he had 
from you. Accept, Sir, of the silent throb of 
gratitude ; for words would but mock the emo- 
tions of my soul. 

You have been misinformed as to my final 
dismission from the Excise ; I am still in the 
service. — Indeed, but for the exertions of a gen- 
tleman who must be known to you, Mr. Gra- 
ham of Fin tray — a gentleman who has ever 
been my warm and generous friend — I had, 
without so much as a hearing, or the slightest 
previous intimation, been turned adrift, with 
my helpless family, to all the horrors of want. 
—Had I had any other resource, probably I 
might have saved them the trouble of a dis- 
mission ; but the little money I gained by my 
publication is almost every guinea embarked, 
to save from ruin an only brother, who, though 
one of the worthiest, is by no means one of the 
most fortunate, of men. 

In my defence to their accusations, I said 
that whatever might be my sentiments of re- 
publics, ancient or modern, as to Britain, I 
abjured the idea: — That a constitution, 
which, in its original principles, experience had 
proved to be in every way fitted for our hap- 
piness in society, it would be insanity to sacri- 
fice to an untried visionary theory : — That, in 
consideration of my being situated in a depart- 
ment, however humble, immediately in the 
hands of people in power, I had forborne 
taking any active part, either personally, or as 
an author, in the present business of Reform. 
But that, where I must declare my sentiments, 
I would say there existed a system of corrup- 
tion between the executive power and the re- 
presentative part of the legislature, which 
boded no good to our glorious constitution ; 
and which every patriotic Briton must wish to 
see amended. — Some such sentiments as these, 
[ stated in a letter to my generous patron Mr. 



* [Mr. Erskine, of Mar, was at all times of his life a. 
staunch Whig. He became Earl of Mar, in 1824, in conse- 



Graham, which he laid before the Board at 
large ; where, it seems, my last remark gave 
great offence ; and one of our supervisors-ge- 
neral, a Mr. Corbet, was instructed to inquire 
on the spot, and to document me — "that my 
business was to act, not to think ; and that, 
whatever might be men or measures, it was 
for me to be silent and obedient" 

Mr. Corbet was likewise my steady friend ; 
so between Mr. Graham and him, I have been \ 
partly forgiven ; only I understand that all 
hopes of my getting officially forward are I 
blasted. 

Now, Sir, to the business in which I would 
more immediately interest you. The partiality 
of my countrymen has brought me forward 
as a man of genius, and has given me a cha- 
racter to support. In the Poet I have avowed 
manly and independent sentiments, which I 
trust will be found in the man. Reasons of no 
less weight than the support of a wife and fa- 
mily, have pointed out as the eligible, and, 
situated as I was, the only eligible, line of life 
for me, my present occupation. Still my honest 
fame is my dearest concern ; and a thousand 
times have I trembled at the idea of those 
degrading epithets that malice or misrepresent- 
ation may affix to my name. I have often, in 
blasted anticipation, listened to some future 
hackney scribbler, with the heavy malice of 
savage stupidity exulting in his hireling para- 
graphs — " Burns, notwithstanding the fanfa- 
ronade of independence to be found in his 
works, and after having been held forth to 
public view and to public estimation as a man 
of some genius, yet, quite destitute of resources 
within himself to support his borrowed dignity, 
he dwindled into a paltry exciseman, and slunk, 
out the rest of his insignificant existence in the 
meanest of pursuits, and among the vilest of 
mankind." 

In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me to 
lodge my disavowal and defiance of these slan- 
derous falsehoods. Burns was a poor man 
from birth, and an exciseman by necessity : but 
— / will say it ! the sterling of his honest 
worth no poverty could debase, and his inde- 
pendent British mind oppression might bend, 
but could not subdue. — Have not I, to me, a 
more precious stake in my Country's welfare, 
than the richest dukedom in it ? I have a large 
family of children, and the prospect of many 
more. I have three sons, who, I see already, 
have brought into the world souls ill qualified 
to inhabit the bodies of slaves. — Can I look 
tamely on, and see any machination to wrest 
from them the birthright of my boys,— the 
little independent Britons in whose veins runs 
my own blood ? — No ! I will not ! should my 
heart's blood stream around my attempt to de- 
fend it ! 

quence of the reversal of his grandfather's attainder. He 
died August 20th, 1825, aged eighty-four.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



725 



Does any man tell me that my full efforts 
can be of no service ; and that it does not be- 
long to my humble station to meddle with the 
concern of a nation ? 

I can tell him that it is on such individuals 
as I that a nation has to rest, both for the hand 
of support, and the eye of intelligence. The 
uninformed mob may swell a nation's bulk; 
and the titled, tinsel, courtly throng maybe its 
feathered ornament ; but the number of those 
who are elevated enough in life to reason and 
to reflect, yet low enough to keep clear of the 
venal contagion of a Court — these are a na- 
tion's strength ! 

I know not how to apologize for the imperti- 
nent length of this epistle ; but one small re- 
quest I must ask of you farther — When you 
have honoured this letter with a perusal, please 
to commit it to the flames. Burns, in whose 
behalf you have so generously interested your- 
self, I have here, in his native colours, drawn 
as he is ; but should any of the people in whose 
hands is the very bread he eats get the least 
knowledge of the picture, it would ruin the 
poor bard for ever ! 

My poems having just come out in another 

edition, I beg leave to present you with a copy 

as a small mark of that high esteem and ardent 

gratitude with which I have the honour to be, 

Sir, 

Your deeply indebted, 

And ever devoted humble servant, 

R. B.* 

-*, 

No. CCXXXIII. 
TO Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

April 26, 1793. 
I am d-mnably out of humour, my dear 
Ainslie, and that is the reason, why I take up 
the pen to you : 'tis the nearest way (probaium 
est), to recover my spirits again. 



* [Erskine of Mar gave a copy of the poet's letter to Cro- 
mek, who published it in the " Reliques. " It was rumoured 
that Burns was not only admonished by the Board of Excise, 
but actually dismissed from his situation ; this induced Ers- 
kine to propose a subscription in his favour, which was re- 
fused by the bard with that elevation of sentiment which 
characterized his mind. It was well that the future Earl of 
"Vlar heard the report, since it drew from Burns this truly 
h-anly and well considered letter — it was all but the latest 
act of his life to write it down from his memory among his 
memoranda. The late Mr. Findlater, his superior officer in 
Dumfries at the time, eulogized the conduct of the Board of 
Excise : averred that the bard received only a gentle — a 
courteous admonition and was never for a moment in danger 
of being dismissed. Burns informed Graham that Mitchell 
had confounded him with the information that he had re- 
ceived orders to inquire into his political conduct, for he was 
blamed as a person disaffected to the government. In the 
present letter the poet farther says that, but for the interpo- 
sition of Graham of Fintray, he would have been turned 
adrift with his helpless family to all the horrors of want; 
and moreover that he was documented by the Board, that 
his business was to act, not to think, and that, whatever might 
be men and measures, it was his duty to be silent and 



I received your last, and was much enter- 
tained with it ; but I will not at this time, nor 
at any other time, answer it. — Answer a letter ! 
I never could answer a letter in my life ! — I 
have written many a letter in return for letters 
I have received ; but then — they were original 
matter — spurt away ! zig, here ; zag, there ; 
as if the devil, that my grannie (an old wo- 
man indeed) often told me, rode on will-o'- 
wisp, or, in her more classic phrase, Sptjnkie, 
were looking over my elbow. — Happy thought 
that idea has engendered in my head ! Sptjn- 
kie — thou shalt henceforth be my symbol, 
signature, and tutelary genius ! Like thee, 
hap-step-and-lowp, here-awa-there-awa, hig- 
glety-pigglety, pell-mell, hither-and-yont, ram- 
stam, happy-go-lucky, up tails-a'-by-the-light- 
o'-the-moon — has been, is, and shall be, my 
progress through, the mosses and moors of this 
vile, bleak, barren wilderness of a life of ours. 

Come then, my guardian spirit ! like thee, 
may I skip away, amusing myself by and at 
my own light : and if any opaque-souled lub- 
ber of mankind complain that my elfine, lam- 
bent, glimmerous wanderings have misled his 
stupid steps over precipices, or into bogs ; let 
the thick-headed Blunderbuss recollect that he 
is not Spunkie : — that 

Spunkie's wanderings could not copied be; 

Amid these perils none durst walk but he. — 

***** 

I have no doubt but scholar-craft may be 
caught, as a Scotsman catches the itch, — by 
friction. How else can you account for it that 
born blockheads, by mere dint of handling 
books, grow so wise that even they themselves 
are equally convinced of and surprised at their 
own parts ? I once carried this philosophy to 
that degree that in a knot of country folks who 
had a library amongst them, and who, to the 
honour of their good sense, made me factotum 
in the business ; one of our members, a little, 
wise-looking, squat, upright, jabbering body of 



Those who contradict the testimony of Burns should do it 
on better authority than their own assertion ; the poet's 
word will weigh down any other man's, so long as he speaks 
from his own knowledge. Findlater argued ; Burns stated 
facts. The poet is supported by the testimony of Robert 
Ainslie, to whom all his affairs were known ; in a letter dated 
3rd September, 1834, without being aware that his illustrious 
friend's assertions were impeached, he says, " You know that 
the poet was a 'friend of the people' during the days of po- 
litical ferment in his time: a circumstance which impeded 
his advancement in the excise — he never rose higher than 
the 'nicked stick,' the badge and implement of a common 
gauger. The Commissioners of Excise, irritated at his opi- 
nions, wrote him a formal official letter, sealing with the 
large seal of office, informing him that a ' petty officer' had 
'no business with politics.'" The proud heart of Burns 
did not like this humbling; after a few wrathful words in 
secret to one of his friends, he took a pencil and wrote these 
lines on the envelope : 

" In politics if you would mix, 
And low your station be, 
Keep this in mind — be deaf and blind, 
Let greatrfolks hear and see." 

CUNNINGHAM.], 



726 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



a tailor, I advised him, instead of turning over 
the leaves, to bind the book on his bach. — 
Johnnie took the hint ; and, as our meetings 
were every fourth Saturday, and Prieklouse 
having a good Scots mile to walk in coming, 
and, of course, another in returning, Bodkin 
was sure to lay his hand on some heavy quarto, 
or ponderous folio, with, and under which, 
wrapt up in his grey plaid, he grew wise, as he 
grew weary, all the way home. He carried 
this so far that an old musty Hebrew Concor- 
dance, which we had in a present from a neigh- 
bouring priest, by mere dint of applying it, as 
doctors do a blistering plaster, between his 
shoulders, Stitch, in a dozen pilgrimages, ac- 
quired as much rational theology as the said 
priest had done by forty years' perusal of the 
pages. 

Tell me, and tell me truly, what you think 
of this theory.* 

Yours, 

Spunkie, 



No. CCXXXIV. 

TO Miss KENNEDY, 
edinburgh. 

Madam : 

Permit me to present you with the enclosed 
song as a small, though grateful tribute, for the 
honour of your acquaintance. I have, in these 
verses, attempted some faint sketches of your 
portrait in the unembellished simple manner of 
descriptive truth. — Flattery, I leave to your 
lovers, whose exaggerating fancies may make 



* [What a strange hipperty-skipperty letter this is to 
Ainslie ! that is to say, to Ainslie as we know him now,— 
the author of " The Father's Gift," and many beautiful littie 
religious works, fitted for youth of both sexes. Ainslie, 
since ever I knew him, and that has been considerably up- 
wards of twenty years, has been much the same, — a down- 
right honest, sleepy-headed, kind-hearted gentleman, and 
his good humour never failing him, not even in his sleep, 
with which he generally favours the company once or twice 
in an evening. But even then, there is a benevolence in his 
countenance that beams more intensely than when he is 
awake. I have seen him fall fast asleep in the blue parlour 
at Ambrose's, with North in the chair, and myself croupier. 
Honest Ainslie ! That is a constitutional failing which he 
cannot help ; for a man of kinder or better intentions never 
was born. He is now, alas ! the only relic that I know of, 
of the real intimate acquaintances of Burns. — Hogg, 1837. 

What havoc a few years have made among the friends and 
admirers of the Poet! Since the above note was penned, 
the kind-hearted shepherd of Ettrick — his able co-adjutor, 
Motherwell — and his friend Ainslie, have all paid the debt of 
nature. Hamilton of Mauchline, the eldest son of Gavin 
Hamilton— Mr. Alexander Findlater, and my old friend, 
George H. King, have also within these few months gone to 
that bourne " whence no traveller returns." — J. C] 

t [The Poet has been called the flatterer of woman, but 
there is, perhaps, little flattery in saying that a beauteous 
ereature is beautiful. The song addressed to the young lady 



them imagine you still nearer perfection than 
you really are. 

Poets, Madam, of all mankind, feel mosi 
forcibly the powers of beauty ; as, if they 
are really poets of nature's making, their feel- 
ings must be finer, and their taste more delicate 
than most of the world. In the cheerful bloom 
of spring, or the pensive mildness of autumn ; 
the grandeur of summer, or the hoary majesty 
of winter ; the poet feels a charm unknown 
to the rest of his species. Even the sight of a 
fine flower, or the company of a fine woman — 
(by far the finest part of God's works below), 
have sensations for the poetic heart that the 
herd of man are strangers to. — On this last 
account, Madam, I am, as in many other 
things, indebted to Mr. Hamilton's kindness in 
introducing me to you. Your lovers may view 
you with a wish, I look on you with pleasure ; 
their hearts, in your presence, may glow with 
desire, mine rises with admiration. 

That the arrows of misfortune, however they 
should, as incident to humanity, glance a slight 
wound, may never reach your heart — that the 
snares of villany may never beset you in the 
road of life — that innocence may hand you 
by the path of honour to the dwelling of 
peace, is the sincere wish of him who has thf 
honour to be, &c. 

R. B.f 



No. CCXXXV. 

TO Miss CRAIK4 

Dumfries, August, 1793. 

Madam : 
Some rather unlooked-for accidents have 
prevented my doing myself the honour of a 



has not been named. Miss Kennedy claimed relationship 
with the Hamiltons of Mossgiel. — Cunningham.] 

The above letter, which originally appeared in Cromek's Re- 
liques, has been hitherto classed among those written in 
1793, but from the following extract of an original letter to 
Gavin Hamilton, Esq., dated Edinburgh, March 8th, 1787, 
now published exclusively in the present Edition, a much 
earlier date is assigned to it. 

" My two songs on Miss W. Alexander,* and Miss P. Ken- 
nedy! were tried yesterday by a jury of literati, and found 
defamatory libels against the fastidious powers of Poesy and 
Taste ; and the Author forbid to print them under pain of 
forfeiture of character. I cannot help almost shedding a 
tear to the memory of two songs that had cost me some 
pains, and that I valued a good deal, but I must submit." — 

Again in the same letter, he adds : — 

" My poor unfortunate songs come again across my me- 
mory — D — n the pedant, frigid soul of Criticism for ever 
and ever ! ' ' 

% [Miss Helen Craik, of Arbigland, had merit both as a 
poetess and novelist: her ballads may be compared with 
those of Macneil, and her novels, amid much graphic force, 
had a seasoning of the satiric, which rendered them accept- 
able to all who understood their allusions. She died some 
years ago at Allonby : she was much of an enthusiast, and 
lived estranged from her family for a long period of her life. 



* [The Lass o" Ballochmyle. | The Banks of Doon.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



727 



second visit to Arbi gland, as I was so hospitably 
invited, and so positively meant to have done. 
However, I still hope to have that pleasure 
before the busy months of harvest begin. 

I enclose you two of my late pieces, as some 
kind of return for the pleasure I have received 
in perusing a certain MS. volume of poems in 
the possession of Captain Riddel. To repay 
one with an old song, is a proverb, whose force, 
you, Madam, I know, will not allow. What 
is said of illustrious descent is, I believe, equally 
true of a talent for poetry, none ever despised 
it who had pretensions to it. The fates and 
characters of the rhyming tribe often employ 
my thoughts when I am disposed to be melan- 
choly. There is not, among all the martyrolo- 
gies that ever were penned, so rueful a narrative 
as the lives of the poets. — In the comparative 
view of wretches, the criterion is not what they 
are doomed to suffer, but how they are formed 
to bear. Take a being of our kind ; give him a 
stronger imagination and a more delicate sensi- 
bility, — which, between them, will ever engen- 
der a more ungovernable set of passions than 
are the usual lot of man ; implant in him an 
irresistible impulse to some idle vagary, such as 
arranging wild flowers in fantastical nosegays, 
tracing the grasshopper to his haunt by his 
chirping song, watching the frisks of the little 
minnows in the sunny pool, or hunting after the 
intrigues of butterflies — in short, send him 
adrift after some pursuit which shall eternally 
mislead him from the paths of lucre, and yet 
curse him with a keener relish than any man 
living for the pleasures that lucre can purchase ; 
lastly, fill up the measure of his woes by be- 
! stowing on him a spurning sense of his own 
d'gnity, and you have created a wight nearly 
as miserable as a poet. To you, Madam, I 
need not recount the fairy pleasures the muse 
bestows to counterbalance this catalogue of 
evils. Bewitching poetry is like bewitching 
woman ; she has in all ages been accused of 
misleading mankind from the councils of wis- 
dom and the paths of prudence, involving them 
in difficulties, baiting them with poverty, 
branding them with infamy, and plunging them 
in the whirling vortex of ruin ; yet, where is 
the man but must own that all our happiness 
on earth is not worthy the name — that even the 
holy hermit's solitary prospect of paradisiacal 



I\'iss Craik's father was one of the wisest gentlemen and most 
sensible improvers of property on the Scottish side of the Sol- 
way : his taste, too, in architecture, was of a pure kind ; he lived 
to a good old age, and had the misfortune to witness with 
his own eyes the melancholy death of his only son. The heir 
of Arbigland, accompanied by some sixteen young men of 
the parish, set off one summer morning in his pleasure skiff, 
to pay a visit to the English shore ; when more than half- 
way over the Solway, a whirlwind suddenly arose, seized the 
sails, whirled the skiff around, and down it went with all on 
board— though a vessel was near, not a S'>ul was saved. The 
wretched father saw all this from a seat on the top of the 
house; after the skiff sank, he sat still for an hour, looking 
fixedly, it is said, on the sea. Arbigland is now the property 
of his grandson, Douglas Hamilton Craik, Esq. The situ- 



bliss is but the glitter of a northern sun, rising 
over a frozen region, cpmpared with the many 
pleasures, the nameless raptures that we owe to 
the lovely Queen of the heart of Man ! 

R. B. 



No. CCXXXVI. 

TO LADY GLENCAIRN.* 

My Lady : 
The honour you have done your poor poet, 
in writing him so very obliging a letter, and 
the pleasure the enclosed beautiful verses have 
given him, came very seasonably to his aid 
amid the cheerless gloom and sinking despon- 
dency of diseased nerves and December wea- 
ther. As to forgetting the family of Glencairn, 
Heaven is my witness with what sincerity I 
could use those old verses which please me 
more in their rude simplicity than the most 
elegant lines I ever saw : — 

If thee, Jerusalem, I forget, 
Skill part from my right hand. 

My tongue to my mouth's roof let cleave, 

If I do thee forget, 
Jerusalem, and thee above 

My chief joy do not set. — 

When I am tempted to do anything improper, 
I dare not, because I look on myself as account- 
able to your ladyship and family. Now and 
then, when I have the honour to be called to 
the tables of the great, if I happen to meet 
with any mortification from the stately stupidity 
of self-sufficient squires, or the luxurious inso- ', 
lence of upstart nabobs, I get above the crea- J 
tures by calling to remembrance that I am j 
patronized by the Noble House of Glencairn ; ! 
and at gala-times, such as New-year's day, a 
christening, or the Kirn-night, when my punch- 
bowl is brought from its dusty corner and filled 
up in honour of the occasion, I begin with, — \ 
The Countess of Glencairn! My good wo- 
man, with the enthusiasm of a grateful heart, 
next cries, My Lord ! and so the toast goes on 
until I end with Lady Harriet's little angel, f 
whose epithalamium I have pledged myself 
to write. 



ation on the Solway side is beautiful : the house is a model 
of proportion and elegant workmanship ; the woods which 
partly enclose it, are very lofty, and some of the firs of the 
spruce tribe are of enormous girth. Burns was a frequent 
visiter here ; nor has the ancient hospitality of the house of 
Craik declined, nor its love of literature. — Cumninguam.] 

* [ Widow of William, thirteenth Earl of Glencairn, and 
mother of the patron of Burns.] 

f [Lady Harriet Don was the daughter of Lady Glencairn. 
Her child was the late accomplished Sir Alexander Don, of 
Newton Don, Bart., whose widow is married to Sir James 
Maxwell Wallace, the only surviving brother of Robert Wal- 
lace, of Kelly, Esq., M. P. for Gn-cnock. See note to 
Bums's Ode of " Scots vvha hae wi' Wallace bled," p. 4/6.] j 



728 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



"When I received your ladyship's letter, I 
was just in the act of transcribing for you 
some verses I have lately composed ; and meant 
to have sent them my first leisure hour, and 
acquainted you with my late change of life. I 
mentioned to my lord my fears concerning my 
farm. Those fears were indeed too true ; it is 
a bargain would have ruined me, but for the 
lucky circumstance of my having an Excise 
commission. 

People may talk as they please of the igno- 
miny of the Excise ; fifty pounds a year will 
support my wife and children, and keep me in- 
dependent of the world ;. and I would much 
rather have it said that my profession borrowed 
credit from me than that I borrowed credit 
from my profession. Another advantage I have 
in this business, is the knowledge it gives me of 
the various shades of human character, conse- 
quently assisting me vastly in my poetic pur- 
suits. I had the most ardent enthusiasm for 
the muses when nobody knew me, but myself, 
and that ardour is by no means cooled now that 
my lord Glencairn's goodness has introduced 
me to all the world. Not that I am in haste 
for the press. I have no idea of publishing, 
else I certainly had consulted my noble gene- 
rous patron ; but after acting the part of an 
honest man, and supporting my family, my 
whole wishes and views are directed to poetic 
pursuits. I am aware that though I were to 
give performances to the world superior to my 
former works, still, if they were of the same 
kind with those, the comparative reception they 
would meet with would mortify me. I have 
turned my thoughts on the drama. I do not 
mean the stately buskin of the tragic muse. 
* * * * 

Does not your ladyship think that an Edin- 
burgh theatre would be more amused with af- 
fectation, folly, and whim of true Scottish 
growth, than manners, which by far the greatest 
part of the audience can only know at second 
hand? 

I have the honour to be, 

Your ladyship's ever devoted 

and grateful humble servant, 
R. B. 



No. CCXXXVII. 
TO JOHN M'MURDO, Esq. 

Dumfries, December, 1793. 

Sir, 
It is said that we take the greatest liberties 
with our greatest friends, and I pay myself a 



* [Scottish Bank Notes.] 

t [The collection of songs mentioned in this letter are 
not unknown to the curious in such loose lore. They were 
printed by an obscure bookseller when death had secured 
him against the indignation of Burns. It was of such com- 
positions that the Poet thus entreated the world— " The 
author begs whoever into whose hands they may fall, that 



very high compliment in the manner in which 
I am going to apply the remark. I have owed 
you money longer than ever I owed it to any 
man.— Here is Ker's account, and here are six 
guineas ; and now, I don't owe a shilling to 
man — nor woman either. But for these damned 
dirty, dog's-ear'd little pages,* I had done 
myself the honour to have waited on you long 
ago. Independent of the obligations your 
hospitality has laid me under ; the conscious- 
ness of your superiority in the rank of man 
and gentleman, of itself was fully as much as 
1 could ever make head against ; but to owe 
you money, too, was more than I could face. 

I think I once mentioned something of a 
collection of Scots songs I have for some years 
been making : I send you a perusal of what I 
have got together. I could not conveniently 
spare them above five or six days, and five or 
six glances of them will probably more than 
suffice you. A very few of them are my own. 
When you are tired of them, please leave them 
with Mr. Clint, of the King's Arms. There 
is not another copy of the collection in the 
world ; and I should be sorry that any un- 
fortunate negligence should deprive me of what 
has cost me a good deal of pains.f 

R. B. 



No. CCXXXVIII. 
TO JOHN M'MURDO, Esq., 



DRUMLANRIG. 



Dumfries, 1793. 

Will Mr. M'Murdo do me the favour to 
accept of these volumes; a trifling but sincere 
mark of the very high respect I bear for his 
worth as a man, his manners as a gentleman, 
and his kindness as a friend. However inferior, 
now, or afterwards, I may rank as a poet ; one 
honest virtue to which few poets can pretend, 
I trust I shall ever claim as mine : — to no man, 
whatever his station in life, or his power to 
serve me, have I ever paid a compliment at 
the expense of truth. J 

The Author. 



they will do him the justice not to publish what he him- 
self thought proper to suppress."] 

X [These words are written on the blank leaf of the poet's 
works, published in two small volumes in 1793 : the hand- 
writing is bold and free — the pen seems to have been con- j 
scious that it was making a declaration of independence. ' 
— Cunningham.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



No. CCXXXIX. 
TO CAPTAIN 



Sir, 



Dumfries, 5th December, 1793. 



Heated as I was with wine yesternight, I 
was perhaps rather seemingly impertinent in 
my anxious wish to be honoured with your 
acquaintance. You will forgive it : it was the 
impulse of heart - felt respect. " He is the 
father of the Scottish county reform, and is a 
man who does honour to the business at the 
same time that the business does honour to 
him," said my worthy friend Glenriddel to 
somebody by me who was talking of your 
coming to this country with your corps. 
"Then," I said, "I have a woman's longing 
to take him by the hand, and say to him, ' Sir, 
I honour you as a man to whom the interests 
of humanity are dear, and as a patriot to whom 
the rights of your country are sacred.'" 

In times like these, Sir, when our commoners 
are barely able, by the glimmer of their own 
twilight understandings, to scrawl a frank, and 
when lords are what gentlemen would be 
ashamed to be, to whom shall a sinking country 
call for help? To the independent country 
gentleman. To him who has too deep a stake 
in his country not to be in earnest for her 
welfare ; and who in the honest pride of man 
can view with equal contempt the insolence of 
office and the allurements of corruption. 

I mentioned to you a Scots ode or song I 
had lately composed, and which I think has 
some merit. Allow me to enclose it. When I 
fall in with you at the theatre, I shall be glad 
to have your opinion of it. Accept of it, Sir, 
as a very humble, but most sincere, tribute of 
respect from a man who, dear as he prizes 
poetic fame, yet holds dearer an independent 
mind. I have the honour to be,f 

R. B. 



No. CCXL. 
TO Mrs. RIDDEL,} 

WHO WAS .ABOUT TO BESPEAK A PLAY ONE 
EVENING AT THE DUMFRIES THEATRE. 

I am thinking to send my " Address" to 
some periodical publication, but it has not got 
your sanction, so pray look over it. 



* [Not unlikely Captain Robertson, of Lude. — Cham- 
bers.] 

t [This excellent letter originally appeared in Mr. Robert 
Chambers s interesting collection of Scottish songs. He 
obtained it from Mr. Stewart, of Dalguise, and employed it, 
as has already been done in this edition, to illustrate that 
glorious war ode, • 

" SCOTS WIIA HAE Wl' WALLACE BLIiD."] 



As to the Tuesday's play, let me beg of you, 
my dear Madam, to give us, " The Wonder, a 
Woman keeps a Secret!" to which please add, 
"The Spoilt Child" — you will highly oblige 
me by so doing. 

Ah, what an enviable creature you are ! 
There now, this cursed gloomy blue-devil day, 
you are going to a party of choice spirits — 

" To play the shapes 
Of frolic fancy, and incessant form 
Those rapid pictures, assembled train 
Of fleet ideas, never join'd before, 
Where lively wit excites to gay surprise ; 
Or folly-painting humour, grave himself, 
Calls laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve." 

But as you rejoice with them that do rejoice, 
do also remember to weep with them that weep, 
and pity your melancholy friend, 

R. B. 



No. CCXLI. 
TO A LADY, 

IN FAVOUR OF A PLAYER'S BENEFIT. 
MADAM, Dumfries, 1794. 

You were so very good as to promise me to 
honour my friend with your presence on his 
benefit night. That night is fixed for Friday 
first : the play a most interesting one ! " The 
Way to Keep Him." I have the pleasure to 
know Mr. G. well. His merit as an actor is 
generally acknowledged. He has genius and 
worth which would do honour to patronage : 
he is a poor and modest man ; claims which 
from their very silence have the more forcible 
power on the generous heart. Alas, for pity ! 
that from the indolence of those who have the 
good things of this life in their gift, too often 
does brazen - fronted importunity snatch that 
boon, the rightful due of retiring, humble want ! 
Of all the qualities we assign to the Author and 
Director of Nature, by far the most enviable is 
— to be able " To wipe away all tears from all 
eyes." O what insignificant, sordid wretches 
are they, however chance may have loaded 
them with wealth, who go to their graves, to 
their magnificent mausoleums, with hardly the 
consciousness of having made one poor honest 
heart happy ! 

But I crave your pardon, Madam ; I came 
to beg, not to preach. 

R. B. 



X [This lady, to whom the bard has so happily and justly 
applied the above quotation, paid the debt of nature a few 
months ago. The graces of her person were only equalled 
by the singular endowments of her mind, and her poetical 
talents rendered her an interesting friend to Burns, in a part' 
of the world where he was in a great measure excluded from 
the sweet intercourse of literary society. Gilbert Burns, 
1820-3 



780 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CCXLI1. 
TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN, 

WITH A COPY OF BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS 
TROOPS AT BANNOCKBURN. 

Dumfries, \2th January, 1794. 

My Lord, 

Will your lordship allow me to present you 
with the enclosed little composition of mine, as 
a small tribute of gratitude for the acquaintance 
with which you have been pleased to honour 
me ? Independent of my enthusiasm as a 
Scotsman, I have rarely met with any thing in 
history which interests my feelings as a man 
equal with the story of Bannockburn. On the 
one hand, a cruel, but able, usurper, leading on 
the finest army in Europe to extinguish the last 
spark of freedom among a greatly-daring and 
greatly-injured people ; on the other hand, the 
desperate relics of a gallant nation devoting 
themselves to rescue their bleeding country, or 
perish with her. 

Liberty ! thou art a prize truly and indeed 
invaluable ! for never canst thou be too dearly 
bought ! 

If my little ode has the honour of your 
lordship's approbation, it will gratify my high- 
est ambition. 

I have the honour to be, &c. 

R. B. 



No. CCXLIII. 

TO Mrs. RIDDEL.* 

Dear Madam, 

I meant to have called on you yesternight, 
but as I edged up to your box-door, the first 
object which greeted my view was one of those 
lobster - coated puppies, sitting like another 
dragon, guarding the Hesperian fruit. On the 
conditions and capitulations you so obligingly 
offer, I shall certainly make my weather-beaten 
rustic phiz a part of your box-furniture on 
Tuesday ; when we may arrange the business 
of the visit. 

Among the profusion of idle compliments, 
which insidious craft, or unmeaning folly, in- 
cessantly offer at your shrine — a shrine, how 
far exalted above such adoration — permit me, 
were it but for rarity's sake, to pay you the 
honest tribute of a warm heart and an inde- 
pendent mind ; and to assure you, that I am, 
thou most amiable, and most accomplished of 



* [The following five letters to Mrs. Ridel el, and those 
marked 257-8, evidently relate to the Poet's quarrel with that 
lady ; but, bein£ without date, Dr. Currie has inextricably 



thy sex, with the most respectful esteem, and 
fervent regard, thine, &c. R. B. 



No. CCXLIV. 
TO THE SAME. 

I will wait on you, my ever valued friend, 
but whether in the morning I am not sure, 
Sunday closes a period of our curst revenue 
business, and may probably keep me employed 
with my pen until noon. Fine employment 
for a poet's pen ! There is a species of the 
human genus that I call the gin-horse class : 
what enviable clogs they are! Round, and 
round, and round they go, — Mundell's ox, 
that drives his cotton mill, is their exact pro- 
totype — without an idea or wish beyond their 
circle ; fat, sleek, stupid, patient, quiet, and 
contented ; while here I sit, altogether Novem- 
berish, a d — d melange of fretfulness and 
melancholy ; not enough of the one to rouse 
me to passion, nor of the other to repose me 
in torpor ; my soul flouncing and fluttering 
round her tenement, like a wild finch, caught 
amid the horrors of winter, and newly thrust 
into a cage. Well, I am persuaded that it was 
of me the Hebrew sage prophesied, when he 
foretold — "And behold, on whatsoever this 
man doth set his heart, it shall not prosper !" 
If my resentment is awaked, it is sure to be 
where it dare not squeak ; and if — * * * 

Pray that wisdom and bliss be more frequent 
visiters of R. B. 



No. CCXLV. 

TO THE SAME. 

I have this moment got the song from Syme, 
and I am sorry to see that he has spoilt it a 
good deal. It shall be a lesson to me how I 
lend him any thing again. 

I have sent you " Werter," truly happy to 
have any the smallest opportunity of obliging 
jow. 

'Tis true, Madam, I saw you once since I 
was at Woodlee ; and that once froze the very 
life-blood of my heart. Your reception of me 
was such that a wretch meeting the eye of his 
judge, about to pronounce sentence of death on 
him, could only have envied my feelings and 
situation. But I hate the theme, and never 
more shall write or speak on it. 

One thing I shall proudly say, that I can 



confused them. Probably No. 257 should be printed first, 
and the rest after an interval, as well as in a different ar- 
rangement. — Chambers.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



731 



pay Mrs. R. a higher tribute of esteem, and 
appreciate her amiable worth more truly, than 
any man whom I have seen approach her. 

R. B. 



No. CCXLVI. 
TO THE SAME. 

I have often told you, my dear friend, that 
you had a spice of caprice in your composition, 
and you have as often disavowed it ; even per- 
haps while your opinions were, at the moment, 
irrefragably proving it. Could any thing 
estrange me from a friend such as you ? — No ! 
To-morrow I shall have the honour of waiting 
on you. 

Farewell, thou first of friends, and most ac- 
complished of women ; even with all thy little 
caprices !* R. B. 
♦ 

No. CCXLVII. 

TO THE SAME. 

Madam, 

I return your common-place book. I have 
perused it with much pleasure, and would have 
continued my criticisms, but, as it seems the 
critic has forfeited your esteem, his strictures 
must lose their value. 

If it is true that " offences come only from 
the heart," before you I am guiltless. To ad- 
mire, esteem, and prize you, as the most ac- 
complished of women, and the first of friends 
—if these are crimes, I am the most offending 
tiling alive. 

In a face where I used to meet the kind 
complacency of friendly confidence, now to 
find cold neglect, and contemptuous scorn — is 
a wrench that my heart can ill bear. It is, 
however, some kind of miserable good luck, 
that while de haut-en-bas rigour may depress 
an unoffending wretch to the ground, it has a 
tendency to rouse a stubborn something in his 
bosom which, though it cannot heal the 



* [Beauty is sometimes a little whimsical, and it is said 
that Mrs. Riddel gave the hard the full benefit of the 
"caprice" which he persists in saj'ing was a part of her 
composition. She was no less sensible of his imperfections, 
but then she did not shut her eyes as many did on his high 
qualities, and chronicle nothing in her memory but that he 
was always 

" Craz'd wi' love or daiz'd wi' drink." 

Cunningham.] 

+ [The offended lady, soothed by this submissive letter, 
re-admitted the bard to her friendship. He found her, in the 
words of another minstrel, 

" Forgiving all and good." 

The language in which Burns commonly indulged, even in 
mixed companies, was racy and vigorous, scaring minds of 
small calibre, and giving occasion to the sensitive and the 
delicate to lament that he had not got his masculine intre- 
pidity of speech tamed down by education and polished 
company. — Cunningham.] 



wounds of his soul, is at least an opiate to 
blunt their poignancy. 

With the profoundest respect for your abili- 
ties ; the most sincere esteem, and ardent re- 
gard for your gentle heart and amiable man- 
ners ; and the most fervent wish and prayer 
for your welfare, peace, and bliss, I have the 
honour to be, Madam, your most devoted 
humble servant, R. B.f 



No. CCXLVIII. 
TO JOHN SYME, Esq.J 

You know that, among other high dignities, 
you have the honour to be my supreme court 
of critical judicature, from which there is no 
appeal. I enclose you a song which I com- 
posed since I saw you, and I am going to give 
you the history of it. Do you know that 
among much that I admire in the characters 
and manners of those great folks whom I have 
now the honour to call my acquaintances, the 
Oswald family, there is nothing charms me 
more than Mr. Oswald's unconcealable attach- 
ment to that incomparable woman. Did you 
ever, my dear Syme, meet with a man who 
owed more to the Divine Giver of all good 
things than Mr. O. ? A fine fortune ; a pleasing 
exterior ; self-evident amiable dispositions, and 
an ingenuous upright mind, and that informed, 
too, much beyond the usual run of young fel- 
lows of his rank and fortune : and to all this, 
such a woman ! — but of her I shall say nothing 
at all, in despair of saying any thing adequate : 
in my song, I have endeavoured to do justice 
to what would be his feelings, on seeing, in the 
scene I have drawn, the habitation of his Lucy. 
As I am a good deal pleased with my perform- 
ance, I in my first fervour thought of sending 
it to Mrs. Oswald, but on second thoughts, 
perhaps what I offer as the honest incense of 
genuine respect might, from the well-known 
character of poverty and poetry, be construed 
into some modification or other of that servility 
which my soul abhors. § R. B. 



t [This gentleman held the office of distributor of 
at Dumfries. Burns, who at first lived in the floor above his 
office, formed an intimacy with him, which lasted till the 
death of the poet. Mr. Syme was an agreeable table com- 
panion, and possessed considerable wit, the effusions of 
which were sometimes mistaken for Burns's. He died at 
his house of ltyedale, near Dumfries, November 24, 1831, in 
his seventy-seventh year.] 

§ [The song enclosed was that fine one beginning, 
' O wat ye wha's in yon town,* 

composed on Mrs. Oswald, of Auchencruive. — See page 424. 
The oral communications of the poet with his friend John 
Syme were numerous ; not so his communications with the 
pen : they were for some years near neighbours, and inter- 
course by letter was unnecessary. In one of Cunningham's 
letters he says to Burns, " I lately received a letter from our 
friend Barncallie— what a charming fellow lost to society — 
born to great expectations— with superior abilities, a purr 
heart and untainted morals ; his fate in life has been hard in' 



732 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CCXLIX. 
TO Miss . 

Dumfries, 17<>4. 

Madam, 

Nothing short of a kind of absolute neces- 
sity could have made me trouble you with this 
letter. Except my ardent and just esteem for 
your sense, taste, and worth, every sentiment 
arising in my breast, as I put pen to paper to 
you, is painful. The scenes I have passed with the 
friend of my soul and his amiable connexions ! 
the wrench at my heart to think that he is gone, 
for ever gone from me, never more to meet in 
the wanderings of a weary world ! and the cut- 
ting reflection of all, that I had most unfortu- 
nately, though most undeservedly, lost the 
confidence of that soul of worth, ere it took 
its flight ! 

These, Madam, are sensations of no ordinary 
anguish. — However, you also may be offended 
with some imputed improprieties of mine ; sen- 
sibility you know I possess, and sincerity none 
will deny me. 

To oppose these prejudices, which have been 
raised against me, is not the business of this 
letter. Indeed it is a warfare I know not how 
to wage. The powers of positive vice I can in 
some degree calculate, and against direct male- 
volence I can be on my guard ; but who can 
estimate the fatuity of gidcty caprice, or ward 
off the unthinking mischief of precipitate folly ? 

I have a favour to request of you, Madam : 

and of your sister, Mrs. , through your 

means. You know that, at the wish of my late 
friend, I made a collection of all my trifles in 
verse which I had ever written. They are 
many of them local, some of them puerile and 
silly, and all of them unfit for the public eye. 
As I have some little fame at stake — a fame 
that I trust may live when the hate of those 
who "watch for my halting," and the con- 
tumelious sneer of those whom accident has 
made my superiors, will, with themselves, be 
gone to the regions of oblivion — I am uneasy 
now for the fate of those manuscripts — Will 

Mrs. have the goodness to destroy them, 

or return them to me ? As a pledge of friend- 
ship they were bestowed ; and that circum- 
stance indeed was all their merit. Most un- 
happily for me, that merit they no longer pos- 
sess ; and I hope that Mrs. 's goodness, 

which I well know, and ever will revere, will 
not refuse this favour to a man whom she once 
held in some degree of estimation.* 



deed." It was the fate of Syme to lose the estate of Barn- 
••allie in Galloway, which passed from the family at his 
father's death. Of his talents something has already been 
said ; he was one of the most agreeable men in company that 
ever did honour to a toast — he was celebrated too for his wit, 
his wine, and his dinners ; some of his epigrams were im- 
puted to Burns. His wife, a very handsome woman, was a 
most affectionate mother — her chief pleasure lay in seeing 



With the sincerest esteem, I have the honour 
to be, Madam, &c. 

R. B. 



No. CCL. 
TO Mr. CUNNINGHAM. 

26th February, 1794. 

Canst thou minister to a mind diseased? 
Canst thou speak peace and rest to a soul tost 
on a sea of troubles, without one friendly star 
to guide her course, and dreading that the next 
surge may overwhelm her ? Canst thou give 
to a frame, tremblingly alive as the tortures of 
suspense, the stability and hardihood of the 
rock that braves the blast ? If thou canst not 
do the least of these, why wouldst thou disturb 
me in my miseries, with thy inquiries after me ? 

For these two months I have not been able 
to lift a pen. My constitution and frame were, 
ab origine, blasted with a deep incurable taint 
of hypochondria, which poisons my existence. 
Of late a number of domestic vexations, and 
some pecuniary share in the ruin of these cursed 
times — losses which, though trifling, were yet 
what I could ill bear — have so irritated me that 
my feelings at times could not be envied by a 
reprobate spirit listening to the sentence thai 
dooms it to perdition. 

Are you deep in the language of consolation ? 
I have exhausted in reflection every topic of 
comfort. A heart at ease would have been 
charmed with my sentiments and reasonings ; 
but as to myself, I was like Judas Iscariot 
preaching the gospel ; he might melt and mould 
the hearts of those around him, but his own 
kept its native incorrigibility. 

Still there are two great pillars that bear us 
up, amid the wreck of misfortune and misery. 
The one is composed of the different modifica- 
tions of a certain noble, stubborn something in 
man, known by the names of courage, forti- 
tude, magnanimity. The other is made up 
of those feelings and sentiments which, how- 
ever the sceptic may deny them, or the enthu- 
siast disfigure them, are yet, I am convinced, 
original and component parts of the human 
soul ; those senses of the mind — if I may be 
allowed the expression — which connect us with, 
and link us to, those awful obscure realities — 
an all-powerful, and equally beneficent God ; 
and a world to come, beyond death and the 
grave. The first gives the nerve of combat, 
while a ray of hope beams on the field : the 



her children healthy and her husband happy. — Cunning- 
ham.] 

* [Burns, on several occasions, recalled both his letters and 
verses when on reflection he thought he had been too com- 
municative and confiding. It is to be regretted that rhymea 
overwarm, and letters too open and out-spoken, should have 
found their way to the world.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



last pours the balm of comfort into the wounds 
which time can never cure.* 

I do not remember, my dear Cunningham, 
that you and I ever talked on the subject of 
religion at all. I know some who laugh at it, 
as the trick of the crafty few, to lead the un- 
discerning many ; or at the most as an uncer- 
tain obscurity, which mankind can never know 
any thing of, and with which they are fools if 
they give themselves much to do. Nor would I 
quarrel with a man for his irreligion, any more 
than I would for his want of a musical ear. I 
would regret that he was shut out from what, 
to me and to others, were such superlative 
sources of enjoyment. It is in this point of 
view, and for this reason, that I will deeply 
imbue the mind of every child of mine with 
religion. If my son should happen to be a 
man of feeling, sentiment, and taste, I shall thus 
add largely to his enjoyments. Let me flatter 
myself that this sweet little fellow, who is just 
now running about my desk, will be a man of a 
melting, ardent, glowing heart ; and an imagi- 
nation, delighted with the painter, and rapt 
with the poet. Let me figure him wandering 
out in a sweet evening, to inhale the balmy 
gales, and enjoy the growing luxuriance of the 
spring; himself the while in the blooming 
youth of life. He looks abroad on all nature, 
and through nature up to nature's God. His 
soul, by swift, delighting degrees, is rapt above 
this sublunary sphere until he can be silent no 
longer, and bursts out into the glorious enthu- 
siasm of Thomson — 

"These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
Are but the varied God. — The rolling year 
Is full of thee ;" — 

and so on, in all the spirit and ardour of that 
charming hymn. These are no ideal pleasures, 
they are real delights ; and I ask, what of the 
delights among the sons of men are superior, 
not to say equal, to them ? And they have this 
precious, vast addition — that conscious virtue 
stamps them for her own ; and lays hold on them 
to bring herself into the presence of a witness- 
ing, judging, and approving God. R. B. 



No. CCLI. 
TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 

May, 1794. 

My Lotid: 
When you cast your eye on the name at the 
bottom of this letter, and on the title-page of 

* [The religious enthusiasm of Burns was reasonable and 
practical ; he was no believer in the efficacy of faith without 
works, and regarded all claims to devotion which were not 
founded on the charities of life with suspicion. That he had 
his moments of doubt and fear is true ; he had too much 
knowledge to be presumptuous. — Cunningham.] 
I + [The original of the above letter is in the possession of 
' the Honourable Mrs. Holland, of Poynings. From a memo- 
j randum on the back, it appears to have been written in 
May, 1794.] 



the book I do myself the honour to send you? 
lordship, a more pleasurable feeling than my 
vanity tells me that it must be a name not en- 
tirely unknown to you. The generous patron- 
age of your late illustrious brother found me in 
the lowest obscurity : he introduced my rustic 
muse to the partiality of my country ; and to 
him I owe all. My sense of his goodness, and 
the anguish of my soul at losing my truly noble 
protector and friend, I have endeavoured to 
express in a poem to his memory, which I have 
now puolished. This edition is just from the 
press ; and in my gratitude to the dead, and 
my respect for the living (fame belies you, my 
lord, if you possess not the same dignity of 
man which was your noble brother's charac- 
teristic feature), I had destined a copy for the 
Earl of Glencairn. I learnt just now that you 
are in town : — allow me to present it you. 

I know, my lord, such is the vile, venal con- 
tagion which pervades the world of letters, that 
professions of respect from an author, particu- 
larly from a poet, to a lord, are more than sus- 
picious. I claim my by-past conduct, and my 
feelings at this moment, as exceptions to the too 
just conclusion. Exalted as are the honours of 
your lordship's name, and unnoted as is the 
obscurity of mine ; with the uprightness of an 
honest man, I come before your lordship, with 
an offering, however humble — 'tis all I have to 
give — of my grateful respect ; and to beg o\ 
you, my lord, — 'tis all I have to ask of you — 
that you will do me the honour to accept of it.i 
I have the honour to be, R. B. 



No. CCLIL 



TO DAVID MACCULLOCH, Esq.| 

My DEAR SlR, Dumfries, 21s* June, 1794. 

My long projected journey through your 
country is at last fixed : and on Wednesday 
next, if you have nothing of more importance 
to do, take a saunter down to Gatehouse about 
two or three o'clock, I shall be happy to take 
a draught of M c Kune's best with you. Col- 
lector Syme will be at Glens about that time, 
and will meet us about dish-of-tea hour. Syme 
goes also to Kerro ugh tree, and let me remind 
you of your kind promise to accompany me 
there ; I will need all the friends I can muster, 
for I am indeed ill at ease whenever I approach 
your honourables and right honourables. 

Yours, sincerely, R. B.§ 



t [Now deceased. A sister of this gentleman became the 
wife of Mr. Thomas Scott, brother of Sir Walter Scott, Bart.] 
§ [The endorsement on the back of the original letter 
shows what is felt about Burns in far distant lands. 

" Given to me by David M'Culloch, Penang, 1801. 

A. Fraser." 

"Received 15th December, 1823, in Calcutta, from 

Captain Fraser's widow by me, Thoma3 Rankine." 

" Transmitted to Archibald Hastie, Esq., London ; 

March 27th, 1824, from Bombay."] 



r Q- 



734 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CCLIII. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Castle Douglas, 25th June, 1794. 

Here, in a solitary inn, in a solitary village, 
am I set by myself, to amuse my brooding 
fancy as I may. — Solitary confinement, you 
know, is Howard's favourite idea of reclaiming 
sinners ; so let me consider by what fatality it 
happens that I have so long been so exceeding 
sinful as to neglect the correspondence of the 
most valued friend I have on earth. To tell 
you that I haA r e been in poor health will not be 
excuse enough, though it is true. I am afraid 
that I am about to suffer for the follies of my 
youth. My medical friends threaten me with 
a flying gout ; but I trust they are mistaken. 

I am just going to trouble your critical pa- 
tience with the first sketch of a stanza I have 
been framing as I passed along the road. The 
subject is Liberty : you know, my honoured 
friend, how dear the theme is to me. I design 
it as an irregular ode for General Washington's 
birth-day. After having mentioned the de- 
generacy of other kingdoms, I come to Scot- 
land thus : 



* [The stature of Wallace is asserted by all his historians to 
have been remarkably large, and his strength extraordinary. 
Hollinshed says, he was "a young gentleman of so huge a 
stature and notable strength of body, with such skill and 
knowledge in warlike enterprises, and of such hardiness in 
attempting all manner of exploits, that his match was not 
any where lightly to be found." The Minstrel describes 
him thus : 

Wallace statur off gretnes and of hycht i 
Was jugyt thus, be discretion off rycht, 
That saw him, baith in dissembil 1 and weid; 2 
Nyne quarters* large he was, in length, indeid : 
Thryd part in schuldrys braid was he, 
Rycht sembly, strong, and lusty, for to see : 
Bowand 4 bron haryt, on brow and breis lycht ; 
Clear aspre b eyne, like to the diamonds brycht ; 
Under the chin, on the left side, was seyne 
Be hurt a wain ; his colour was sanguine ; 
Wounds he had, in many divers place ; 
But fair, and weill kepyt was his face. 

There is an anecdote in confirmation of the uncommon 
strength ascribed to Wallace, related by Hector Boeis. If is 
curious, as it affords an example of longevity, not unsimilar 
to that of the Irish Countess of Desmond, who attained to 
a still more advanced age. 

The date is 1430. At that time James I. was in Perth, and ; 
perhaps having heard Henry the Minstrel recite some of j 
Wallace's exploits, he found his curiosity excited to visit a ! 
noble lady of great age, who was able to inform him of many | 
ancient matters. 

She lived in the Castle of Kinnoul, on the opposite side of 
the river, and was probably a widow of one of the Lords of 
Erskine, a branch of whose family continued to be denomi- 
nated from the barony of Kinnoul, till about the year 1440. 

" In consequence of her extreme old age, she had lost her 
sight ; but all her other senses were entire, and her body was 
yet firm and lively. She had seen Sir William Wallace, and 
King Robert Bruce, and frequently told particulars con- 
cerning them. 

" The king, who entertained a love and veneration for 
greatness, resolved to visit the old lady, that he might hear 
her describe the manners and strength of the two heroes, 
who were admired in his time, as they now are in ours. He 



" Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among 1 , 
Thee, fam'd for martial deed and sacred song, 

To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
Where is that soul of Freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead ! 

Beneath the hallow'd turf where Wallace lies ! 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! 

Ye babbling winds in silence sweep, 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep." 

with the additions of 

" That arm which, nerv'd with thundering fate, 
Brav'd usurpation's boldest daring!* 
One quench'd in darkness, like the sinking star, 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age." 
See Fragment on Liberty, page 317. 

You will probably have another scrawl from 
me in a stage or two. R. B. 



No. CCLIV. 
TO Mr. JAMES JOHNSON. 

My DEAR FRIEND, Dumfries, 1794. 

You should have heard from me long ago ; 
but over and above some vexatious share in the 



2 Dressed. 
4 Curled. 



3 Six feet nine inches. 
5 Sharp. 



therefore sent a message, acquainting her that he intended 
to visit her the next day. 

" She received the message gratefully, and gave immediate 
orders to her handmaids to prepare every thing for his recep- 
tion in the best manner ; particularly that they should display 
her pieces of tapestry, some of which were uncommonly rich 
and beautiful. 

" All her servants became busily employed, for their work 
was in some degree unusual, as she had not for a long time 
been accustomed to receive princely visiters. 

" The next day, when told that the king was approaching, 
she went down into the hall of her Castle, dressed with as 
much elegance and finery as her old age, and the fashion of 
the time, would permit ; attended by a train of matrons, 
many of whom were her own descendants ; of which number, 
some appeared much more altered and disfigured by age 
than she herself was. 

" One of her matrons having informed her that the king 
was entering the hall, she arose from her seat and advanced 
to meet him so easily and gracefully that he doubted of her 
being wholly blind. At his desire she embraced and kissed 
him. 

" Her attendant assured him she was wholly blind, but 
that from long custom she had acquired these easy move- 
ments. 

" He took her by the hand and sat down, desiring her to 
sit on the seat next to him. And then, in a long conference, 
he interrogated her about ancient matters. 

" He was much delighted with her conversation : among 
other things, he asked her to tell him what sort of a man Sir 
William Wallace was. What was his personal figure ? What 
his courage ? and with what degree of strength he was en- 
dowed ? — He put the same questions to her concerning King 
Robert Bruce. 

" ' Robert,' said she, 'was a man beautiful, and of a fine 
appearance. His strength was so great that he could easily 
have overcome any mortal man of his time. But in so far as 
he excelled other men, he was excelled by Wallace, both in 
stature and in bodily strength : for in wrestling Wallace 
could have overcome two such men as Robert was.' 

" The king made some enquiries concerning his own im- 
mediate parents, and his other ancestors ; and having heard 
her relate many things, he returned to Perth well pleased 
with the visit he had made." — Boeth. Hist. 1. xvii . 

This lady could not have been less than one hundred and 
thirty years old at the time mentioned. The Countess of 
Desmond alluded to was one hundred and forty at the period 
of her death. — Robertson's History of Renfkew- 

SHIRE.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



735 



pecuniary losses of these accursed times, I have 
all this winter been plagued with low spirits 
and blue devils, so that I have almost hung 
my harp on the willow trees. 

I am just now busy correcting a new edition 
of my poems, and this, with my ordinary busi- 
ness, finds me in full employment. 

I send you by my friend, Mr. Wallace, forty- 
one songs for your fifth volume ; if we cannot 
finish in any other way, what would you think 
of Scots words to some beautiful Irish airs ? In 
the mean time, at your leisure, give a copy of 
the Museum to my worthy friend, Mr. Peter 
Hill, Bookseller, to bind for me, interleaved 
with blank leaves, exactly as he did the Laird 
of Glenriddel's, that I may insert every anec- 
dote I can learn, together with my own criti- 
cisms and remarks on the songs. A copy of 
this kind I shall leave with you, the editor, to 
publish at some after period, by way of making 
the Museum a book famous to the end of time, 
and you renowned for ever.* 

I have got a Highland Dirk, for which I 
have great veneration ; as it once was the dirk 
of Lord Balmerino. It fell into bad hands, 
who stripped it of the silver mounting, as well 
as the knife and fork. I have some thoughts 
of sending it to your care, to get it mounted 
anew. 

Thank you for the copies of my Volunteer 
Ballad. — Our friend Clarke has done indeed 
well ! 'tis chaste and beautiful. I have not 
met with any thing that has pleased me so much. 
You know I am no Connoisseur : but that I 
am an Amateur — will be allowed me. 

R. B. 



No. CCLV. 
TO PETER MILLER, Jun., Esq. 



OF DALSWINTON. 



Dear Sir : 



Dumfries, Nov. 1794. 



Your offer is indeed truly generous, and 
most sincerely do I thank you for it ; but, in my 
present situation, I find that I dare not accept 
it. You well know my political sentiments ; 
and were I an insular individual, unconnected 
with a wife and family of children, with the 
most fervid enthusiasm I would have volun- 
teered my services : I then could and would 
have despised all consequences that might have 
ensued. 



* [" Burns's anxiety with regard to the correctness of his 
writings was very great. Being questioned as to his mode of 
composition, he replied, ' All my poetry is the effect of easy 
| composition, but of laborious correction.' " — Cromek.] 
f [" In a conversation with his friend Mr. Perry, (the pro- 
prietor of 'The Morning Chronicle,') Mr. Miller repre- 
■ sented to that gentleman the insufficiency of Burns's salary 
j to answer the imperious demands of a numerous family. In 



My prospect in the Excise is something ; at 
least, it is, encumbered as I am with the wel- 
fare, the very existence, of near half-a-score of 
helpless individuals, what I dare not sport with. 

In the mean time, they are most welcome to 
my Ode ; only, let them insert it as a thing 
they have met with by accident and unknown 
to me. — Nay, if Mr. Perry, whose honour, 
after your character of him I cannot doubt ; if 
he will give me an address and channel by 
which any thing will come safe from those 
spies w 7 ith which he may be certain that his 
correspondence is beset, I will now and then 
send him a bagatelle that I may write. In the 
present hurry of Europe, nothing but news and 
politics will be regarded ; but against the days 
of peace, which Heaven send soon, my little 
assistance may perhaps fill up an idle column of 
a newspaper. I have long had it in my head 
to try my hand in the way of little prose essays, 
which I propose sending into the world through 
the medium of some newspaper ; and should 
these be worth his while, to these Mr. Perry 
shall be welcome 5 and all my reward shall be 
his treating me with his paper, which, by the 
bye, to any body who has the least relish for 
wit, is a high treat indeed, f 

With the most grateful esteem, I am ever 
Dear Sir, R. 3 



No. CCLVI. 
TO Mr. SAMUEL CLARKE, Jun. 

DUMFRIES. 

Sunday Morning. 

Dear Sir : 
I was, I know, drunk last night, but I am 
sober this morning. From the expressions 

Capt. made use of to me, had I had 

nobody's welfare to care for but my own, we 
should certainly have come, according to the 
manners of the world, to the necessity of mur- 
dering one another about the business. The 
w r ords were such as generally, I believe, end 
in a brace of pistols ; but I am still pleased to 
think that I did not ruin the peace and welfare 
of a wife and a family of children in a drunken 
squabble. Farther you know that the report 
of certain political opinions being mine has 
already once before brought me to the brink of 
destruction. I dread lest last night's business 
may be misrepresented in the same way. — You, 



their sympathy for his misfortunes, and in their regret that 
his talents were nearly lost to the world of Letters, these 
gentlemen agreed on the plan of settling him in London. 
To accomplish this most desirable object, Mr. Perry, very 
spiritedly, made the Poet a handsome offer of an annual 
stipend for the exercise of his talents in his newspaper 
Burns's reasons for refusing this offer are stated in the pre- 
sent letter." — Cromek.] 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



I "beg, will take care to prevent it. I tax your 
wish for Mr. Burns's welfare with the task of 
waiting, as soon as possible, on every gentleman 
who was present, and state this to him, and, as 
you please, shew him this letter. What, after 
all, was the obnoxious toast ? " May our suc- 
cess in the present war be equal to the justice 
of our cause" — a toast that the most outrageous 
frenzy of loyalty cannot object to. I request 
and beg that this morning you will wait on the 
parties present at the foolish dispute. I shall 
only add that I am truly sorry that a man who 

stood so high in my estimation as Mr. , 

should use me in the manner in which I con- 
ceive he has done. 

R. B. 



No. CCLVII. 
TO Mrs. RIDDEL. 

SUPPOSES HIMSELF TO BE WRITING FROM 
THE DEAD TO THE LIVING. 

MADAM : Dumfries, 1795. 

1 dare say that this is the first epistle you 
ever received from this nether world. I write 
you from the regions of Hell, amid the horrors 
of the damned. The time and manner of my 
leaving your earth I do not exa-ctly know, as I 
took my departure in the heat of a fever of 
intoxication, contracted at your too hospitable 
mansion ; but, on my arrival here, I was fairly 
tried, and sentenced to endure the purgatorial 
tortures of this infernal confine for the space of 
ninety-nine years, eleven months, and twenty- 
nine days, and all on account of the impropriety 
of my conduct yesternight under your roof. 
Here am I, laid on a bed of pitiless furze, with 
my aching head reclined on a pillow of ever- 
piercing thorn, while an infernal tormentor, 
wrinkled, and old, and cruel, his name I think 
is Recollection, with a whip of scorpions, for- 
bids peace or rest to approach me, and keeps 
anguish eternally awake. Still, Madam, if I 
could in any measure be reinstated in the good 
opinion of the fair circle whom my conduct last 
night so much injured, I think it would be an 
alleviation to my torments. For this reason I 
trouble you with this letter. To the men of the 
company I will make no apology. — Your hus- 
band, who insisted on my drinking more than 
I chose, has no right to blame me ; and the 
other gentlemen were partakers of my guilt. 



* [In the song alluded to, there are some fine verses. 
" And now your banks and bonnie braes 
But waken sad remembrance' smart : 
The very shades I held most dear 

Now strike fresh anguish to my heart : 
Deserted bower ! where are they "now ? 
Ah ! where the garlands that I wove 
With faithful care — each morn to deck 
The altars of ungrateful love? 



But to you, Madam, I have to apologize. Your 
good opinion I valued as one of the greatest 
acquisitions I had made on earth, and I was 
truly a beast to forfeit it. There was a Miss 

I- — , too, a woman of fine sense, gentle and 

unassuming manners — do make, on my part, a 
miserable d-mned wretch's best apology to her. 

A Mrs. G , a charming woman, did me 

the honour to be prejudiced in my favour ; this 
makes me hope that I have not outraged her 
beyond all forgiveness. — To all the other ladies 
please present my humblest contrition for my 
conduct, and my petition for their gracious par- 
don. O all ye powers of decency and deco- 
rum ! whisper to them that my errors, though 
great, were involuntary — that an intoxicated 
man is the vilest of beasts — that it was not in 
my nature to be brutal to any one — that to be 
rude to a woman, when in my senses, was im- 
possible with me — but — 

* * * * 

Regret ! Remorse ! Shame ! ye three hell- 
hounds that ever dog my steps and bay at my 
heels, spare me ! spare me ! 

Forgive the offences, and pity the perdition 
of, Madam, your humble slave, 

R. B. 



No. CCLVIII. 

TO Mrs. RIDDEL. 

Mr. Burns's compliments to Mrs. Riddel — 
is much obliged to her for her polite attention 
in sending him the book. Owing to Mr. B. 
being at present acting as supervisor of excise, 
a department that occupies his every hour of the 
day, lie has not that time to spare which is 
necessary for any belle-lettre pursuit ; but, as 
he will, in a week or two, again return to his 
wonted leisure, he will then pay that attention 
to Mrs. R.'s beautiful song, " To thee, loved 
Nith" — which it so well deserves.* When 
" Anacharsis' Travels" come to hand, which 
Mrs. Riddel mentioned as her gift to the public 
library, Mr. B. will feel honoured by the in- 
dulgence of a perusal of them before presenta- 
tion : it is a book he has never yet seen, and 
the regulations of the library allow too little 
leisure for deliberate reading. 

Friday Evening. 

P. S. Mr. Burns will be much obliged to 
Mrs. Riddel if she will favour him with a 



The flowers of spring how gay they bloom'd 

When last with him I wandered here, 
The flowers of spring are past away 

For wintry horrors dark and drear. 
Yon osier' d stream, by whose lone banks 

My songs have lulled him oft to rest, 
Is now in icy fetters lock'd — 

Cold as my false love's frozen breast."] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



737 



perusal of any of her poetical pieces which he 
may not have seen. 

Dumfries — 1795. 



No. CCLIX. 
TO Miss FONTENELLE, 



Madam, 



Dumfries, 1795. 



In such a bad world as our's, those who add 
to the scanty sum of our pleasures are posi- 
tively our benefactors. To you, Madara, on 
j our humble Dumfries boards, I have been more 
indebted for entertainment than ever I was in 
prouder theatres. Your charms as a woman 
would ensure applause to the most indifferent 
actress, and your theatrical talents would en- 
sure admiration to the plainest figure. This, 
Madam, is not the unmeaning or insidious 
compliment of the frivolous or interested ; I 
pay it from the same honest impulse that the 
sublime of nature excites my admiration, or her 
beauties give me delight. 

Will the foregoing lines* be of any service 
to you in your approaching benefit night ? If 
they will I shall be prouder of my muse than 
ever. They are nearly extempore : I know 
they have no great merit ; but though they 
should add but little to the entertainment of 
the evening, they give me the happiness of an 
opportunity to declare how much I have the 
honour to be, &c. 

R. B. 



No. CCLX. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 



My dear Friend, 



15th December, 1795. 



As I am in a complete Decemberish humour, 
gloomy, sullen, stupid, as even the Deity of 
Dulness herself could wish, I shall not drawl 
out a heavy letter with a number of heavier 
apologies for my late silence. Only one I shall 
mention, because I know you will sympathize 
in it : these four months, a sweet little girl, my 
youngest child, has been so ill that every day, 
a week, or less, threatened to terminate her 
existence. There had much need be many 
pleasures annexed to the states of husband and 
father, for, God knows, they have many pecu- 
liar cares. I cannot describe to you the 
anxious, sleepless hours these ties frequently 



* [Vide " Address spoken by Miss Fontenelle," page 320.] 
t [Burns generally carried Cowper's "Task" in his pocket, 
and took it out when he found himself in a lonely road, or in 
a brew-honse where he had to wait sometimes to " gauge the 
browst." The copy which he used was one lent to him by 
Mrs. Dunlop ; he enriched the margins with notes, critical 
and commendatory, and from the number of the marks and 



give me. I see a train of helpless little folks : 
me and my exertions all their stay : and oft 
what a brittle thread does the life of man 
hang ! If 1 am nipt off at the command of 
fate ! even in all the vigour of manhood as I 
am — such things happen every day — Gracious 
God ! what would become of my little flock ! 
'Tis here that I envy your people of fortune. — 
A father on his death-bed, taking an everlast- 
ing leave of his children, has indeed woe 
enough ; but the man of competent fortune 
leaves his sons and daughters independency and 
friends ; while I — but I shall run distracted if 
I think any longer on the subject ! 

To leave talking of the matter so gravely, I 
shall sing with the old Scots ballad — 

" O that I had ne'er been married, 
I would never had nae care ; 
Now I've gotten wife and bairns, 
They cry crowdie < 



Crowdie ance ; crowdie twice ; 

Crowdie three times in a day ; 
An ye crowdie ony mair, 

Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.' 



December, 2ith. 
We have had a brilliant theatre here this 
season ; only, as all other business does, it 
experiences a stagnation of trade from the 
epidemical complaint of the country, want of 
cash. I mentioned our theatre merely to lug 
in an occasional Address which I wrote for 
the benefit-night of one of the actresses, and 
which is as follows — 

ADDRESS, 

SFQKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT, 
DEC. 4, 1795, AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES. 

" Still anxious to secure your partial favour, &c." 

(Vide p. 320.) 

25th, Christmas Morning. 

This, my much-loved friend, is a morning of 
wishes ; accept mine — so heaven hear me as 
they are sincere ! — that blessings may attend 
your steps, and affliction know you not ! In 
the charming words of my favourite author, 
"The Man of Feeling," "May the Great 
Spirit bear up the weight of thy grey hairs, 
and blunt the arrow that brings them rest !" 

Now that I talk of authors, how do you like 
Cowper? Is not the " Task" a glorious poem?t 
The religion of the " Task," bating a few 
scraps of Calvinistic divinity, is the religion of 
God and Nature ; the religion that exalts, that 



the frequency of the praise it appears that the English bard 
was a great favourite. This precious volume was after the 
death of the poet placed in the library at Dunlop ; but the 
family carrying it with them one winter to Edinburgh, it waa 
unfortunately destroyed by fire, along with other volumes 
which had been in the hands of Burns, and which attested 
equally his feelings and his taste. — Cunningham.] 

» B 






738 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



ennobles man. Were not you to send me your 
" Zeluco," in return for mine? Tell me how 
you like my marks and notes through the book. 
I would not give a farthing for a book, unless 
I were at liberty to blot it with my criticisms. 

I have lately collected, for a friend's perusal, 
all my letters ; I mean those which I first 
sketched, in a rough draught, and afterwards 
wrote out fair. On looking over some old 
musty papers, which, from time to time, I had 
parcelled by, as trash that were scarce worth 
preserving, and which yet at the same time I 
did not care to destroy ; I discovered many of 
these rude sketches, and have written, and am 
writing them out, in a bound MS. for my 
friend's library. As I wrote always to you the 
rhapsody of the moment, I cannot find a single 
scroll to you, except one, about the commence- 
ment of our acquaintance. If there were any 
possible conveyance, I would send you a 
perusal of my book. 

R. B. 



No. CCLXI. 



TO Mr. ALEXANDER FINDLATER,* 

supervisor of excise, dumfries. 
Sir, 

Enclosed are the two schemes. I would 
not have troubled you with the collector's one, 
but for suspicion lest it be not right. Mr. 
Erskine promised me to make it right, if you 
will have the goodness to show him how. As 
I have no copy of the sche-me for myself, and 
the alterations being very considerable from 
what it was formerly, I hope that I shall have 
access to this scheme I send you, when I come 
to face up my new books. So much for schemes. 
— And that no scheme to betray a friend, or 
mislead a stranger ; to seduce a young 
girl, or rob a hen - roost ; to subvert 
liberty, or bribe an exciseman ; to disturb 
the general assembly, or annoy a gossip- 
ing ; to overthrow the credit of orthodoxy, 
or the authority of old songs ; to oppose 



* [This gentleman died at Glasgow, on the 4th of Decem- 
ber, 1839, at the advanced age of eighty-five.] 

t [James Perry, editor and proprietor of the Morning 
Chronicle, was one of the most intelligent and enterprising 
of British Journalists. He considered himself to be a sound 
oLd Whig, and by his satiric sallies and sharp scrutiny of 
public men and motives, was as a thistle and a thorn to the 
Tories for a full quarter of a century. He was one of the 
first in giving interest and importance to 

" The folio of four pages," 
which it has maintained, and more than maintained, since. 
Perry was a native of Aberdeen : he was social and friendly, 
;itad held fast by his integrity during very trying and change- 
ful times. — Cunningham.] 

t [''This letter," says Cromek, "owes its origin to the 
following circumstance. A neighbour of the Poet at Dum- 



your wishes, or frustrate my hopes — MAY 
prosper — is the sincere wish and prayer of 

R. B 



No. CCLXII. 
TO THE EDITOR OF THE 



MORNING CHRONICLE.f 



Sir, 



Dumfries, 1795. 



You will see by your subscribers' list that I 
have been about nine months of that number. 

I am sorry to inform you that in that timel 
seven or eight of your papers either have never 
been sent me, or else have never reached me. 
To be deprived of any one number of the first 
newspaper in Great Britain for information, 
ability, and independence, is what I can ill 
brook and bear ; but to be deprived of that 
most admirable oration of the Marquis of t 
Lansdowne, when he made the great, though 
ineffectual, attempt (in the language of the 
poet, I fear too true,) " to save a sinking , 
state " — this was a loss that I neither can [ 
nor will forgive you. — That paper, Sir, never 
reached me ; but I demand it of you. I am a 
Briton ; and must be interested in the cause 
of liberty : — I am a man ; and the rights 
of human nature cannot be indifferent to 
me. However, do not let me mislead you : I 
am not a man in that situation of life which, as 
your subscriber, can be of any consequence to 
you, in the eyes of those to whom situation 
of life alone is the criterion of man. — I 
am but a plain tradesman, in this distant, ob- 
scure country town : but that humble domicile 
in which I shelter my wife and children is the 
Castellum of a Briton ; and that scanty, 
hard-earned income which supports them is as 
truly my property as the most magnificent for- 
tune of the most puissant member of your 

HOUSE Of NOBLES. 

These, Sir, are my sentiments ; and to them 
I subscribe my name : and, were I a man of 
ability and consequence enough to address the 
public, with that name should they appear.}; 
I am, &c. 



fries, called on him and complained that he had been greatly 
disappointed in the irregular delivery of the Paper of The 
Morning Chronicle. Burns asked, ' Why do not you write 
to the Editors of the Paper'/' ' Good God, Sir, can I pre- 
sume to write to the learned Editors of a Newspaper?' — 
' Well, if you are afraid of writing to the Editors of a News- 
paper, I am not ; anu, if you think proper, I'll draw up a 
sketch of a letter which you may copy.' 

Burns tore a leaf from his excise book, and instantly pro- 
duced the sketch which 1 have transcribed, and which is here 
printed. The poor man thanked him, and took the letter 
home. However, that caution which the watchfulness of his 
enemies had taught him to exercise prompted him to the 
prudence of begging a friend to wait on the person for whom 
it was written, and request the favour to have it returned. 
This request was complied with, and the paper never ap- 
peared in print." — Cromek.] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



739 



No. CCLXIII. 

TO COLONEL W. DUNBAR .♦ 

I am not gone to Elysium, most noble Colo- 
nel, but am still here in this sub-lunary world, 
serving my God by propagating his image, and 
honouring my king by begetting him loyal 
subjects. Many happy returns of the season 
await my friend ! May the thorns of care never 
beset his path ! May peace be an inmate of his 
bosom, and rapture a frequent visiter of his 
soul ! May the blood - hounds of misfortune 

I never trace his steps, nor the screech-owl of 
sorrow alarm his dwelling ! May enjoyment 
tell thy hours, and pleasure number thy days, 
thou friend of the Bard ! Blessed be he that 
blesseth thee, and cursed be he that curseth 

Ithee! R. B. 



No. CCLXIV. 
TO Mr. HERON, 



OF HERON. | 



Dumfries, 1795. 



Sir: 



I enclose you some copies of a couple of 
political ballads ; one of which, I believe, you 
have never seen. I Would to Heaven I could 
make you master oft as many votes in the 
Stewartry — but — 

" Who does the utmost that he can 
Does well, acts nobly — angels could no more." 

In order to bring my humble efforts to bear 
with more effect on the foe, I have privately 
printed a good many copies of both ballads, and 
have sent them among friends all about the 
country. 

To pillory on Parnassus the rank reprobation 
of character, the utter dereliction of all princi- 
ple, in a profligate junto which has not only 
outraged virtue, but violated common decency ; 
which, spurning even hypocrisy as paltry ini- 
quity below their daring ; — to unmask their 
flagitiousness to the broadest day — to deliver 
such over to their merited fate — is surely not 
merely innocent, but laudable ; is not only pro- 
priety, but virtue. You have already, as your 
auxiliary, the sober detestation of mankind on 
the heads of your opponents ; and I swear by 
the lyre of Thalia to muster on your side all 
the votaries of honest laughter, and fair, can- 
did ridicule ! 



I 

] * [William Dunbar was one of the Edinburgh friends of 
I the Poet; and Colonel of the Crochallan Fencibles— a Club 

of choice spirits, whose motto was wit and wine.] 
! f [He is sometimes styled " Heron of Kerroughtree," but 
'■ properly as above.] 
j t [For these ballads, which related to Mr. Heron's contest 



I am extremely obliged to you for your kind 
mention of my interests in a letter which Mr. 
Syme shewed me. At present, my situation in 
life must be in a great measure stationary, at 
least for two or three years. The statement 
is this — I am on the supervisor's list, and, as we 
come on there by precedency, in two 01* three 
years I shall be at the head of that list, and be 
appointed of course. Then, a friend might 
be of service to me in getting me into a place 
of the kingdom which I would like. A super- 
visor's income varies from about a hundred and 
twenty to two hundred a year ; but the busi- 
ness is an incessant drudgery, and would be 
nearly a complete bar to every species of lite- 
rary pursuit. The moment I am appointed 
supervisor, in the common routine, I may be 
nominated on the collector's list ; and this is al- 
ways a business purely of political patronage. 
A collectorship varies much, from better than 
two hundred a year, to near a thousand. They 
also come forward by precedency on the list ; 
and have, besides a handsome income, a life of 
complete leisure. A life of literary leisure, with 
a decent competency, is the summit of my 
wishes. It would be the prudish affectation of 
silly pride in me to say that I do not need, or 
would not be indebted to, a political friend ; at 
the same time, Sir, I by no means lay my 
affairs before you thus to hook my dependent 
situation on your benevolence. If, in my pro- 
gress of life, an opening should occur where 
the good offices of a gentleman of your public 
character and political consequence might bring 
me forward, I shall petition your goodness with 
the same frankness as I now do myself the ho- 
nour to subscribe myself, 

R. BA 



No. CCLXV. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP, 

IN LONDON. 

Dumfries, 20th December, 1795. 

I have been prodigiously disappointed in 
this London journey of yours. In the first 
place, when your last to me reached Dumfries, 
I was in the country, and did not return until 
too late to answer your letter ; in the next 
place, I thought you would certainly take this 
route ; and now I know not what is become of 
you, or whether this may reach you at all. — 
God grant that this may find you and yours in 



for the representation of the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, — 
see pages 321-4.] 

I) [Part of this letter was printed by Currie ; the whole 
was published in the Reliques by Cromek. Patrick Heron 
died, as all his friends would desire to die— in bed, at peace 
with himself, and with mankind.] 

3 B 2 



740 



THE WORKS OP BURNS. 



prospering health and good spirits ! Do let 
me hear from you the soonest possible. 

As I hope to get a frank from my friend, 
Captain Miller, I shall every leisure hour 
take up the pen, and gossip away whatever 
comes first, prose or poetry, sermon or song. — 
In this last article I have abounded of late. I 
have often mentioned to you a superb publica- 
tion of Scottish Songs, which is making its ap- 
pearance in your great metropolis, and where I 
have the honour to preside over the Scottish 
verse, as no less a personage than Peter Pindar 
does over the English. 

December 29th. 

Since I began this letter, I have been ap- 
pointed to act in the capacity of supervisor 
here, and I assure you, what with the load of 
business, and what with that business being 
new to me, I could scarcely have commanded 
ten minutes to have spoken to you, had you 
been in town, much less to have written you 
an epistle. This appointment is only temporary, 
and during the illness of the present incumbent ; 
but I look forward to an early period when I 
shall be appointed in full form : a consum- 
mation devoutly to be wished ! My political 
sins seem to be forgiven me. 

This is the season (New-year's-day is now 
my date) of wishing ; and mine are most fer- 
vently offered up for you ! May life to you be 
a positive blessing while it lasts, for your own 
sake ; and that it may yet be greatly pro- 
longed is my wish for my own sake, and for 
the sake of the rest of your friends ! What a 
transient business is life ! Very lately I was a 
boy ; but t'other day I was a young man ; 
and already I begin to feel the rigid fibre and 
stiffening joints of old age coming fast o'er my 
frame. With all my follies of youth, and, I 
fear, a few vices of manhood, still I congratu- 
late myself on having had in early days reli- 
gion strongly impressed on my mind. I have 
nothing to say to any one as to which suet he 
belongs to, or what creed he believes : but I 
look on the man who is firmly persuaded of 
infinite wisdom and goodness, superintending 
and directing every circumstance that can hap- 
pen in his lot — I felicitate such a man as having 
a solid foundation for his mental enjoyment ; a 
firm prop and sure stay in the hour of difficul- 
ty, trouble, and distress ; and a never-failing 
anchor of hope, when he looks beyond the 
grave. 

January 11th. 

You will have seen our worthy and ingenious 
friend, the Doctor, long ere this. I hope he is 
well, and beg to be remembered to him. I 
have just been reading over again, I dare say 
tor the hundred and fiftieth time, his View of 
Society and Manners ; and still I read it with 



delight. His humour is perfectly original — i 
is neither the humour of Addison, nor Swift, 
nor Sterne, nor of anybody but Dr. Moore.— | 
By the bye, you have deprived me of Zeluco ^ 
remember that, when you are disposed to rake] 
up the sins of my neglect from among the ashes! 
of my laziness. 

He has paid me a prettjr compliment, by 
quoting me in his last publication.* 

R. B. I 



No. CCLXVI. 
Address of the Scotch Distillers 

TO THE 

RIGHT HON. WILLIAM PITT. 

Sir, 

While pursy burgesses crowd your gate, 
sweating under the weight of heavy addresses, ', 
permit us, the quondam distillers in that part of 
Great Britain called Scotland, to approach you, ] 
not with venal approbation, but with fraternal 
condolence ; not as what you are just now, oq 
for some time have been 5 but as what, in all [ 
probability, you will shortly be. — We shall 
have the merit of not deserting our friends in 
the day of their calamity, and you will have 
the satisfaction of perusing at least one honest 
address. You are well acquainted with the 
dissection of human nature ; nor do you need 
the assistance of a fellow-creature's bosom to 
inform you that man is always a selfish, often 
a perfidious, being. — This assertion, however 
the hasty conclusions of superficial observation- 
may doubt of it, or the raw inexperience ofj 
youth may deny it, those who make the fatal 
experiment we have done will feel. — You are a 
statesman, and consequently are not ignorant 
of the traffic of these corporation compliments. 
— The little great man who drives the borough 
to market, and the very great man who buys! 
the borough in that market, they two do tnej 
whole business; and, you well know, they,- 
likewise, have their price. With that sullen 
disdain which you can so well assume, rise, 
illustrious Sir, and spurn these hireling efforts 1 
of venal stupidity. At best they are the com- 
pliments of a man's friends on the morning of i 
his execution : they fake a decent farewell j 
resign you to your fate ; and hurry away from 
your approaching hour. 

If fame say true, and omens be not very I 
much mistaken, you are about to make your 
exit from that world where the sun of gladness 
gilds the paths of prosperous men : permit us, j 



' [The novel entitled "Edward."] 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



741 



great Sir, with the sympathy of fellow-feeling, 
J to hail your passage to the realms of ruin. 

Whether the sentiment proceed from the 
selfishness or cowardice of mankind is imma- 
terial ; but to point out to a child of misfortune 
those who are still more unhappy is to give him 
some degree of positive enjoyment. In this 
light, Sir, our downfall may be again useful to 
you : — Though not exactly in the same way, 
it is not perhaps the first time it has gratified 
your feelings. It is true, the triumph of your 
evil star is exceedingly despiteful. — At an age 
when others are the votaries of pleasure, or 
underlings in business, you had attained the 
highest wish of a British Statesman ; and with 
the ordinary date of human life, what a prospect 
I was before you ! Deeply rooted in Royal 
Favour, you overshadowed the land. The 
birds of passage, which follow ministerial sun- 
shine through every clime of political faith and 
manners, flocked to your branches ; and the 
beasts of the field (the lordly possessors of hills 
and valleys), crowded under your shade. 
f But behold a watcher, a holy One, came down 
from heaven, and cried aloud, and said thus : 
■ flew down the tree, and cut off his branches ; 
J shake off his leaves, and scatter his fruit ; let 
the beasts get away from under it, and the 
fowls from his branches !" A blow from an 
I unthought-of quarter, one of those terrible 
| accidents which peculiarly mark the band of 
1 Omnipotence, overset your career, and laid all 
i your fancied honours in the dust. But turn 
your eyes, Sir, to the tragic scenes of our fate. 
— An ancient nation that for many ages had 
gallantly maintained the unequal struggle for 
independence with her much more powerful 
neighbour, at last agrees to an union which 
should ever after make them one people. In 
consideration of certain circumstances, it was 
covenanted that the former should enjoy a 
stipulated alleviation in her share of the public 
burdens, particularly in that branch of the 
revenue called the Excise. This just privilege 
has of late given great umbrage to some in- 
terested, powerful individuals of the more potent 
part of the empire, and they have spared no 
wicked pains, under insidious pretexts, to sub- 
vert what they dared not openly to attack, 
from the dread which they yet entertained of 
the spirit of their ancient enemies. 

In this conspiracy we fell ; nor did we alone 
suffer — our country was deeply wounded. A 
number of (we will say) respectable individuals, 
largely engaged in trade, where we were not 
only useful, but absolutely necessary, to our 
country in her dearest interests ; we, with all 



* [This ironical Address was found among the Papers of 
the Poet. In evil hours, when obtrusive recollections pressed 
bitterly on the sense, perhaps the remembrance of having 
aided in crushing the great and glorious spirit of Burns came 
with no healing on its wings across the mind of Pitt. The 
Buccess of Napoleon avenged the sufferings of the bard : nor 



that was near and dear to us, were sacrificed 
without remorse, to the infernal deity of poli- 
tical expediency ! We fell to gratify the wishes 
of dark envy, and the views of unprincipled 
ambition ! Your foes, Sir, were avowed ; were 
too brave to take an ungenerous advantage ; 
you fell in the face of day. — On the contrary, 
our enemies, to complete our overthrow, con- 
trived to make their guilt appear the villany 
of a nation. — Your downfall only drags with 
you your private friends and partisans : in our 
misery are more or less involved the most 
numerous and most valuable part of the com- 
munity — all those who immediately depend on 
the cultivation of the soil, from the landlord 
of a province down to his lowest hind. 

Allow us, Sir, yet farther, just to hint at 
another rich vein of comfort in the dreary 
regions of adversity ; — the gratulations of an 
approving conscience. In a certain great as- 
sembly, of which you are a distinguished 
member, panegyrics on your private virtues 
have so often wounded your delicacy that we 
shall not distress you with any thing on the 
subject. There is, however, one part of your 
public conduct which our feelings will not 
permit us to pass in silence ; our gratitude must 
trespass on your modesty ; we mean, worthy 
Sir, your whole behaviour to the Scots Dis- 
tillers. — In evil hours, when obtrusive recol- 
lection presses bitterly on the sense, let that, 
Sir, come like a healing angel, and speak the 
peace to your soul which the world can neither 
give nor take away. 

We have the honour to be. 



Your sympathizing fellow-sufferers, 
And grateful humble Servants, 

John Barleycorn — Prseses/ 



No. CCLXVII 
ro THE 



HON. THE PROVOST, BAILIES, AND 
TOWN COUNCIL OF DUMFRIES. 

Gentlemen, 
The literary taste and liberal spirit of your 
good town has so ably filled the various depart- 
ments of your schools as to make it a very 
great object for a parent to have his children 
educated in them. Still, to me, a stranger, 



has the memory of the late Lord Melville escaped without 
reproach. When the copyright of Burns's works was debated 
in the House of Lords, in 1812, Earl Grey dwelt upon thfl 
sinfulness of having neglected such a genius, and assigned 
to Lord Melville a greater share in starving him than some 
of his lordship's friends seemed to relish.— CuNNiNGH.Of,] 



742 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



with my large family, and very stinted income, 
to give my young ones that education I wish, 
at the high school fees which a stranger pays, 
will bear hard upon me. 

Some years ago your good town did me the 
honour oi making me an honorary Burgess. — 
Will you allow me to request that this mark of 
distinction may extend so far as to put me on 
a footing of a real freeman of the town, in the 
schools ? 

If you are so very kind as to grant my re- 
quest, it will certainly be a constant incentive 
to me to strain every nerve where I can officially 
serve you ; and will, if possible, increase that 
grateful respect with which I have the honour 
to be, Gentlemen, 

Your devoted humble Servant, 

R. B.* 



No. CCLXVIII. 
TO Mrs. RIDDEL. 

Dumfries, 20th January, 1796. 

I cannot express my gratitude to you for 
allowing me a longer perusal of " Anarcharsis." 
In fact, I never met with a book that bewitched 
me so much ; and I, as a member of the library, 
must warmly feel the obligation you have laid 
us under. Indeed, to me, the obligation is 
stronger than to any other individual of our 
society; as "Anarcharsis" is an indispensable 
desideratum to a son of the muses. 

The health you wished me in your morning's 
card, is, I think, flown from me for ever. I 
have not been able to leave my bed to-day till 
about an hour ago. These wickedly unlucky 
advertisements I lent (I did wrong) to a friend, 
and I am ill able to go in quest of him. 

The muses have not quite forsaken me. The 
following detached stanzas I intend to inter- 
weave in some disastrous tale of a shepherd. 

R. B. 



No. CCLXIX. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Dumfries, 31st January, 1796. 

These many months you have been two 
packets in my debt — what sin of ignorance I 



* [The Provost and Bailies complied at once with the 
humble request of the Poet ; he was induced to make it 
through the persuasions of James Gray and Thomas White, 
Masters of the Grammar School of Dumfries. These were 
not ordinary men ; the "Sabbath among the Mountains," 
and the " Cona," of the former, show much poetic feeling, 
while the mathematical discoveries of the latter give him a 
.station among the followers of science. Gray, an accom- 
plished scholar, ardent and enthusiastic, died" in the East 
Indies ; White, equally ardent and impetuous, remained at 
home. Their memories are still held in grateful remem- 
brance on the Banks of Nith,— Cunningham.] 

t [It seems all but certain that Mrs. Dunlop regarded the 
poet with some little displeasure during the evening of his 
days. His political sins and convivial delinquencies were 
likely the cause of this: it is ho-vever doubtful whether or 



have committed against so highly valued a 
friend I am utterly at a loss to guess. f Alas ! 
Madam, ill can I afford, at this time, to be de- 
prived of any of the small remnant of my plea- 
sures. I have lately drunk deep of the cup of 
affliction. The autumn robbed me of my only 
daughter and darling child, and that at a dis- 
tance too,! ana * so rapidly, as to put it out of 
my power to pay the last duties to her. I had 
scarcely begun to recover from that shock 
when I became myself the victim of a most 
severe rheumatic fever, and long the die spun 
doubtful ; until, after many weeks of a sick 
bed, it seems to have turned up life, and I am 
beginning to crawl across my room, and once 
indeed have been before my own door in the 
street. 

" When pleasure fascinates the mental sight, 
Affliction purifies the visual ray, 
Religion hails the drear, the untried night, 
And shuts, for ever shuts ! life's doubtful day." 

R. B. 



No. CCLXX. 
TO Mrs. RIDDEL, 

WHO HAD DESIRED HIM TO GO TO THE 

BIRTH-DAY ASSEMBLY ON THAT DAY 

TO SHEW HIS LOYALTY. 

Dumfries, 4th June, 1796. 

I am in such miserable health as to be utterly 
incapable of shewing my loyalty in any way. 
Rackt as I am with rheumatisms, I meet every 
face with a greeting, like that of Balak to 
Balaam — " Come, curse me, Jacob ; and come, 
defy me, Israel !" So say I— Come, curse me 
that east wind ; and come, defy me the north ! 
Would you have me in such circumstances copy 
you out a love -song ? 

I may perhaps see you on Saturday, but I 
will not be at the ball. — Why should I ? " manj 
delights not me, nor woman either I" Can 
you supply me with the song, " Let us all be 
unhappy together V — do if you can, and oblige 
le pauvre miserable^ 

R. B. 



not she knew of his sinking condition. That the bright. 
career of Burns was so soon to terminate in the darkness of 
death seems never to have crossed the mind of friend or foej 
till he returned from the Brow a dying man. — Cunningham, fl 

X [The child died at Mauchline.] 

§ [This is the last letter which Burns addressed to the 
beautiful and accomplished Mrs. Riddel. In addition to the 
composition of a very admirable memoir of the poet, that 
lady bestirred herself much in rousing his friends both in 
Scotland and England to raise a monument at Dumfries to 
his memory. She subscribed largely herself : she induced 
others to do the same, and she corresponded with both Banks, 
and Fiaxman on the subject of designs. The following let- 
ters will suffice to show the reader that Mrs. Riddel had* 
forgiven the bard for all his lampoons, and was earnest in 
doing his memory honour. 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE 



No. CCLXXI. 
TO Mr. CLARKE, 



SCHOOLMASTER, FORFAR. 

Dumfries, 26th June, 1796. 

My dear Clarke : 

Still, still the victim of affliction ! Were 
you to see the emaciated figure who now holds 
the pen to you, you would not know your old 
friend. Whether I shall ever get about again, 
is only known to Him, the Great Unknown, 
whose creature I am. Alas, Clarke ! I begin 
to fear the worst. As to my individual self, I 
am tranquil, and would despise myself if I were 
not ; but Burns's poor widow, and half-a-dozen 
of his dear little ones — helpless orphans ! — there 
I am weak as a woman's tear. Enough of this ! 
'Tis half of my disease. 

I duly received your last, enclosing the note. 
It came extremely in time, and I am much 
obliged by your punctuality. Again I must 
request you to do me the same kindness. Be 
so very good as, by return of post, to enclose 
me another note. I trust you can do it without 
inconvenience, and it will seriously oblige me. 
If I must go, I shall leave a few friends behind 
me, whom I shall regret while consciousness 
remains. I know I shall live in their remem- 
brance. Adieu, dear Clarke. That I shall 
ever see you again is, I am afraid, highly im- 
probable.* R. B. 



" Richmond, 20th May, 1799. 



! 'Sie 



" In answer to yours of the 10th of last month, I will trouble 
you with a few lines on the subject of the bard's monument, 
having corresponded with several persons (Dr. Currie, &c.) 
respecting it, whose judgment is very far preferable to 
mine, and we all agree that the first thing to be done is to 
collect what money can be got for that purpose, in which we 
will all do what service we can, as soon as the posthumous 
works are published ; but those who are at all saddled with 
that business must get it off their hands before they com- 
mence another undertaking. Perhaps an application, or at 
any rate the consulting with Mr. Flaxman on the subject of 
the design, &c, might answer better from and with persons 
he is already acquainted with, and more heads than one 
should be called in counsel on the occasion. If, therefore, 
you or the other gentlemen concerned in this project think it 
proper, I will talk it over with Mr. Flaxman and some other 
artists, friends of his, whom I know, and Mr. F. can then 
let you know his ideas on the subject. The monument 
should be characteristic of him to whom it is raised, and the 
artist must somehow be made acquainted with him and Ids 
works, which it is possible he may not be at present. The 
inscription should be first rate. I think either Roscoe or 
Dr. Darwin would contribute their talents for the purpose, 
and it could not be given into better hands. I have no 
names to add to your list ; but whenever that for the post- 
humous works is closed, I will set to work in earnest. Pray 
remember me to Mr. Syme when you see him, from whom, 
I know not why, I never hear now. 
" I am, Sir, 

"Your humble servant, 

" Maria Riddel." 



No. CCLXXII. 
TO Mr. JAMES JOHNSON. 

EDINBURGH. 

Dumfries, 4th July, 1796. 

How are you, my dear friend, and how 
comes on your fifth volume ? You may proba- 
bly think that for some time past I have neg- 
lected you and your work ; but, alas ! the hand 
of pain, and sorrow, and care, has these many 
months lain heavy on me ! Personal and do- 
mestic affliction have almost entirely banished 
that alacrity and life with which I used to woo 
the rural muse of Scotia. 

****** 

You are a good, worthy, honest fellow, and 
have a good right to live in this world — be- 
cause you deserve it. Many a merry meeting 
this publication has given us, and possibly it 
may give us more, though, alas ! I fear it. 
This protracting, slow, consuming illness which 
hangs over me, will, I doubt much, my ever 
dear friend, arrest my sun before he has well 
reached his middle career, and will turn over 
the poet to far more important concerns than 
studying the brilliancy of wit, or the pathos of 
sentiment ! However, hope is the cordial of the 
human heart, and I endeavour to cherish it as 
well as I can. 

Let me hear from you as soon as convenient. 
— Your work is a great one ; and now that it 
is finished, I see, if we were to begin again, 
two or three things that might be mended ; yet 



Of the merits of the designs it is difficult to judge without 
the drawings : Mrs. Riddel admired two, of which she gives 
the following description. " The first, which I think the 
handsomest, is a shrine enclosing a very beautiful female 
figure bending over a sort of sarcophagus, which is partly 
covered by drapery. This is really very elegant and classical, 
but it is expensive. The second design is a female figure, 
likewise very elegant, on a pedestal ; with the addition of an 
attribute, either of these might be taken for Coil.t, whom 
Burns delighted to personify as his guardian genius." These 
designs were by Flaxman ; they seem not to have pleased the 
friends of the poet in the vale of Nith ; the intention of a 
monument was abandoned till a later day, when it was suc- 
cessfully revived by William Grierson, in Dumfries, and the 
late Alexander Key, Esq. in London. It would have been 
as well had the sculpture equalled the elegance of the archi- 
tectural shrine which encloses it; that this is the opinion of 
others well qualified to judge, the following passage of a letter 
from one of our greatest living poets will abundantly show. 

" Last summer I visited Staffa, Iona, and part of the 
Western Highlands, and returned through your town of 
Dumfries, having for the first time passed through Burns's 
country. It gave me much pleasure to see Kilmarnock, 
Mauchline, Mossgiel Farm, the Ayr, which we crossed where 
he winds his way most romantically through rocks and woods ; 
and to have a sight of Irwin and Lugar, which naebodysung 
till he named them in immortal verse. The banks of the 
Nith I had seen before, and was glad to renew my acquaint- 
ance with them. By the bye, what a sorry piece of sculpture 
is Burns's monument in Dumfries churchyard — monstrous 
in conception and clumsy in execution ! It is a disgrace to 
the memory of the poet." — Cunningham.] 

* [The above affecting letter first appeared in Chambers' 
Edition of the Port's Works, Edinburgh, 1839.] 



744 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



I will venture to prophesy that to future ages 
your publication will be the text-book and 
standard of Scottish song and music. 

I am ashamed to ask another favour of you, 
because you have been so very good already ; 
but my wife has a very particular friend of hers, 
a young lady who sings well, to whom she 
wishes to present the " Scots Musical Mu- 
seum." If you have a spare copy, will you be 
so obliging as to send it by the very first fly, as 
I am anxious to have it soon.* 

Yours ever, R. B. 



No. CCLXXIII. 
TO Mr. CUNNINGHAM. 

Brow, Sea-bathing quarters, 7th July, 1796. 

My dear Cunningham, 

I received yours here this moment, and 
am indeed highly flattered with the approba- 
tion of the literary circle you mention ; a lite- 
rary circle inferior to none in the two king- 
doms. Alas ! my friend, I fear the voice of the 
bard will soon be heard among you no more ! 
For these eight or ten months I have been ail- 
ing, sometimes bedfast, and sometimes not ; 
but these last three months I have been tor- 
tured with an excruciating rheumatism, which 
has reduced me to nearly the last stage. You 
actually would not know me if you saw me. — 
Pale, emaciated, and so feeble as occasionally 
to need help from my chair — my spirits fled ! 
fled ! — but I can no more on the subject — only 
the medical folks tell me that my last and only 
chance is bathing and country quarters, and 
riding. — The deuce of the matter is this ; when 
an Exciseman is off duty, his salary is reduced 
to £35 instead of £50.— What way, in the 
name of thrift, shall I maintain myself, and 
keep a horse in country quarters — with a wife 
and five children at home, on £35 ? I mention 
this, because I had intended to beg your ut- 
most interest, and that of all the friends you 
can muster, to move our Commissioners of Ex- 
cise to grant me the full salary ; I dare say 
you know them all personally. If they do not 
grant it me, I must lay my account with an 
exit truly en po'ete — if I die not of disease, I 
must perish with hunger, f 

I have sent you one of the songs ; the other 
my memory does not serve me with, and I have 
no copy here ; but I shall be at home soon, 



* [" In this humble and delicate manner did poor Burns 
ask for a copy of a work of which he was principally the 
founder, and to which he had contributed, gratuitously, not 
less than 184 original, altered, and collected songs! The 
editor has seen 180 transcribed by his own hand for the 
' Museum.' " — Cromek.] 

t [It is truly painful to mention — and with indignation 
we record it — that the poet's humble request of the continu- 
ance of his full salary was not granted! "The Commis- 



when I will send it you. — Apropos to being at 
home, Mrs. Burns threatens, in a week or two, 
to add one more to my paternal charge, which, 
if cf the right gender, I intend shall be intro- 
duced to the world by the respectable designa- 
tion of Alexander Cunningham Burns, My 
last was James Glencairn, so you can have no 
objection to the company of nobility. Fare- 
well. R. B. 



No. CCLXXIV 
TO Mr. GILBERT BURNS. 

10th July, 1796. 

Dear Brother, 
It will be no very pleasing news to you to 
be told that I am dangerously ill, and not likely 
to get better. An inveterate rheumatism has 
reduced me to such a state of debility, and my 
appetite is so totally gone, that I can scarcely 
stand on my legs. I have been a week at sea- 
bathing, and I will continue there, or in a 
friend's house in the country, all the summer. 
God keep my wife and children : if I am taken 
from their head, they will be poor indeed. I 
have contracted one or two serious debts, partly 
from my illness these many months, partly from 
too much thoughtlessness as to expense when I 
came to town, that will cut in too much on the 
little I leave them in your hands. Remember 
me to my mother. 

Yours, R. B. 



No. CCLXXV. 



TO Mrs. BURNS. 



My dearest Love : 



Brow,%Thursday. 



I delayed writing until I could tell you 
what effect sea-bathing was likely to produce. 
It would be injustice to deny that it has eased 
my pains, and I think has strengthened me ; 
but my appetite is still extremely bad. No 
flesh nor fish can I swallow: porridge and 
milk are the only thing I can taste. I am very 
happy to hear, by Miss Jess Lewars, that you 
are all well. My very best and kindest com- 
pliments to her, and to all the children. I will 
see you on Sunday. 

Your affectionate husband, 

R. B. 



sioners," says Currie, " were guilty of no such weakness." 
To be merciful was no part of their duty.] 

t [One evening during Burns's stay at the Brow, he was vi- 
sited by two young ladies who lived in the neighbourhood and 
who sympathized in his sufferings. During their stay, the 
sun setting on the western hills, threw a strong light upon 
him through the window : a child perceived this, and pro- 
ceeded to draw the curtain. " Let me look at the sun, my 
love," said the sinking poet ; " it will be long before he will 
shine for me again !" 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



745 



No. CCLXXVI. 
TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Brow, Saturday, 12th July, 1796. 

Madam : 

I have written you so often, without re- 
ceiving any answer, that I would not trouble 
you again, but for the circumstances in which I 
am. An illness which has long hung about me, 
in all probability will speedily send me beyond 
that bourne whence no traveller returns. Your 
friendship, with which for many years you ho- 
noured me, was a friendship dearest to my soul. 
Your conversation, and especially your corres- 
pondence, were at once highly entertaining and 
instructive. With what pleasure did I use to 
break up the seal ! The remembrance yet adds 
one pulse more to my poor palpitating heart. 
Farewell ! ! ! * R. B. 



No. CCLXXVII. 
TO Mr. JAMES BURNESS, 

WRITER, MONTROSE. 

Dumfries, 12th July. 

My dear Cousin : 
When you offered me money assistance, 
little did I think I should want it so soon. A 



* ["Burns had, however, the pleasure," sa3's Currie, "of 
receiving a satisfactory explanation of his friend's silence, 
and an assurance of the continuance of her friendship to his 
widow and children ; an assurance that has been amply ful- 
filled. It is probable that the greater part of her letters to 
him were destroyed by our bard about the time that this last 
was written. He did not foresee that his own letters to her 
were to appear in print, nor conceive the disappointment that 
will be felt that a fewof this excellent lady's epistles have not 
served to enrich and adorn the collection. The above letter 
is supposed to be the last production of Robert Burns, who 
died on the 21st of the month, nine days afterwards." — 
Currie. 
There are, however, others of a date still later.] 
t [James Burness sent his cousin ten pounds the moment 
he received his letter, though he could ill spare the money, 
and concealed his kindness from the world, till, on reading 
the life and letters of the poet, he was constrained, in sup- 
port of his own good name, to conceal it no longer. I was 
informed by my friend, Dr. Burness, that his grandfather, 
now in his eighty-fourth year, was touched by the dubious 
way in which I had left the subject in the poet's life, and felt 
that he was liable to the imputation of coldness of heart. — 
In a matter of such delicacy, I could not ask the family, and 
accordingly had left it as I found it, without comment or re- 
mark. The following letters will make all as clear as day, 
and right my venerable friend in a matter respecting which 
he cannot be but anxious : — Allan Cunningham. 

TO Mr. BURNESS, MONTROSE. 
"Sir:— 
" At the desire of Mrs. Burns, I have to acquaint you with 
the melancholy and much regretted event of your friend's 
death. He expired on the morning of the 21st, about five 
o'clock. The situation of the unfortunate Mrs. Burns and 
her charming boys, your feeling heart can easily paint. It 
is, however, much to her consolation that a few of his friends, 
particularly Mr. John Syme, collector of the stamps, and 
Dr. William Maxwell, both gentlemen of the first respecta- 
bility and connections, have stepped forward with their assis- 
tance and advice ; and I think there can be no doubt but 



rascal of a haberdasher, to whom I owe a con- 
siderable bill, taking it into his head that I am 
dying, has commenced a process against me, 
and will infallibly put my emaciated body into 
jail. Will you be so good as to accommodate 
me, and that by return of post, with ten pounds ? 
O, James ! did you know the pride of my 
heart, you would feel doubly for me ! Alas ! I 
am not used to beg ! The worst of it is, my 
health was coming about finely ; you know, 
and my physician assured me, that melancholy 
and low spirits are half my disease : guess, 
then, my horrors since this business began. If 
I had it settled, I would be, I think, quite well 
in a manner. How shall I use the language to 
you, O do not disappoint me ! but strong ne- 
cessity's curst command. 

I have been thinking over and over my bro- 
ther's affairs, and I fear I must cut him up ; — 
but on this I will correspond at another time, 
particularly as I shall [require] your advice. 

Forgive me for once more mentioning by 
return of post ; — save me from the horrors of 
a jail ! 

My compliments to my friend James, and to 
all the rest. I do not know what I have writ- 
ten. The subject is so horrible, I dare not look 
it over again. Farewell. f 

R. B. 



that a very handsome provision will be raised for the widow 
and family. The former of these gentlemen has written to 
most of the Edinburgh professors with whom either he or 
Mr. Burns were acquainted, and to several other particular 
friends. You will easily excuse your not having sooner an 
answer to your very kind letter, with an acknowledgment of 
the contents, for, at the time it was received, Mr. Burns was 
totally unable either to write or dictate a letter, and Mrs. 
Burns wished to defer answering it till she saw what turn 
affairs took, 

" I am, with much respect, your most obedient and very 
humble servant, 

Dumfries, 23rd July, 1796. " JonN Lewars -" 



TO Mrs. ROBERT BURNS, DUMFRIES. 
" My dear Cousin : — 

" It was with much concern I received the melancholy 
news of the death of your husband. Little did I expect, 
when I had the pleasure of seeing you and him, that a 
change so sudden would have happened. 

" I sincerely sympathize with you in your affliction, and 
will be very ready to do any thing in my power to alle- 
viate it. 

" I am sensible that the education of his family was the 
object nearest to my cousin's heart, and I hope you will 
make it your study to follow up his wish by carefully attend- 
ing to that object, so far as may be possible for you; or, if 
you think of parting with your son, Robert, and will allow 
me to take charge of him, I will endeavour to discharge to- 
wards him the duty of a father, and educate him with my 
own sons. 

" I am happy to hear that something is to be done for you 
and the family ; but as that may take some time to carry it 
into effect, I beg you will accept of the enclosed five pounds 
to supply your present necessities. 

" My friend mentioned to me that any little thing he had 
was in the hands of his brother Gilbert, and that the pay- 
ment of it, at present, would be hard upon him ; I have there- 
fore to entre it that, so far as your circumstances will permit, 
you will use lenity in settling with him. 



746 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. CCLXXVIII. 
TO JAMES GRACIE, Esq. 

Brow, Wednesday Morning, Idth July, 1796. 

My dear Sir, 
It would [be] doing high injustice to this 
place not to acknowledge that my rheumatisms 



* [The admirers of Burns owe this letter to the kindness of 
Mr. Finlayson, merchant in Kirkcudbright. James Gracie, 
to whom it is addressed, was at that time a banker in 
Dumfries : he wrote, on being told that Burns longed to be 

" I have farther to request that you will offer my best 
thanks to Mr. Lewars for his very friendly letter to me on 
this melancholy event, with my sincere wishes that such a 
warm heart as his may never want a friend. 

" I shall be glad to hear of your welfare, and your resolu- 
tion in regard to your son, and I remain, dear cousin, your 
affectionate friend, 

« Montrose, 2 9 th July, 1796." " James Durness." 



TO Mr. BURNESS, MONTROSE. 
" Dear Sir: 

" I was duly favoured with your letter of the 20th July. — 
Your goodness is such as to render it wholly out of my 
power to make any suitable acknowledgment, or to express 
what I feel for so much kindness. 

" With regard to my son Robert, I cannot as yet deter- 
mine ; the gentlemen here (particularly Dr. Maxwell and 
Mr. Syme, who have so much interested themselves for me 
and the family) do not wish that I should come to any reso- 
lution as to parting with any of them, and I own my own 
feelings rather incline me to keep them with me. I think 
they will be a comfort to me, and my most agreeable com- 
panions ; but should any of them ever leave me, you, Sir, 
would be, of all others, the gentleman under whose charge I 
should wish to see any of them, and I am perfectly sensible 
of your very obliging offer. 

" Since Mr. Lewars wrote you, I have got a young son, 
who, as well as myself, is doing well. 

" What you mention about my brother, Mr. Gilbert Burns, 
is what accords with my own opinion, and every respect shall 
be paid to your advice. I am, dear Sir, with the greatest 
respect and regard, your very much obliged friend, 

" Jean Burns." 

"Dumfries, 3rd August, 1796." 

THE WIFE OF THE POET. 
[" I think Mrs. Burns had been pretty. In 1804 I was ac- 
customed to sit in the seat next to her in the old church of 



» [Shortly after her husband's death, Mrs. Burns had a 
very remarkable dream, which she sometimes spoke of to her 
more intimate female friends as a circumstance not only most 
vividly imprinted on the memory, but more prominently 
placed before the eye of the mind, than anything that ever 
occurred to her during her waking moments. And it was to 
this effect — that the poet, or rather his spirit, withdrew her 
curtains, and, after gazing wistfully and solemnly, said "that 
he had been permitted to take a last look of his widow and 
the child he had never before seen." The bare mention of 
such a circumstance may, to many, appear abundantly idle ; 
and we of course merely allude to it as an impression rootedly 
entwined with our departed friend's memory, who was by no 
means a superstitious woman.] 

b [Robert Burns, Jun., is the reputed author of the fol- 
lowing song : — 

Hae ye seen, in the calm dewy morning, 

The red-breast wild warbling sae clear ; 
Or the low- dwelling, snow-breasted gowan, 

Surcharged wi' mild e'ening's soft tear? 
O, then ye hae seen my dear lassie, 

The lassie I l'>'e best of a' ; 
But far frae the hame o' my lassie, 

I'm monie a lang mile awa. 
Her hair is the wing o' the blackbird, 

Her eye is the eye o' the dove, 



have derived great benefits from it already ; 
but, alas ! my loss of appetite still continues. 
I shall not need your kind offer this iveek, and 
[ return to town the beginning of next week, 
it not being a tide week. I am detaining a 
man in a burning harry. So, God bless you.* 

R. B. 



home, that he would, if he pleased, bring him back in a 
post-chaise — a kind and delicate way of expressing his 
regard. It was now felt by all it seems, but a few, that the 
poet was not only dying, but dying in the deepest poverty.] 

Dumfries, and though always a brunette, she was then 
smartly dressed, had fine eyes, and looked very well. She 
had several wooers at that time, according to report. Some 
seven or eight years afterwards, I had a chance of a few 
weeks of intimate and daily acquaintance with her in Edin- 
burgh, and scarcely ever met a woman, either high or low, 
who improved as much on acquaintance. She had a great 
deal of good sense and good nature." — Hogg. 

The following more detailed account of this interesting 
woman appeared in the Dumfries Courier at the time of her 
death ; and bears internal marks of being from the eloquent 
pen of Mr. M'Diarmid : — 

" To the poet, Jean Armour bore a family of five sons and 
four daughters. The whole of the latter died in early life, 
and were interred in the cemetery "of their maternal grand- 
father in Mauchline churchyard. Of the sons two died very 
young, viz., Francis Wallace and Maxwell Burns, — the last 
of whom was a posthumous child, born the very day his 
father was buried. 1 Of the said family of nine, three sons 
alone survive : — Robert, the eldest, b a retired officer of the 
Accomptant- General's Department, Stamp-office, London, 
now in Dumfries ; and William and James Glencalrn Burns, 
Captains in the Hon. the East India Company's Service. 

" The term of Mrs. Burns' widowhood extended to thirty- 
eight years — in itself rather an unusual circumstance, — and, 
in July, 1796, when the bereavement occurred, she was but 
little beyond the age at which the majority of females marry. 
But she had too much respect for the memory of her hus- 
band, and regard for his children, to think of changing her 
name, although she might have done so more than once, with 
advantage ; and was even careful to secure on lease, and re- 
pair and embellish, as soon as she could afford it, the decent 
though modest mansion in which he died. And here, for 
more than thirty years, she was visited by thousands on thou- 
sands of strangers, from the peer down to itinerant sonnet- 
teers, — a class of persons to whom she never refused an audi- 
ence, or dismissed unrewarded. Occasionally, during the 
summer months, she was a good deal annoyed ; but she bore 
all in patience, and although naturally fond of quiet, seemed 
to consider her house as open to visitors, and its mistress, in 
some degree, the property of the public. But the atten- 

Her lips are the ripe blushing rose-bud, 

Her bosom's the palace of love. 
Tho' green be thy banks, O sweet Clutha ! 

Thy beauties ne'er charm me ava; 
Forgive me, ye maids o' sweet Clutha ! 

My heart is wi' her that's awa. 

O love, thou'rt a dear fleeting pleasure, 

The sweetest we mortals here know ; 
But soon is thy heaven, bright beaming, 

O'ercast with the darkness of wo. 
As the moon, on the oft-changing ocean, 

Delights the lone mariner's eye, 
Till red rush the storms of the desert, 

And dark billows tumble on high.] 

c [The following little anecdote was some years ago told 
by Mrs. Burns, with great good humour, to a friend of ours, 
from whom we had it shortly after. A little ragged boy, sell- 
ing ballads, called at a house near Mrs. Burns's dwelling in 
Dumfries, and inquired where Mrs. Burns lived. On her 
house being pointed out to him, "Ah," said he to the person 
who had given him the direction, " I would like to see her." 
" Well," was the reply, " go there and ask to sell your bal- 
lads, and you will see her." " But I dinna like," said he ; 
" I think shame to gang there." Struck with the anxiety of 
the boy, and his diffidence, he was taken to Mrs. Burns's 
house, and put into the kitchen, where the servant began to 



GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



747 



No. CCLXXIX. 
TO JAMES ARMOUR,* 

MASON, MAUCHLINE. 

Dumfries, 18th July, 1796. 

My dear Sir, 
Do, for heaven's sake, send Mrs. Armour 
here immediately. My wife is hourly expect- 



* [The father of Mrs. Burns.] 

f [This is the last of all the compositions of the great poet 
of Scotland, being written only three days before his death. 
The original was long preserved in the family of the Armours 
of Mauchline, and was given into the keeping of Captain 
James Glencairn Burns on his most urgent entreaty. It is 



tions of strangers neither turned her head, nor were ever 
alluded to in the spirit of boasting ; and had it not been for 
a female friend who accompanied her on one occasion to the 
King's Arms Inn, to meet, by invitation, the Marchioness of 
Hastings, no one would have known that that excellent lady 
directed the present Marquis, who was then a boy, to pre- 
sent Mrs. Burns with a glass of wine, and at the same time 
remarked, that ' he should consider himself very highly 
honoured, and cherish the recollection of having met the 
poet's widow, as long as he lived.' Hers, in short, was one 
of those well-balanced minds that cling instinctively to pro- 
priety and a medium in all things ; and such as knew the 
deceased, earliest and latest, were unconscious of any change 
in her demeanour and habits, excepting, perhaps, greater at- 
tention to dress, and more refinement of manner, insensibly 
acquired by frequent intercourse with families of the first 
respectability. In her tastes she was frugal, simple, and 
pure ; and delighted in music, pictures, and flowers. In 
spring and summer it was impossible to pass her windows 
without being struck with the beauty of the floral treasures 
they contained ; and if extravagant in any thing, it was in 
the article of roots and plants of the finest sorts. Fond of 
the society of young people, she mingled as long as able in 
their innocent pleasures, and cheerfully filled for them the 
cup 'which cheers but not inebriates.' Although neither a 
sentimentalist nor a ' blue stocking,' she was a clever woman; 
possessed of great shrewdness, discriminated character ad- 
mirably, and frequently made very pithy remarks ; and were 
tli is the proper place for such a detail, proofs of what is stated 
might easily be adduced. 

" When young, she must have been a handsome, comely 
woman, if not indeed a beauty, when the poet saw her for 
the first time on a bleach-green at Mauchline, engaged, like 1 
Peggy and Jenny, at Habbie's Howe. Her limbs were cast 
in the finest mould ; and, up to middle life, her jet-black 
eyes were clear and sparkling, her carriage easy, and her step 
light. The writer of the present sketch never saw Mrs. 
Burns dance, nor heard her sing ; but he has learnt from 
others that she moved with great grace on the floor, and 
chaunted her ' wood-notes wild ' in a style but rarely equalled 
by unprofessional singers. Her voice was a brilliant treble, 
and in singing ' Coolen,' ' I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,' and 
other songs, she rose without effort &=* high as B natural. In 
ballad poetry her taste was good, and range of reading rather 
extensive. Her memory, too, vas strong, and she could quote 
when she chose at considerable length, and with great apti- 



talk with him about buying some of his ballads. Mrs. Burns 
being informed of the circumstance, came into the kitchen, 
when, to the amusement of the good old lady, the following 
dialogue took place ;— Mrs. B. "And so you wished to see 
Mrs. Burns V Boy, {anxiously,) " O ay, I would like to see 



ing to be put to bed. Good God ! what a 
situation for her to be in, poor girl, without a 
friend ! I returned from sea-bathing quarters 
to-day, and my medical friends would almost 
persuade me that 1 am better, but I think and 
feel that my strength is so gone that the dis- 
order will prove fatal to me.| 



Your son-in-law, 



R. B. 



now in India, and may he who so worthily holds it be as 
fortunate as he is kind-hearted. — Cunningham. 1834. 

This fervent wish has been accomplished. The Captain 
has now returned a Major, and has retired from the Hon. 
East India Company's Service with an independent fortune. 
J. C. 1840.] 



tude. Of these powers the bard was so well aware that he 
read to her almost every piece he composed, and was not 
ashamed to own that he had profited by her judgment. In 
fact, none save relations, neighbours, and friends, could form 
a proper estimate of the character of Mrs. Burns. In the 
presence of strangers she was shy and silent, and required to 
be drawn out, or, as some would say, shown off to advan- 
tage, by persons who possessed her confidence, and knew her 
intimately. 

" On Saturday, 22nd March, 1834, she was seized with 
paralysis for the fourth time during the last few years ; and, 
although perfectly conscious of her situation, and the pre- 
sence of friends, became deprived, before she could be re- 
moved to bed, of the faculty of speech, and, a day or two 
thereafter, of the sense of hearing. Still she lay wonderfully 
calm and composed, and, in the opinion of her medical at- 
tendant, suffered from weakness rather than from pain. Fre- 
quently she gazed with the greatest earnestness on her grand- 
daughter, Sarah ; and it was easy to read what was passing 
within, from the tears that filled her aged eyes, and trickled 
down her cheeks. To another individual she directed looks 
so eager and full of meaning as to impress him with the idea 
that she had some dying request to make, and deeply regret- 
ted that it was too late ; for, even if her salvation had de- 
pended on the exertion, she was unfortunately incapacitated 
from uttering a syllable, guiding a pen, or even making an 
intelligible sign. The mind, in her case, survived the body; 
and this, perhaps, was the only painful circumstance attend- 
ing her death-bed, — considering how admirable her conduct 
had always been, her general health so sound, her span pro- 
tracted beyond the common lot, her character for prudence 
and piety so well established, and her situation in life every 
way so comfortable . On the night of Tuesday, or morning 
of Wednesday, a fifth shock, unperceived by the attendants, 
deprived Mrs. Burns of mental consciousness ; and from that 
time till late in the evening, when she died, her situation was 
exactly that of a breathing corpse. — Thus passed away all 
that remained of 'bonny Jean,' — the relict of a man whose 
fame is as wide as the world itself, and the venerated heroine 
of many a lay which bid fair to live in the memories of the 
people of Scotland, and of thousands far removed from its 
shores, as long as the language in which they are written is 
spoken or understood. She was born at Mauchline in 
Februaiy, 1765, and had thus entered the seventieth year 
of her age/) 

her." Mrs, B. " Well, you see her now — I am Mrs. Burns." 
Boy, (looking utterly amazed,) "Touts, you're jokin' me." 
Mrs. B. "Why do you think I am jokin' you?" Boy, {with 
great simplicity,) " Because Burns speaks about his bonny 
Jean !"] 



END OF THE GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 



COMMON-PLACE BOOKS. 



FIRST COMMON -PLACE BOOK, 



BEGUN IN APRIL, 1783. 



TO ROBERT RIDDEL, Esq. 
My dear Sir : 

In rummaging over some old papers, I 
lighted on a MS. of my early years, in which 
I had determined to write myself out ; as I was 
placed by fortune among a class of men to 
whom my ideas would have been nonsense. I 
had meant that the book should have lain by 
me, in the fond hope that some time or other, 
even after I was no more, my thoughts would 
fall into the hands of somebody capable of ap- 
preciating their value. It sets off thus : — 

"Observations,* Hints, Songs, Scraps 
of Poetry, &c, by Robert Burness ; — a 
man who had little art in making money, and 
still less in keeping it; but was, however, a 
man of some sense, a great deal of honesty, and 
unbounded good-will to every creature, rational 
and irrational. — As he was but little indebted 
to scholastic education, and bred at a plough- 
tail, his performances must be strongly tinc- 
tured with his unpolished, rustic way of life ; 
but as I believe they are really his own, it may 
be some entertainment to a curious ob erver of 
human nature to see how a ploughman thinks 
and feels under the pressure of love, ambition, 
anxiety, grief, with the like cares and passions, 
which, however diversified by the modes and 
manners of life, operate pretty much alike, I 
believe, on all the species." 

" There are numbers in the world who do not want sense 
to make a figure, so much as an opinion of their own abili- 
ties, to put them upon recording their observations, and 
allowing them the same importance which they do to those 
winch appear in print." — Shenstone. 

" Pleasing, when youth is long expired, to trace 
The forms our pencil, or our pen, design'd ! 
Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face, 
Such the soft image of our youthful mind."— Ibid. 



April, 1783. 

Notwithstanding all that has been said 
against love, respecting the folly and weakness 
it leads a young inexperienced mind into ; still 
I think it in a great measure deserves the high- 
est encomiums that have been passed upon it. 



_ * [Some of these "Observations" were published by Cur- 
ne in the Poet's Correspondence : Cromek properly ventured 
to print the whole.—" It has been the chief object," he ob- 
serves, " in making this collection (The Reliques), not to 
omit any thing which might illustrate the character and 
reelings of the Bard at different periods of his life. Robert 
.Kiaael, the gentleman to whom he communicated the " Ob- 



If any thing on earth deserves the name of rap- 
ture or transport, it is the feelings of green 
eighteen in the company of the mistress of his 
heart, when she repays him with an equal 
return of affection. 

m, . . . August. 

mere is certainly some connexion between 
love, and music, and poetry ; and, therefore, I 
have always thought it a fine touch of nature, 
that passage in a modern love-composition : 

"As towards her cot he jogg'd along, 
Her name was frequent in his song." 

For my own part, I never had the least 
thought or inclination of turning poet till I got 
once heartily in love, and then rhyme and song 
were, m a manner, the spontaneous language 
of my heart. The following composition was 
the first of my performances, and done at an 
early period of life, when my heart glowed 
with honest warm simplicity ; unacquainted and 
uncorrupted with the ways of a wicked world. 
The performance is, indeed, very puerile and 
silly ; but I am always pleased with it, as it 
recals to my mind those happy days when 
my heart was yet honest, and my tongue Mas 
sincere. The subject of it was a young girl 
who really deserved all the praises I have be- 
stowed on her. I not only had this opinion of 
her then— but I actually think so still, now 
that the spell is long since broken, and the en- 
chantment at an end. 

O once I lov'd a bonnic lass, &c.f 



REMORSE. 

September. 

I entirely agree with that judicious philoso- 
pher, Mr. Smith, in his excellent Theory of 
Moral Sentiments, that remorse is the most 
painful sentiment that can embitter the human 
bosom. Any ordinary pitch of fortitude mav 
bear up tolerably well under those calamities, in 
the procurement of which we ourselves have 
had no hand; but when our own follies or 



servations," was one of those stendv friends whom his 
genius obtained for him. For his eye he wrote those remarks 
on fecottish song given elsewhere, [page 518] and, indeed, 
on all occasions shewed how much he loved his worth his 
taste, and his learning.] 

t [See " My handsome Nell," page 330.] 



COMMON-PLACE BOOKS. 



749 



crimes have made us miserable and wretched, 
to bear up with manly firmness, and at the 
same time to have a proper penitential sense of 
our misconduct, is a glorious effort of self- 
command. 



March, 1784. 

I have often observed, in the course of my 
experience of human life, that every man, even 
the worst, has something good about him ; — 
though very often nothing else than a happy 
temperament of constitution inclining him to 
this or that virtue. For this reason, no man 
can say in what degree any other person, be- 
sides himself, can be, with strict justice, called 
wicked. Let any of the strictest cnaracter for 
regularity of conduct among us examine im- 
partially how many vices he has nevei been 
guilty of, not from any care or vigilance,, but 
for want of opportunity, or some accidental 
circumstance intervening ; how many of the 
weaknesses of mankind he has escaped because 
he was out of the line of such temptation ; and 
what often, if not always, weighs more than 
all the rest, how much he is indebted to the 
world's good opinion, because the world does 
not know all : I say, any man who can thus 
think will scan the failings, nay, the faults 
and crimes, of mankind around him with a 
brother's eye. 

I have often courted the acquaintance of 
that part of mankind commonly known by the 
ordinary phrase of blackguards, sometimes far- 
ther than was consistent with the safety of my 
character ; those who, by thoughtless prodiga- 
lity or headstrong passions, have been driven to 
ruin. Though disgraced by follies, nay, some- 
times stained with guilt, I have yet found 
among them, in not a few instances, some of 
the noblest virtues, magnanimity, generosity, 
disinterested friendship, and even modesty. 

Shenstone finely observes, that love-verses, 
written without any real passion, are the most 
nauseous of all conceits ; and I have often 
thought that no man can be a proper critic of 
love-composition, except he himself, in one or 
more instances, have been a warm votary of 
this passion. As I have been all along a mise- 
rable dupe to love, and have been led into a 
thousand weaknesses and follies by it, for that 
reason I put the more confidence in my critical 
skill, in distinguishing foppery and conceit 
from real passion and nature. Whether the 
following song will stand the test, I will not 
pretend to say, because it is my own ; only I 
can say it was, at the time/ genuine from 
the heart : — 

Sehind yon hills where Lugar flows, &c* 
* [See the song " My Nannie, O," page 347.] 



March, 1784. 

There was a certain period of my life that 
my spirit was broken by repeated losses and dis- 
asters, which threatened, and indeed effected, 
the utter ruin of my fortune. My body, too, 
was attacked by that most dreadful distemper, 
a hypochondria, or confirmed melancholy. In 
this wretched state, the recollection of which 
makes me yet shudder, I hung my harp on the 
willow trees, except in some lucid intervals, in 
one of which I composed the following: — 

O thou Great Being ! what thou art, &c.f 



April. 

The following song is a wild rhapsody, mise- 
rably deficient in versification ; but, as the sen- 
timents are the genuine feelings of my heart, 
for that reason I have a particular pleasure in 
conning it over. 

My father was a farmer — upon the Carrick 
border, O, &c.| 

April. 

1 think the whole species of young men may 
be naturally enough divided into two grancl 
classes, which I shall call the grave and the 
merry ; though, by-the-bye, these terms do not, 
with propriety enough, express my ideas. The 
grave I shall cast into the usual division of 
those who are goaded on by the love of money, 
and those whose darling wish is to make a 
figure in the world. The merry are the men 
of pleasure of all denominations ; the jovial 
lads, who have too much fire and spirit to have 
any settled rule of action ; but, without much 
deliberation, follow the strong impulses of na- 
ture : the thoughtless, the careless, the indolent 
— in particular he who, with a happy sweetness 
of natural temper, and a cheerful vacancy of 
thought, steals through life — generally, indeed, 
in poverty and obscurity ; but poverty and ob- 
scurity are only evils to him who can sit gravely 
down, and make a repining comparison between 
his own situation and that of others : and lastly, 
to grace the quorum, such are, generally, those 
whose heads are capable of all the towerings of 
genius, and whose hearts are warmed with all 
the delicacy of feeling. 



August. 

The foregoing was to have, been an elaborate 
dissertation on the various species of men ; but 
as I cannot please myself in the arrangement 
of my ideas, I must wait till farther experience 
and nicer observation throw more light on the 
subject. — In the mean time, I shall set down 
the following fragment, which, as it is the 



f [See "Prayer under the pressure of violent Anguish." 
page 238.] % [See page 341.] 



@= 



750 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



genuine language of my heart, will enable any 
body to determine which of the classes I be- 
long to : — 

There's nought but care on ev'ry han', 
In ev'ry hour that passes, O, &c* 

As the grand end of human life is to culti- 
vate an intercourse with that Being to whom 
we owe life, with every enjoyment that renders 
life delightful ; and to maintain an integritive 
conduct towards our fellow-creatures ; that so, 
by forming piety and virtue into habit, we may 
be fit members for that society of the pious and 
the good, which reason and revelation teach us 
to expect beyond the grave, I do not see that 
the turn of mind, and pursuits of such an one 
as the above verses describe — one who spends 
the hours and thoughts which the vocations of 
the day can spare, with Ossian, Shakspeare, 
Thomson, Shenstone, Sterne, &c. ; or, as the 
maggot takes him, a gun, a fiddle, or a song 
to make or mend ; and at all times some heart's- 
dear bonnie lass in view — I say I do not see 
that the turn of mind and pursuits of such an 
one are in the least more inimical to the sacred 
interests of piety and virtue than the even 
lawful bustling and straining after the world's 
riches and honours : and I do not see but he 
may gain heaven as well — which, by the bye, is 
no mean consideration — who steals through the 
vale of life, amusing himself with every little 
flower that fortune throws in his way, as he 
who, straining straight forward, and perhaps 
spattering all about him, gains some of life's 
little eminences, where, after all, he can only 
see and be seen a little more conspicuously than 
what, in the pride of his heart, he is apt to 
term the poor indolent devil he has left behind 
him. 

August. 

A Prayer, when fainting fits, and other 
alarming symptoms of a pleurisy or some other 
dangerous disorder, which indeed still threatens 
me, first put nature on the alarm : — 

O thou unknown, Almighty Cause 
Of all my hope and fear ! &c. f 



* [See song " Green grow the Rashes, O," page 349.] 
t [See "A Prayer under the prospect of Death," p. 238.] 
X [" There is no doubt that if Burns at any time really 
laboured under this infirmity, he was successful in inquiring 
into its causes, and also in his efforts to amend it. When he 
was, at a later period of life, introduced into the superior 
circles of society, he did not then appear as a cypher ; nor 
did he, by any violation of the dictates of common sense, 
give any occasion, even to those who were superciliously dis- 
posed, to look upon him with contempt. On the contrary, 
he was conscious of his own moral and intellectual worth, 
and never abated an inch of his just claims to due consider- 
ation." — Cromek. 

" The following extract of a letter," says Cromek, "from 
his great and good biographer (Currie), who was an excellent 
judge of human character, bears an honourable testimony to 
the habitual firmness, decision, and independence of his 



EGOTISMS FROM MY OWN SENSATIONS. 

May. 

I don't well know what is the reason of it, 
but some how or other, though I am, when I 
have a mind, pretty generally beloved, yet I 
never could get the art of commanding respect.] 
— I imagine it is owing to my being deficient 
in what Sterne calls "that understrapping vir- 
tue of discretion." — I am so apt to a lapsus 
Ungues that I sometimes think the character of 
a certain great man I have read of somewhere 
is very much apropos to myself — that he was a 
compound of great talents and great folly. — 
N.B. To try if I can discover the causes of 
this wretched infirmity, and, if possible, to 
mend it. 



However I am pleased with the works of our 
Scottish poets, particularly the excellent Ram- 
say, and the still more excellent Fergusson, yet 
I am hurt to see other places of Scotland, their 
towns, rivers, woods, haughs, &c, immortalized 
in such celebrated performances, while my dear 
native country, the ancient bailieries of Car- 
rick, Kyle, and Cunningham, famous both in 
ancient and modern times for a gallant and 
warlike race of inhabitants ; a country where 
civil, and particularly religious, liberty have 
ever found their first support, and their last 
asylum ; a country, the birth-place of many 
famous philosophers, soldiers, and statesmen, 
and the scene of many important events re- 
corded in Scottish history, particularly a great 
many of the actions of the glorious Wallace, 
the Saviour of his country ; yet, we have 
never had one Scotch poet of any eminence, to 
make the fertile banks of Irvine, the romantic 
woodlands and sequestered scenes on Ayr, and 
the heathy mountainous source and winding 
sweep of I)oon, emulate Tay, Forth, Ettrick, 
Tweed, &c. This is a complaint I would gladly 
remedy, but, alas ! I am far unequal to the task, 
both in native genius and education. § Obscure 
I am, and obscure I must be, though no young 
poet, nor young soldier's heart ever beat more 
fondly for fame than mine — 



mind, which constitute the only solid basis of respectability : 
— ' Burns was a very singular man in the strength and va- 
riety of his faculties. I saw him, and once only, in the year 
1792. We conversed together for about an hour in the street 
of Dumfries, and engaged in some very animated conversa- 
tion. We differed in our sentiments sufficiently to be rather 
vehemently engaged — and this interview gave me a more 
lively as well as forcible impression of his talents than any 
part of his writings. He was a great orator — an original 
and very versatile genius.' "] 

§ [" This kind of feeling," says Cromek, " appears to have 
animated the Poet's bosom, at a very early period of his life." 
In a poetical epistle, addressed to the " Gude Wife of 
Wauchope House," he alludes to the sensations of his early 
days in the following tender strain of sentiment : — 

I mind it weel, in early date, &c. 

See page 27i!.] 



COMMON-PLACE BOOKS. 



751 



: * And if there is no other scene of being 
Where my insatiate wish may have its fill, — 
This something at my heart that heaves for room, 
My best, my dearest part, was made in vain." 



September. 

There is a great irregularity in the old Scot- 
tish songs, a redundancy of syllables with re- 
spect to the exactness of accent and measure 
that the English poetry requires, but which 
glides in, most melodiously, with the respective 
tunes to which they are set. Tor instance, the 
fine old song of "The Mill, Mill, O," to give 
it a plain, prosaic reading, it halts prodigiously 
out of measure ; on the other hand, the song 
set to the same tune in Bremner's collection of 
Scotch songs, which begins " To Fanny fair 
could I impart," &c. it is most exact measure, 
and yet, let them both be sung before a real 
critic, one above the biases of prejudice, but a 
thorough judge of nature, — how flat and spirit- 
less will the last appear, how trite, and lamely 
methodical, compared with the wild-warbling 
cadence, the heart-moving melody of the first ! 
— This is particularly the case with all those 
airs which end with a hypermetrical syllable. 
There is a degree of wild irregularity in many 
of the compositions and fragments which are 
daily sung to them by my compeers, the com- 
mon people — a certain happy arrangement of 
old Scotch syllables, and yet, very frequently, 
nothing, nor even like rhyme, a sameness of 
jingle, at the ends of the lines. This has made 
me sometimes imagine that, perhaps, it might 
be possible for a Scotch poet, with a nice judi- 
cious ear, to set compositions to many of our 
most favourite airs, particularly that class of 
them mentioned above, independent of rhyme 
altogether. 

There is a noble sublimity, a heart-melting 
tenderness, in some of our ancient ballads, 
which shew them to be the work of a masterly 
hand : and it has often given me many a heart- 
ache to reflect that such glorious old bards — 
bards who very probably owed all their talents 
to native genius, yet have described the exploits 
of heroes, the pangs of disappointment, and the 
meltings of love, with such fine strokes of na- 
ture — that their very names (O how mortifying 
to a bard's vanity !) are now " buried among 
the wreck of things which were." 

O ye illustrious names unknown ! who could 
feel so strongly and describe so well : the last, 
the meanest of the muses' train — one who, 
though far inferior to your flights, yet eyes 
your path, and with trembling wing would 
sometimes soar after you — a poor rustic bard 
unknown, pays this sympathetic pang to your 
memory ! Some of you tell us, with all the 
charms of verse, that you have been unfortu- 
nate in the world — unfortunate in love : he, 



too, has felt the loss of his little fortune, the 
loss of friends, and, worse than all, the loss of 
the woman he adored. Like you, all his con- 
solation was his muse : she taught him in rustic 
measures to complain. Happy could he have 
done it with your strength of imagination and 
flow of verse ! May the turf lie lightly on your 
bones ! and may you now enjoy that solace and 
rest which this world rarely gives to the heart 
tuned to all the feelings of poesy and love ! 



September. 

There is a fragment in imitation of an old 
Scotch song, well known among the country 
ingle sides. — I cannot tell the name, neither of 
the song nor the tune, but they are in fine unison 
with one another. — By the way, these old 
Scottish airs are so nobly sentimental that 
when one would compose to them, to "south 
the tune," as our Scotch phrase is, over and 
over, is the readiest way to catch the inspira- 
tion, and raise the bard into that glorious en- 
thusiasm so strongly characteristic of our old 
Scottish poetry. I shall here set down one 
verse of the piece mentioned above, both to 
mark the song and tune I mean, and likewise 
as a debt I owe to the author, as the repeating 
of that verse has lighted up my flame a thou- 
sand times : — 

When clouds in skies do come together 
To hide the brightness of the sun, 
There will surely be some pleasant weather 
When a* their storns are past and gone.* 



October, 1785. 

If ever any young man, in the vestibule of 
the world, chance to throw his eye over these 
pages, let him pay a warm attention to the fol- 
lowing observations, as I assure him they are 
the fruit of a poor devil's dear-bought experi- 
ence. — I have literally, like that great poet and 
great gallant, and by consequence, that great 
fool, Solomon, " turned rny eyes to behold 
madness and folly." Nay, I have, with all 
the ardour of a lively, fanciful, and whimsical 
imagination, accompanied with a warm, feel- 
ing, poetic heart, shaken hands with their 
intoxicating friendship. 

In the first place, let my pupil, as he tenders 
his own peace, keep up a regular, warm inter- 
course with the Deity. 

R. B, 

[Here the manuscript closes abruptly.] 



* Alluding to the misfortunes he feelingly laments before 
this verse. [This is the author's note.] 



SECOND COMMON PLACE BOOK,* 

BEGUN IN EDINBURGH, APRIL, 1787. 



As I have seen a good deal of human life in 
Edinburgh, a great many characters which are 
new, to one bred up in the shades of life as I 
have been, I am determined to take down my 
remarks on the spot. Gray observes in a letter 
to Mr. Palgrave, that " half a word fixed 
upon, or near the spot, is worth a cart-load of 
recollection." 

I don't know how it is with the world in 
general, but, with me, making my remarks is 
by no means a solitary pleasure. I want some 
one to laugh with me, some one to be grave 
with me, some one to please me and help my 
discrimination with his or her own remark ; 
and at times, no doubt, to admire my acuteness 
and penetration. 

The world are so busied with selfish pursuits, 
ambition, vanity, interest, or pleasure, that very 
few think it worth their while to make any 
observation on what passes around them, except 
where that observation is a sucker, or branch of 
the darling plant they are rearing in their fancy. 
Nor am I sure, notwithstanding all the senti- 
mental flights of novel-writers, and the sage 
philosophy of moralists, whether we are capable 
of so intimate and cordial a coalition of friend- 
ship, as that one man may pour out his bosom, 
his every thought and floating fancy, his very in- 
most soul, with unreserved confidence to another, 
without hazard of losing part of that respect 
which man deserves from man ; or, from the 
unavoidable imperfections attending human 
nature, of one day repenting his confidence. 

For these reasons, I am determined to make 
these pages my confidant. I will sketch every 
character that any way strikes me, to the best 
of my power, with unshrinking justice. I will 
insert anecdotes and take down remarks, in the 
old law phrase, without feud or favour. Where 



* [The above memoranda formed a part of the rough 
materials out of which Burns composed a more extended 
and elaborate journal, commenced in the spring of the 
year 1787, in which he recorded his observations on men and 
manners, literary anecdotes, scraps of verse, favourite 
passages from his letters, and not a little searching criticism. 
Of that valuable volume, nothing it is believed now exists, 
save the fragments contained in the following pages. Cromek 
announces its probable fate in these words: — "On his 
arrival in Edinburgh, Burns took lodgings with a Mrs. 
Carfrae, in the Lawn-market, where a person, a carpenter, 
then working at Leith, often called to see him. This man, 
in the latter part of the year 1787, or beginning of 1788, 
enlisted into the Company of Artificers then raising to go to 
Gibraltar. Just before he set off he got access to Burns' s 
room, in his absence, and stole the book, which contained a 
faithful record of every thing interesting- that happened to 
him at Edinburgh, with characteristic sketches of the 
different literary gentlemen to whom he had been introduced. 
He was written to repeatedly to restore the book, a clasped 
quarto, but in vain. He had even the audacity to acknow- 
ledge the theft, but he refused to part with the journal. It 
is supposed that he died in the year 1798, as he has not been 
heard of since." 

Of the value of the work we have thus, I fear, lost, some 
estimate may be formed from what Currie says of the op- 
portunities which Burns enjoyed of making observations on 



I hit on any thing clever, my own applause 
will in some measure feast my vanity ; and, 
begging Patroclus' and Achates' pardon, I 
think a lock and key a security at least equal 
to the bosom of any friend whatever. 

My own private story likewise, my love- 
adventures, my rambles ; the frowns and smiles 
of fortune on my bardship ; my poems and 
fragments that must never see the light, shall 
be occasionally inserted. — In short, never did 
four shillings purchase so much friendship, since 
confidence went first to market, or honesty was 
set up to sale. 

To these seemingly invidious, but too just, 
ideas of human friendship I would cheerfully 
make one exception — the connexion between 
two persons of different sexes, when their 
interests are united and absorbed by the tie 
of love — 

" When thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, 
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart." 

There, confidence, confidence that exalts them 
the more in one another's opinion, that endears 
them the more to each other's hearts, unre- 
servedly " reigns and revels." But this is not 
my lot, and, in my situation, if I am wise 
(which by the bye I have no great chance of 
being), my fate should be cast with the 
Psalmist's sparrow, "to watch alone on the 
house-tops." — Oh, the pity ! 



I have heard and read a good deal of philo- 
sophy, benevolence, and greatness of soul: and 
when rounded with the flourish of declamatory 
periods, or poured in the mellifluence of Par- 
nassian measure, they have a tolerable effect 



Edinburgh society — his tact and talent for making them 
cannot be questioned. 

" Burns entered into several parties of this description, 
with the usual vehemence of his character. His generous 
affections, his ardent eloquence, his brilliant and daring 
imagination, fitted him to be the idol of such associations ; 
and accustoming himself to conversation of unlimited range, 
and to festive indulgences that scorned restraint, he gradually 
lost some portion of his relish for the more pure, but less 
poignant, pleasures to be found in the circles of taste, ele- 
gance, and literature. The sudden alteration in his habits 
of life operated on him physically as well as morally. The 
humble fare of an Ayr-shire peasant he had exchanged for 
the luxuries of the Scottish metropolis, and the effects of 
this change on his ardent constitution could not be incon- 
siderable. But whatever influence might be produced on 
his conduct, his excellent understanding suffered no corres- 
ponding debasement. He estimated his friends and asso- 
ciates of every description at their proper value, and ap- 
preciated his own conduct with a precision that might give 
scope to much curious and melancholy reflection. He saw 
his danger, and at times formed resolutions to guard against 
it ; but he had embarked on the tide of dissipation, and was 
borne along its stream." 

The fragments printed in the former editions of the Poet's 
works are merely the first draughts of certain passages in 
the letters to Clarinda, which we have given entire at the 
end of the volume.] 



COMMON-PLACE BOOKS. 



753 



on a musical ear; but when all these high- 
sounding professions are compared with the 
very act and deed, as it is usually performed, 
I do not think there is any thing in, or belong- 
ing to, human nature so badly disproportionate. 
In fact, were it not for a very few of our kind, 
among whom an honoured friend of mine — 
whom to you, Sir, I will not name — in a dis- 
tinguished instance, the very existence cf 
magnanimity, generosity, and all their kindred 
virtues, would be as much a question with 
metaphysicians as the existence of witchcrafts. 



The whining cant of love, except in real pas- 
sion, and by a masterly hand, is to me as in- 
sufferable as the preaching cant of old father 
Smeaton, whig-minister at Kilmaurs. Darts, 
flames, cupids, loves, graces, and all that far- 
rago, are just a Mauchline .... , — a senseless 
rabble. 

I glory in being a Poet, and I want to be 
thought a wise man. I would fondly be gene- 
rous, and I wish to be rich. After all, I am 
afraid I am a lost subject. " Some folk hae a 
hantle o' fauts, and I'm but a ne'er-do-weel." 
To close this melancholy reflection, I shall just 
add a piece of devotion commonly known in 
Carrick by the title of the wabster's grace — 

Some say we're thieves, and e'en sae are we ! 
Some say we lie, and e'en sae do we ! 
Gude forgi'e us ! and I hope sae will he ! 
Up ! — and to your looms, lads ! 



I have lately been much mortified with con- 
templating an unlucky imperfection in the very 
framing and construction of my soul ; namely, 
a blundering inaccuracy of her olfactoiy organs 
in hitting the scent of craft or design in my fel- 
low-creatures. I do not mean any compliment 
to my ingenuousness, or to hint that the defect 
is in consequence of the unsuspicious simplicity 
of conscious truth and honour. I take it to be, 
in some way or other, an imperfection in the 
mental sight ; or, metaphor apart, some modi- 
fication of dulness. In two or three small in- 
stances, lately, I have been most shamefully 
out 

An old man's dying, except he has been a 
very benevolent character, or in some particu- 
cular situation of life that the welfare of the 



poor or the helpless depended on him, I think 
an event of the most trifling moment to the 
world. Man is naturally a kind, benevolent 
animal ; but he is dropt into such a needy situ- 
ation herein this vexatious world, and has such 
a whoreson, hungry, growling, multiplying pack 
of necessities, appetites, passions, and desires 
about him, ready to devour him for want 
of other food, that, in fact, he must lay aside 
his cares for others that he may look properly 

to himself. 

Poets, of all mankind, feel most forcibly the 
powers of beauty. If they are really poets of 
Nature's making, their feelings must be finer, 
and their taste more delicate than those of most 
of the world. In the cheerful bloom of spring, 
or the pensive mildness of autumn ; the gran- 
deur of summer, or the hoary majesty of win- 
ter, — the poet feels a charm unknown to the 
rest of his species. Even the sight of a fine 
flower, or the company of a fine woman (by 
far the finest part of God's works below), have 
sensations for the poetic heart that the herd of 
mankind are strangers to. 

What pleasure is in the power of the fortu- 
nate and happy, by their notice and patronage, 
to brighten the countenance and glad the heart 
of depressed worth ! I am not so angry with 
mankind for their deaf economy of the purse. 
The goods of this world cannot be divided with- 
out being lessened ; but why be a niggard of 
that which bestows bliss on a fellow-creature, 
yet takes nothing from our own means of en- 
joyment? We wrap up ourselves in the cloak 
of our own better fortune, and turn away our 
eyes, lest the wants and woes of our brother- 
mortals should disturb the selfish apathy of 
our souls ! 

I have every possible reverence for the much- 
talked-of world beyond the grave ; and I wish 
that which piety believes, and virtue deserves, 
may be all matter-of-fact. 

Strong pride of reasoning, with a little affec- 
tation of singularity, may mislead the best of 
hearts. I, likewise, in the pride of despising 
old women's stories, ventured in " the daring 
path Spinosa trod ;" but experience of the 
weakness, not the strength, of human powers, 
made me glad to grasp at revealed religion. 

3G 



=@ 



754 



THE POET'S 
ASSIGNMENT OF HIS WORKS. 



[The admirers of Burns are indebted to the 
kindness of Gilbert M'Nab, Esq. of Ayr, for 
the following important document, which 
throws light both on the actions and feelings of 
the poet during a period when " hungry ruin 
had him in the wind."] 



Know all men by these presents that I, 
Robert Burns of Mossgiel : whereas I intend 
to leave Scotland and go abroad, and having 
acknowledged myself the father of a child 
named Elizabeth, begot upon Elizabeth Paton 
in Largieside : and whereas Gilbert Burns in 
Mossgiel, my brother, has become bound, and 
hereby binds and obliges himself to aliment, 
clothe and educate my said natural child in a 
suitable manner as if she were his own, in case 
her mother choose to part with her, and that 
until she arrive at the age of fifteen years. 
Therefore, and to enable the said Gilbert Burns 
to make good his said engagement, wit ye me 
to have assigned, disponed, conveyed, and made 
over to, and in favour of, the said Gilbert 
Burns, his heirs, executors, and assignees, who 
are always to be bound in like manner with 
himself, all and sundry goods, gear, porn, 
cattle, horses, nolt, sheep, household furniture, 
and all other moveable effects of whatever kind 
that I shall leave behind me on my departure 
from this Kingdom, after allowing for my part 
of the conjunct debts due by the said Gilbert 
Burns and me as joint tacksmen of the farm 
of Mossgiel. And particularly, without pre- 
judice of the foresaid generality, the profits 
that may arise from the publication of my 
poems presently in the press. And also, I 
hereby dispone and convey to him in trust for 
behoof of my said natural daughter, the copy- 
right of said poems in so far as I can dispose 
of the same by law, after she arrives at the 
above age of fifteen years complete. Surro- 
gating and substituting the said Gilbert Burns 
my brother and his foresaids in my full right, 
title, room and place of the. whole premises, 



with power to him to intromit with, and dispose 
upon the same at pleasure, and in general to 
do every other thing in the premises that I 
could have done myself before granting hereof, 
but always with and under the conditions be- 
fore expressed. And I oblige myself to warrand 
this disposition and assignation from my own 
proper fact and deed allenarly. Consenting to 
the registration hereof in the books of Council 
and Session, or any other Judges' books com- 
petent, therein to remain for preservation, and 
constitute 

Proculars, &c. In witness whereof I have 
written and signed these presents, consisting of 
this and the preceding page, on stamped paper, 
with my own hand, at the Mossgiel, the twenty- 
second day of July, one thousand seven hun- 
dred and eighty-six years. 

(Signed) Eobert Burns. 

Upon the twenty-fourth day of July, one 
thousand seven hundred and eighty-six years, 
I, William Cbalmer, Notary Publick, past to 
the Mercat Cross of Ayr head Burgh of the 
Sheriffdome thereof, and thereat I made due 
and law full intimation of the foregoing dis- 
position and assignation to his Majesties lieges, 
that they might not pretend ignorance thereof, 
by reading the same over in presence of a 
number of people assembled. Whereupon 
William Crooks, writer, in Ayr, as attorney 
for the before designed Gilbert Burns, pro- 
tested that the same was lawfully intimated, 
and asked and took instruments in my hands. 
These things were done betwixt the hours of 
ten and eleven forenoon, before and in presence 
of William M c Cubbin, and William Eaton, 
apprentices to the Sheriff Clerk of Ayr, wit- 
nesses to the premises. 

(Signed) William Chalmer, N. P. 
William M c Cubbin, Witness. 
William Eaton, Witness. 



755 



LETTERS TO CLARINDA. 



TO THE PUBLIC. 



The following letters, with the exception of 
one only, were written by Robert Burns 
before his marriage. They are printed verbatim 
from the originals, and where any of them are 
torn, which unfortunately is the case with two 
or three, the deficiencies are marked by asterisks. 

The lady to whom they are addressed seems 
to have encouraged a friendly correspondence 
with the Poet, whose fascinating powers of 
mind must necessarily have produced, on her 
part, esteem, and admiration. 



Yet, although he was forbidden to indulge 
the more tender affections of the heart, it was 
natural to expect, from the strong sensibility 
and delicate feelings of the Bard, that, in his 
correspondence with a young and amiable wo- 
man, love must be a principal theme. 

As these letters, on perusaL will be found to 
possess every mark of the strong and vigorous 
mind of Burns, they will, in no degree, dimi- 
nish that celebrity he has so justly merited by 
his epistolary compositions. 



No. I.* 

Thursday Evening. 

Madam, 

I had set no small store by my tea-drinking 
to-night, and have not often been so disap- 
pointed. Saturday evening I shall embrace 
the opportunity with the greatest pleasure. I 
leave this town this day se'ennight, and, proba- 
bly for a couple of twelvemonths ; but must 
ever regret that I so lately got an acquaintance 
I shall ever highly esteem, and in whose wel- 
fare I shall ever be warmly interested. 

Our worthy common friend, in her usual 
pleasant way, rallied me a good deal on my 
new acquaintance, and in the humour of her 
ideas I wrote some lines, which I enclose you, 
as I think they have a good deal of poetic 

merit ; and Miss tells me you are not 

only a critic, but a poetess. Fiction, you 
know, is the native region of poetry ; and I 
hope you will pardon my vanity in sending you 
the bagatelle as a tolerable off-hand jeu-d' esprit. 
I have several poetic trifles, which I shall 

gladly leave with Miss , or you, if they 

were worth house room • as there are scarcely 



* [This is generally printed as No. II. of the letters, while 
in fact it should be No. I. Its date must have been the 6th 
Dec. 1787- He was to have drunk tea that day, but was disap- 
pointed by the lady who afterwards asked him for Saturday, on 
which day the accident to his leg happened. — Motherwell.] 



two people on earth by whom it would mortify 
me more to be forgotten, though at the distance 
of nine-score miles. — I am, Madam, with the 
highest respect, your very humble Servant, 



No. Il.f 



Saturday Evening, 

I can say with truth, Madam, that I never 
met with a person in my life whom I more 
anxiously wished to meet again than yourself. 
To-night I was to have had that very great 
pleasure ; I was intoxicated with the idea, but 
an unlucky fall from a coach has so bruised one 
of my knees that I can't stir my leg ; so if I 
don't see you again, I shall not rest in my 
grave for chagrin. I was vexed to the soul I 
had not seen you sooner ; I determined to cul- 
tivate your friendship with the enthusiasm of 
religion ; but thus has Fortune ever served me. 
I cannot bear the idea of leaving Edinburgh 
without seeing you. I know not how to ac- 
count for it — I am strangely taken with some 
people, nor am I often mistaken. You are a 



f [The date of this letter must have been the 8th Dec. 
1787. Burns met with his accident on that day. Vide his 
letter to Miss Chalmers, in which he alludes to that unlucky 
occurrence. — Ibid.] 

3 C 2 



f 766 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



stranger to me ; but I am an odd being ; some 
yet unnamed feelings, things, v not principles, 
but better than whims, carry me farther than 
boasted reason ever did a philosopher. — Fare- 
well l every happiness be yours ! 



No. III. 



Friday Evening, 22d Dec, 1787. 

I beg your pardon, my dear " Clarinda," 
for the fragment scrawl I sent you yesterday.* 
I really do not know what I wrote. A gen- 
tleman, for whose character, abilities, and 
critical knowledge, I have the highest venera- 
tion, called in just as I had begun the second 
sentence, and I would not make the porter wait. 
I read to my much-respected friend several of 
my own bagatelles, and, among others, your 
lines, which I had copied out. He began 
some criticisms on them as on the other pieces, 
when I informed him they were the work of a 
young lady in this town, which, I assure you, 
made him stare. My learned friend seriously 
protested that he did not believe any young 
woman in Edinburgh was capable of such 
lines : and if you know any thing of Professor 
Gregory, you will neither doubt of his abilities 
nor his sincerity. I do love you, if possible, 
still better for having so fine a taste and turn 
for poesy. I have again gone wrong in my 
usual unguarded way, but you may erase the 
word, and put esteem, respect, or any other 
tame Dutch expression you please in its place. 
I believe there is no holding converse, nor carry- 
ing on correspondence, with an amiable woman, 
much less a gloriously amiable fine woman, 
without some mixture of that delicious passion, 
whose most devoted slave I have more than 
once had the honour of being — But why be 
hurt or offended on that account ? Can no 
honest man have a prepossession for a fine wo- 
man, but he must run his head against an in- 
trigue ? Take a little of the tender witchcraft 
of love, and add to it the generous, the honour- 
able sentiments of manly friendship : and I 
know but one more delightful morsel, which 
few, few in any rank ever taste. Such a com- 
position is like adding cream to strawberries ; 
it not only gives the fruit a more elegant rich- 
ness, but has a peculiar deliciousness of its own. 

I enclose you a few lines I composed on a late 
melancholy occasion. I will not give above 
five or six copies of it at all. and I would be 
hurt if any friend should give any copies with- 
out my consent. 

You cannot imagine, Clarinda (I like the 
idea of Arcadian names in a commerce of this 



* [This does not appear. It probably talked of love, and 
called forth the verses beginning, "Talk not of love," and 



kind), how much store I have set by the hopes 
of your future friendship. I do not know if 
you have a just idea of my character, but I 
wish you to see me as I am. I am, as most 
people of my trade are, a strange Will-o'-Wisp 
being ; the victim, too frequently, of much 
imprudence and many follies. My great con- 
stituent elements are pride and passion. The 
first I have endeavoured to humanize into in- 
tegrity and honour ; the last makes me a de- 
votee to the warmest degree of enthusiasm, in 
love, religion, or friendship — either of them, or 
all together, as I happen to be inspired. 'Tis 
true, I never saw you but once ; but how much 
acquaintance did I form with you in that once ! 
Do not think I flatter you, or have a design 
upon you, Clarinda ; I have too much pride 
for the one, and too little cold contrivance for 
the other ; but of all God's creatures I ever 
could approach in the beaten way of my ac- 
quaintance, you struck me with the deepest, 
the strongest, the most permanent impression. 
I say, the most permanent, because I know 
myself well, and how far I can promise either 
in my prepossessions or powers. Why are you 
unhappy ? And why are so many of our fel- 
low-creatures, unworthy to belong to the same 
species with you, blest with all they can wish ? 
You have a hand all benevolent to give — Why 
were you denied the pleasure? You have a 
heart formed — gloriously formed — for all the 
most refined luxuries of love : Why was that 
heart ever wrung ? O Clarinda ! shall we not 
meet in a state, some yet unknown state of 
being, where the lavish hand of plenty shall 
minister to the highest wish of benevolence ; 
and where the chill north-wind of prudence 
shall never blow over the flowery fields of en- 
joyment ? If we do not, man was made in vain ! 
I deserved most of the unhappy hours that have 
lingered over my head ; they were the wages 
of my labour : but what unprovoked demon, 
malignant as hell, stole upon the confidence of 
unmistrusting busy Fate, and dashed your cup 
of life with undeserved sorrow ? 

Let me know how long your stay will be out 
of town ; I shall count the hours till you in- 
form me of your return. Cursed etiquette for- 
bids your seeing me just now ; and so soon as I 
can walk I must bid Edinburgh adieu. Lord, 
why was I born to see misery which I cannot 
relieve, and to meet with friends whom I can- 
not enjoy ? I look back with the pang of un- 
availing avarice on my loss in not knowing you 
sooner : all last winter, these three months past, 
what luxury of intercourse have I not lost ! 
Perhaps, though, 'twas better for my peace. 
You see I am either above, or incapable of, dis- 
simulation. I believe it is want of that parti- 
cular genius. I despise design, because I want 



to which she must have signed Clarinda, from its being 
marked as a quotation. — Motherwell.] 



LETTERS TO CLAR1NDA. 



•757 



either coolness or wisdom to be capable of it, 
I am interrupted. — Adieu ! my dear Clarinda ! 

Sylvander. 



No. IV.* 

You are right, my dear Clarinda : a friendly 
correspondence goes for nothing, except one 
writes his or her undisguised sentiments. Yours 
please me for their intrinsic merit, as well as 
because they are yours, which, I assure you, is 
to me a high recommendation. Your religious 
sentiments, Madam, 1 revere. If you have, 
on some suspicious evidence, from some lying 
oracle, learned that I despise or ridicule 
so sacredly important a matter as real reli- 
gion, you have, my Clarinda, much miscon- 
strued your friend. — " I am not mad, most 
noble Festus \" Have you ever met a perfect 
character ? Do we not sometimes rather ex- 
change faults than get rid of them ? For in- 
stance, I am perhaps tired, with, and shocked 
at, a life too much the prey of giddy inconsist- 
encies and thoughtless follies ; by degrees I 
grow sober, prudent, and statedly pious — I say 
statedly, because the most unaffected devotion 
is not at all inconsistent with my first character 
— I join the world in congratulating myself on 
the happy change. But let me pry more nar- 
nowly into this affair. Have I, at bottom, any 
thing of a secret pride in these endowments and 
emendations ? Have I nothing of a presbyte- 
rian sourness, an hypocritical severity, when I 
survey my less regular neighbours ? In a word, 
have I missed all those nameless and numberless 
modifications of indistinct selfishness, which are 
so near our own eyes that we can scarcely 
bring them within the sphere of our vision, and 
which the known spotless cambric of our cha- 
racter hides from the ordinary observer ? 

My definition of worth is short ; truth and 
humanity respecting our fellow-creatures ; re- 
verence and humility in the presence of that 
Being, my Creator and Preserver, and who, I 
have every reason to believe, will one day be 
my Judge. The first part of my definition is 
the creature of unbiassed instinct ; the last is 
the child of after reflection. Where I found 
these two essentials, I would gently note, and 
slightly mention, any attendant flaws — flaws, 
the marks, the consequences, of human nature. 

I can easily enter into the sublime pleasures 
that your strong imagination and keen sensibi- 
lity must derive from religion, particularly if a 
little in the shade of mislbrtune : but I own I 



* [This letter appears to have been written about the 
let of January 1788, and probably the order in which it is 
now inserted is correct. — Motherwell.] 



cannot, without a marked grudge, see Heaven 
totally engross so amiable, so charming, a wo- 
man as my friend Clarinda ; and should be 
very well pleased at a circumstance that would 
put it in the power of somebody (happy some- 
body !) to divide her attention, with all the 
delicacy and tenderness of an earthly attach- 
ment. 

You will not easily persuade me that you 
have not a grammatical knowledge of the 
English language. So far from being inaccu- 
rate, you are elegant beyond any woman of my 
acquaintance, except one, whom I wish you 
knew. 

Your last verses to me have so delighted me 
that I have got an excellent old Scots air that 
suits the measure, and you shall see them in print 
in the Scots Musical Museum, a work publishing 
by a friend of mine in this town. I want four 
stanzas ; you gave me but three, and one of 
them alluded to an expression in my former 
letter ; so I have taken your first two verses. 
with a slight alteration in the second, and have 
added a third ; but you must help me to a 
fourth. Here they are : the latter half of the 
first stanza would have been worthy of Sappho ; 
I am in raptures with it. 



Talk not of Love, it gives me pain, 

For Love has been my foe ; 
He bound me with an iron chain, 

And sunk me deep in woe. 

But Friendship's pure and lasting joys 
My heart was formed to prove ; 

There, welcome, win, and wear the prize, 
But never talk of love. 

Your friendship much can make me blest, 
O why that bliss destroy ! 
[only] 
Why urge the odious one request, 
[will] 
You know I must deny. 



The alteration in the second stanza is no 
improvement, but there was a slight inaccuracy 
in your rhyme. The third I only offer to your 
choice, and have left two words for your deter- 
mination. The air is 'The banks of Spey/ 
and is most beautiful. 

To-morrow evening I intend taking a chair, 
and paying a visit at Park Place to a much- 
valued old friend. If I could be sure of finding 
you at home (and I will send one of the chair- 
men to call), I would spend from five to six 
o'clock with you, as I go past. I cannot do 
more at this time, as I have something on my 
hand that hurries me much. I propose giving 
you the first call, my old friend the second, and 

Miss as I return home. Do not 

break any engagement for me, as I will spend 
another evening with you, at any rate, before I 
leave town. 



758 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Do not tell me that you are pleased when 
your friends inform you of your faults. I am 
ignorant what they are ; but I am sure they 
must be such evanescent trifles, compared with 
your personal and mental accomplishments, that 
I would despise the ungenerous narrow soul 
who would notice any shadow of imperfections 
you may seem to have, any other way than in the 
most delicate agreeable raillery. Coarse minds 
are not aware how much they injure the keenly 
feeling tie of bosom-friendship, when, in their 
foolish officiousness, they mention what nobody 
cares for recollecting. People of nice sensibi- 
lity and generous minds have a certain intrinsic 
dignity that fires at being trifled with, or lower- 
ed, or even too nearly approached. 

You need make no apology for long letters : 
I am even with you. Many happy new years 
to you, charming Clarinda ! I can't dissemble, 
were it to shun perdition. He who sees you as 
I have done, and does not love you, deserves to 
be damn'd for his stupidity ! He who loves 
you, and would injure you, deserves to be 
doubly damn'd for his villany ! Adieu. 

Sylvander. 

P. S. What would you think of this for a 
fourth stanza ? 

Your thought, if love must harbour there, 

Conceal it in that thought, 
Nor cause me from my bosom tear 

The very friend I sought. 



No. V. 



Monday Evening, 11 o'clock, 21st January. 

Why have I not heard from you, Clarinda ? 
To-day I expected it ; and before supper, when 
a letter to me was announced, my heart danced 
with rapture : but behold, 'twas some fool who 
had taken it into his head to turn poet, and 
made me an offering of the first-fruits of his 
nonsense. " It is not poetry, but prose run 
mad." Did I ever repeat to you an epigram I 
made on a Mr. Elphinstone, who has given a 
translation of Martial, a famous Latin poet ? — 
The poetry of Elphinstone can only equal his prose 
notes. I was sitting in the shop of a merchant 
of my acquaintance, waiting somebody ; he put 
Elphinstone into my hand, and asked my opi- 
nion of it ; I begged leave to write it on a 
blank leaf, which I did, 

TO Mr. ELPHINSTONE, &c. 
O thou, whom poesy abhors ! 
Whom prose has turned out of doors ! 
Heard'st thou that groan ? proceed no further; 
'Twas laurel'd Martial roaring Murther ! 

I am determined to see you, if at all possible, 
on Saturday evening. Next week I must 
sing 



The night is my departing night: 

The morn's the day 1 maun awa ; 
There's neither friend nor foe o' mine, 

But wishes that I were awa ! 
What I hae done for lack o' wit, 

I never, never can reca' ; 
I hope ye're a' my friends as yet, 

Guid night, and joy be wi' you a' ! 

If I could see you sooner, I would be so 
much the happier ; but I would not purchase 
the dearest gratification on earth, if it must be 
at your expense in worldly censure, far less in- 
ward peace ! 

I shall certainly be ashamed of thus scrawl- 
ing whole sheets of incoherence. The only 
unity (a sad word with poets and critics!) in 
my ideas is Clarinda. There my heart 
" reigns and revels." 

" What art thou, Love ? whence are those charms, 

That thus thou bear'st an universal rule ? 
For thee the soldier quits his arms, 

The king turns slave, the wise man fool. 
In vain we chase thee from the field, 

And with cool thoughts resist thy yoke ; 
Next tide of blood, alas ! we yield ; 

And all those high resolves are broke !" 

I like to have quotations for every occasion. 
They give one's ideas so pat, and save one the 
trouble of finding expression adequate to one's 
feelings. I think it is one of the greatest plea- 
sures, attending a poetic genius, that we can 
give our woes, cares, joys, loves, &c, an em- 
bodied form in verse, which to me is ever im- 
mediate ease. Goldsmith says finely of his 
Muse— 

" Thou source of all my bliss and all my wo, 
Thou found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so." 

My limb has been so well to-day that I 
have gone up and down stairs often without 
my staff. To-morrow I hope to walk once 
again on my own legs to dinner. It is only 
next street — Adieu. 

Sylvander. 



No. VI. 



Saturday Noon, 26th January. 
Some days, some nights, nay, some hours, 
like the " ten righteous persons in Sodom," 
save the rest of the vapid, tiresome, miserable 
months and years of life. One of these hours, 
my dtjar Clarinda blessed me with yesternight. 



-" One well spent hour, 



In such a tender circumstance for friends, 
Is better than an age of common time!" 

Thomson. 

My favourite feature in Milton's Satan is 
his manly fortitude in supporting what cannot 
be remedied — in short, the wild broken frag- 
ments of a noble exalted mind in ruins. I 



LETTERS TO CLARINDA. 



meani no more by saying he was a favourite 
hero of mine., 

I mentioned to you my letter to Dr. Moore, 
giving an account of my life : it is truth, every 
word of it ; and will give you the just idea of 
a man whom you have honoured with your 
friendship. I am afraid you will hardly be able 
to make sense of so torn a piece. — Your verses 
I shall muse on deliriously, as I gaze on your 
image in my mind's eye, in my heart's core ; 
they will be in time enough for a week to 
come. I am truly happy your head-ache is 
better. — O, how can pain or evil be so daringly, 
unfeelingly, cruelly savage as to wound so noble 
a mind, so lovely a form ! 

My little fellow is all my name -sake. — 
Write me soon. My every, strongest good 
wishes attend you, Clarinda ! 

Sylvander. 

I know not what I have written — I am pes- 
tered with people around me. 



No. VII. 



Sunday Night, 27th January. 

The impertinence of fools has joined with a 
return of an old indisposition, to make me good 
for nothing to-day. The paper has lain before 
me all this evening, to write to my dear Cla- 
rinda, but — 

" Fools rush'd 011 fools, as waves succeed to waves." 

I cursed them in my soul ; they sacrilegi- 
ously disturbed my meditations on her who 
holds my heart. What a creature is man ! A 
little alarm last night and to-day, that I am 
mortal, has made such a revolution on my spi- 
rits ! There is no philosophy, no divinity, 
comes half so home to the mind. I have no 
idea of courage that braves heaven. 'Tis the 
wild ravings of an imaginary hero in bedlam. 

I can no more, Clarinda ; I can scarcely hold 
up my head ; but I am happy you do not know 
it, you would be so uneasy. 

Sylvander. 



Monday Morning, 28th January. 

I am, my lovely friend, much better this 
morning on the whole ; but I have a horrid 
languor on my spirits. 

" Sick of the world, and all its joys, 
My soid in pining sadness mourns ; 
Dark scenes of woe my mind employs, 
The past and present in their turns." 

Have you ever met with a saying of the 
great, and likewise good, Mr. Locke, author of 
the famous Essay on the Human Understanding? 
He wrote a letter to a friend, directing it " not 



to be delivered till after my decease :" it ended 
thus — " I know you loved me when living, and 
will preserve my memory now I am dead. All 
the use to be made of it is that this life affords 
no solid satisfaction, but in the consciousness of 
having done well, and the hopes of another life. 
Adieu ! I leave my best wishes with you. 

J. Locke. " 

Clarinda, may I reckon on your friendship 
for life? I think I may. Thou Almighty 
Preserver of men ! thy friendship, which 
hitherto I have too much neglected, to secure 
it shall, all the future days and nights of my 
life, be my steady care ! The idea of my 
Clarinda follows — 

" Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, 
Where, mix'd with God's, her lov'd idea lies." 

But I fear that inconstancy, the consequent 
imperfection of human weakness. Shall I meet 
with a friendship that defies years of absence, 
and the chances and changes of fortune ? 
Perhaps "such things are •" one honest man* I 
have great hopes from that way : but who, 
except a romance writer, would think on a love 
that could promise for life, in spite of distance, 
absence, chance, and change ; and that, too, 
with slender hopes of fruition ? For my own 
part, I can say to myself in both requisitions, 
" Thou art the man !" I dare, in cool resolve I 
dare, declare myself that friend, and that lover. 
If womankind is capable of such things, 
Clarinda is. I trust that she is ; and feel I 
shall be miserable if she is not. There is not 
one virtue which gives worth, nor one sentiment 
which does honour to the sex, that she does 
not possess, superior to any woman I ever saw : 
her exalted mind, aided a little, perhaps, by her 
situation, is, I think, capable of that nobly- 
romantic love-enthusiasm. 

May I see you on Wednesday evening, my 
dear angel ? The next Wednesday again will, 
I conjecture, be a hated day to us both. I 
tremble for censorious remark, for your sake ; 
but in extraordinary cases, may not usual and 
useful precaution be a little dispensed with ? 
Three evenings, three swift-winged evenings, 
with pinions of down, are all the past ; I dare 
not calculate the future. I shall call at 

Miss 's to morrow evening ; 'twill be a 

farewell call. 

I have written out my last sheet of paper, so 
I am reduced to my last half-sheet. What a 
strange mysterious faculty is that thing called 
imagination ! We have no ideas almost at all 
of another world ; but I have often amused 
myself with visionary schemes of what happi- 
ness might be enjoyed by small alterations — 
alterations that we can fully enter into, in this 
present state of existence. For instance, sup- 

* [Alluding to Captain Brown.] 



760 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



pose you and I, just as we are at present ; the 
same reasoning powers, sentiments, and even 
desires ; the same fond curiosity for knowledge 
and remarking observation in our minds ; and 
imagine our bodies free from pain and the 
necessary supplies for the wants of nature at 
all times, and easily within our reach : imagine 
further, that we were set free from the laws of 
gravitation, which bind us to this globe, and 
could at pleasure fly, without inconvenience, 
through all the yet unconjectured bounds of 
ci'eation, what a life of bliss would we lead, 
in our mutual pursuit of virtue and knowledge, 
and our mutual enjoyment of friendship and 
love ! 

I see you laughing at my fairy fancies, and 
calling me a voluptuous Mahometan ; but I am 
certain I would be a happy creature, beyond 
any thing we call bliss here below ; nay, it 
would be a paradise congenial to you too. 
Don't you see us, hand in hand, or rather, my 
arm about your lovely waist, making our 
remarks on Sirius, the nearest of the fixed 
stars ; or surveying a comet, flaming innoxious 
by us, as we just now would mark the passing 
pomp of a travelling monarch ; or in a shady 
bower of Mercury or Venus, dedicating the 
hour to love, in mutual converse, relying 
honour, and revelling endearment, whilst the 
most exalted strains of poesy and harmony 
would be the ready spontaneous language of 
our souls ! Devotion is the favourite employ- 
ment of your heart ; so is it of mine : what 
incentives then to, and powers for, reverence, 
gratitude, faith, and hope, in all the fervours 
of adoration and praise to that Being, whose 
unsearchable wisdom, power, and goodness, so 
pervaded, so inspired, every sense and feeling ! 
— By tin's time, I dare say, you will be blessing 
the neglect of the maid that leaves me destitute 
of paper ! 

Sylvander. 



No. VIII.* 



Tuesday Night. 

I am delighted, charming Clarinda, with 
your honest enthusiasm for religion. Those of 
either sex, but particularly the female, who are 
lukewarm in that most important of all things, 
il O my soul, come not thou into their secrets !" 
— I feel myself deeply interested in your good 
opinion, and will lay before you the outlines of 
my belief. He, who is our Author and Pre- 
server, and will one day be our Judge, must 
be (not for his sake in the way of duty, buc 
from the native impulse of our hearts) the 
object of our reverential awe and grateful 

* [This appears to Lave been written on the 8th or 15lh of 
January.] 



adoration : He is Almighty and all-bounteous, 
we are weak and dependent ; hence prayer and 

every other sort of devotion. "He is not 

willing that any should perish, but that all 
should come to everlasting life ;" consequently 
it must be in every one's power to embrace his 
offer of " everlasting life ;" otherwise he could 
not, in justice, condemn those who did not. A 
mind pervaded, actuated, and governed by 
purity, truth, and charity, though it does not 
merit heaven, yet is an absolutely necessary 
pre-requisite, without which heaven can neither 
be obtained nor enjoyed ; and, by divine pro- 
mise, such a mind shall never fail of attaining 
" everlasting life :" hence the impure, the de- 
ceiving, and the uncharitable, extrude them- 
selves from eternal bliss, by their unfitness for 
enjoying it. The Supreme Being has put the 
immediate administration of all this, for wise 
and good ends known to himself, into the hands 
of Jesus Christ, a great personage, whose 
relation to him we cannot comprehend, but 
whose relation to us is a guide and Saviour ; 
and who, except for our own obstinacy and 
misconduct, will bring us all, through various 
ways, and by various means, to bliss at last. 

These are my tenets, my lovely friend ; and 
which, I think, cannot be well disputed. My 
creed is pretty nearly expressed in the last 
clause of Jamie Dean's grace, an honest weaver 
in Ayr-shire ; " Lord, grant that we may lead a 
guid life ! for a guid life maks a guid end, 
at least it helps weel !" 

I am flattered by the entertainment you teli 
me you have found in my packet. You see 
me as I have been, you know me as I am, and 
may guess at what I am likely to be. I too 
may say, " Talk not of love," &c, for indeed he 
has " plunged me deep in woe!" Not that I 
ever saw a woman who pleased unexceptionably, 
as my Clarinda elegantly says, " In the com- 
panion, the friend, and the mistress." One 
indeed I could except — One, before passion 
threw its mists over my discernment, I knew 
the first of women ! Her name is indelibly 
written in my heart's core — but I dare not look 
in on it — a degree of agony would be the 
consequence. Oh ! thou perfidious, cruel, 
mischief- making demon, who presidest over 
that frantic passion — thou may est thou dost, 
poison my peace, but thou shalt not taint my 
honour — I would not, for a single moment, 
give an asylum to the most distant imagination 
that would shadow the faintest outline of a 
selfish gratification, at the expense of her whose 
happiness is twisted with the threads of my 

existence. May she be as happy as she 

deserves ! And if my tenderest, faithfullest 
friendship can add to her bliss, I shall at least 
have one solid mine of enjoyment in my bosom ! 
Don't guess at these ravings ! 

I watched at our front window to-day, but 
was disappointed. It has been a day of disap- 



LETTERS TO CLARINDA. 



761 



pointments. I am just risen from a two hours' 
bout after supper, with silly or sordid souls, 
who could relish nothing in common with me 

but the Port. One 'Tis now "witching 

time of night;" and whatever is out of joint 
in the foregoing scrawl, impute it to enchant- 
ments ancTspells ; for I can't look over it, but 
will seal it u"p directly, as I don't care for to- 
morrow's criticisms on it. 

You are by this time fast asleep, Clarinda ; 
may good angels attend and guard you as 
constantly and faithfully as my good wishes do ! 

" Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, 
Shot forth peculiar graces." 

John Milton, I wish thy soul better rest than 
I expect on my pillow to-night ! O for a little 
of the cart-horse part of human nature ! Good 
night, my dearest Clarinda ! 

Sylvan der. 



No. IX. 

Thursday Noon, lOih or IJth January. 

i am certain I saw you, Clarinda ; but you 
don't look to the proper story for a poet's 
lodging — ■ 

"Where speculation roosted near the oky." 

I could almost have thrown myself over for 
very vexation. Why didn't you look higher ? 
It has spoiled my peace for this day. To be 
so near my charming Clarinda ° to miss her 
look when it was searching for me — I am sure 
the soul is capable of disease, for mine has 
convulsed itself into an inflammatory fever. 

You have converted me, Clarinda. (I shall 
love that name while I live : there is heavenly 
music in it.) Booth and Amelia I know well.* 
Your sentiments on that subject, as they are on 
every subject, are just and noble. " To be 
feelingly alive to kindness, and to unkindness/' 
is a charming female character. 

What I said in my last letter, the powers of 
fuddling sociality only know for me. By yours, 
I understand my good star has been partly in 
my horizon, when I got wild in my reveries. 
Had that evil planet, which has almost all my 
life shed its baleful rays on my devoted head, 
been, as usual, in my zenith, I had certainly 
blabbed something that would have pointed out 
to you the dear object of my tenderest friend- 
ship, and, in spite of me, something more. Had 
that fatal information escaped me, and it was 
merely chance, or kind stars, that it did not, I 
had been undone ! You would never have 
written me, except perhaps once more ! O, I 
could curse circumstances, and the coarse tie of 
human laws, which keep fast what common 

* [See Fielding's novel of Amelia.] 



sense would loose, and which bars that happi- 
ness itself cannot give — happiness which other- 
wise Love and Honour would warrant ! But 
hold — I shall make no more " hair breadth 
'scapes." 

My friendship, Clarinda, is a life-rent busi- 
ness. My likings are both strong and eternal. 
I told you I had but one male friend : I have 
but two female. I should have a third, but 
she is surrounded by the blandishments of 
flattery and courtship. * * * I register in my 

heart's core — * * * *. Miss N can teU 

how divine she is. She is worthy of a place 
in the same bosom with my Clarinda. That b 
the highest compliment I can pay her. 

Farewell, Clarinda ! Remember 

Sylvander. 



No. X. 



Saturday Morning, \2th or IQth January. 

Your thoughts on religion, Clarinda, shall 
be welcome. You may perhaps distrust me, 
when I say 'tis also my favourite topic ; but 
mine is the religion of the bosom. I hate the 
very idea of a controversial divinity ; as I 
firmly believe that every honest upright man, 
of whatever sect, will be accepted of the Deity. 
If your verses, as you seem to hint, contain 
censure, except you want an occasion to break 
with me, don't send them. I have a little 
infirmity in my disposition, that where I fondly 
love, or highly esteem, I cannot bear reproach. 

" Reverence thyself" is a sacred maxim, and 
I wish to cherish it. I think I told you Lord 
Bolingbroke's saying to Swift — " Adieu, dear 
Swift, with all thy faults I love thee entirely ; 
make an effort to love me with all mine." A 
glorious sentiment, and without which there can 
be no friendship ! I do highly, very highly 
esteem you indeed, Clarinda — you merit it all ! 
Perhaps, too, I scorn dissimulation ! I could 
fondly love you : judge then, what a madden- 
ing sting your reproach would be. " O ! I 
have sins to Heaven, but none to you !'* — With 
what pleasure would I meet you to-day, but I 
cannot walk to meet the fly. I hope to be able 
to see you on foot, about the middle of next 
week. 

I am interrupted — perhaps you are not sorry 
for it, you will tell me — but I wont anticipate 
blame. O Clarinda ! did you know how dear 
to me is your look of kindness, your smile of 
approbation ! you would not, either in prose or 
verse, risk a censorious remark. 

" Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, 
That tends to make one worthy man my foe !" 

SYLV/VNDER. 



76-2 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



No. XI. 

Tuesday Morning, 29th January. 

I cannot go out to-day, my clearest Cla- 
rinda, without sending you half a line, by way 
of a sin-offering ; but, believe me, 'twas the sin 
of ignorance. Could you think that I intended 
to hurt you by any thing I said yesternight? 
Nature has been too kind to you for your hap- 
piness, your delicacy, your sensibility. — O why 
should such glorious qualifications be the fruit- 
ful source of woe ! You have "murdered sleep" 
to me last night. I went to bed, impressed 
with an idea that you were unhappy : and 
every start I closed my eyes, busy Fancy paint- 
ed you in such scenes of romantic misery that 
I would almost be persuaded you were not well 
this morning. 



-"If I unweetingly have offended, 



Impute it not.' 

" But while we live, 

But one short hour, perhaps, between us two 
Let there be peace." 

If Mary is not gone by the time this reaches 
you, give her my best compliments. She is 
a charming girl, and highly worthy of the 
noblest love. 

I send you a poem to read, till I call on you 
this night, which will be about nine. I wish I 
could procure some potent spell, some fairy 
charm that would protect from injury, or res- 
tore to rest that bosom-chord, " tremblingly 
alive all o'er," on which hangs your peace of 
mind. I thought, vainly, I fear, thought that 
the devotion of love — love strong as even you 
can Teel — love guarded, invulnerably guarded, 
by all the purity of virtue, and all the pride of 
honour ; I thought such a love would make 
you happy — will I be mistaken ? I can no 
more for hurry * * * ' . * 



No. XII. 



Sunday Morning, 3d February. 

I have just been before the throne of my 
God, Clarinda ; according to my association of 
ideas, my sentiments of love and friendship, I 
next devote myself to you. Yesterday night I 
was happy — happiness " that the world cannot 
give." — I kindle at the recollection ; but it is a 
flame where innocence looks smiling on, and 
honour stands by a sacred guard. — Your heart, 
your fondest wishes, your dearest thoughts, 
these are yours to bestow : your person is un- 
approachable by the laws of your country ; and 
he loves not as I do who would make you 
miserable. 

You are an angel, Clarinda ; you are surely 
no mortal that "the earth owns." — To kiss your 
hand, to live on your smile, is to me far more 



exquisite bliss than the dearest favours that the 
fairest of the sex, yourself excepted, can 
bestow. 

Sunday Evening, 

You are the constant companion of my 
thoughts. How wretched is the condition of 
one who is haunted with conscious guilt, and 
trembling under the idea of dreaded vengeance ! 
and what a placid calm, what a charming se- 
cret enjoyment it gives, to bosom the kind 
feelings of friendship, and the fond throes of 
love ! Out upon the tempest of anger, the 
acrimonious gall of fretful impatience, the sul- 
len frost of louring resentment, or the corroding 
poison of withered envy ! They eat up the 
immortal part of man ! If they spent their fury 
only on the unfortunate objects of them, it 
would be something in their favour ; but these 
miserable passions, like traitor Iscariot, betray 
their lord and master. 

Thou Almighty Author of peace, and good- 
ness, and love ! do thou give me the social 
heart that kindly tastes of every man's cup ! — 
Is it a draught of joy ? — warm and open my 
heart to share it with cordial unenvying re- 
joicing ! Is it the bitter potion of sorrow ? — 
melt my heart with sincerely sympathetic woe ! 
Above all, do thou give me the manly mind, 
that resolutely exemplifies in life and manners 
those sentiments which I would wish to be 
thought to possess ! The friend of my soul — 
there, may I never deviate from the firmest fi- 
delity and most active kindness ! Clarinda, the 
dear object of my fondest love ; there, may the 
most sacred inviolate honour, the most faithful 
kindling constancy, ever watch and animate my 
every thought and imagination ! 

Did you ever meet with the following lines 
spoken of Religion, your darling topic ? 

" 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright! 
' Tis this that gilds the horrors of our night ; 
When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few, 
When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue ; 
'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart, 
Disarms affliction, or repels its dart ; 
Within the breast bids purest rapture rise, 
Bids smiling Conscience spread her cloudless skies." 

I met with these verses very early in life, 
and was so delighted with them that I have 
them by me, copied at school. 

Good night and sound rest, my dearest 
Clarinda ! 

Sylvander. 



No. XIII.* 



I was on the way, my Love, to meet you, 
(I never do things by halves) when I got your 



[This letter must have been written early in February.] 



LETTERS TO CLARINDA. 



763 



card. M- 



- goes out of town to-morrow 
morning to see a brother of his who is newly 

arrived from . I am determined that 

he and I shall call on you together ; so, look 
you, lest I should never see to-morrow, we will 

call on you to-night ; and you may put 

off tea till about seven ; at which time, in the 
Galloway phrase, ' an the beast be to the fore, 
an the branks bide hale/ expect the humblest 
of your humble servants, and his dearest friend. 
We propose staying only half an hour, 'for 
ought we ken.' I could suffer the lash of mi- 
sery eleven months in the year, were the 
twelfth to be composed of hours like yester- 
night. You are the soul of my enjoyment : all 
else is of the stuff and stocks of stones. 

Sylvander. 



No. XIV. 

Thursday Morning, 7th February. 

" Unlavish Wisdom never works in vain." 

I have been tasking my reason, Clarinda, 
why a woman who for native genius, poignant 
wit, strength of mind, generous sincerity of 
soul, and the sweetest female tenderness, is 
without a peer, and whose personal charms 
have few, very, very few parallels among her 
sex ; why, or how she should fall to the blessed 
lot of a poor hairum scairum poet, whom For- 
tune had kept for her particular use, to wreak 
her temper on whenever she was in ill humour. 
One time I conjectured that, as Fortune is the 
most capricious jade ever known, she may have 
taken, not a. fit of remorse, but a paroxysm of 
whim, to raise the poor devil out of the mire, 
where he had so often and so conveniently 
served her as a stepping stone, and given him 
the most glorious boon she ever had in her gift, 
merely for the maggot's sake, to see how his 
fool head and his fool heart will bear it. At other 
times I was va*in enough to think that Nature, who 
has a great deal to say with Fortune, had given 
the coquettish goddess some such hint as, " Here 
is a paragon of female excellence, whose equal, 
in all my former compositions, I never was 
lucky enough to hit on. and despair of ever 
doing so again ; you have cast her rather in the 
shades of life ; there is a certain Poet of my 
making ; among your frolics it would not be 
amiss to attach him to this master-piece of my 
hand, to give her that immortality among man- 
kind which no woman of any age ever more 
deserved, and which few rhymesters of this age 
are better able to confer." 

Evening, 9 o'clock. 

I am here, absolutely unfit to finish my let- 
ter — pretty hearty after a bowl, which has 
been constantly plied since dinner till this mo- 



ment. I have been with Mr. Schetki, the mu- 
sician, and he has set it* finely. 1 have no 

distinct ideas of any thing, but that I have 
drunk your health twice to-night, and that you 
are all my soul holds dear in this world. 

Sylvander. 



No. XV. 



Saturday Morning, %th. February. 

There is no time, my Clarinaa, when the 
conscious thrilling chords of Love and Friend- 
ship give such delight as in the pensive hours 
of what our favourite, Thomson, calls ' Philo- 
sophic Melancholy.' The sportive insects who 
bask in the sunshine of prosperity ; or the 
worms that luxuriant crawl amid their ample 
wealth of earth — they need no Clarinda : they 
would despise Sylvander — if they durst. The 
family of Misfortune, a numerous groupe of 
brothers and sisters ! they need a resting-place 
to their souls : unnoticed, often condemned by 
the world ; in some degree, perhaps, condemned 
by themselves, they feel the full enjoyment of 
ardent love, delicate tender endearments, mu- 
tual esteem, and mutual reliance. 

In this light I have often admired religion. 
In proportion as we are wrung with grief, or 
distracted with anxiety, the ideas of a com- 
passionate Deity, an Almighty Protector, are 
doubly dear. 

" 'Tis this, my Friend, that streaks our morning bright ; 
'Tis this that gilds the horrors of our night." 

I have been this morning taking a peep 
through, as Young finely says, ' the dark 
postern of time long elaps'd ;' and, you will 
easily guess, 'twas a rueful prospect. What a 
tissue of thoughtlessness, weakness, and folly ! 
My life reminded me of a ruined temple ; what 
strength, what proportion in some parts ! what 
unsightly gaps, what prostrate ruins in others ! 
I kneeled down before the Father of mercies, 
and said, " Father, I have sinned against hea- 
ven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy 

to be called thy son ! " I rose, eased and 

strengthened. I despise the superstition of a 
fanatic, but I love the religion of a man. " The 
future," said I to myself, " is still before me ;" 
there let me 

' On reason build resolve, 



That column of true majesty in man I ' 

" I have difficulties many to encounter," said 
I ; " but they are not absolutely insuperable : 
and where is firmness of mind shewn but in ex- 
ertion? mere declamation is bombastic rant." 
Besides, wherever I am, or in whatever situ- 
ation I may be — 



* [" Clarinda, mistress of my soul," &c. —See page 270.] 



761 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



-'Tis nought to me : 



Since God is ever present, ever felt, 
In the void waste as in the city full ; 
And where He vital breathes, there must be joy!' 

Saturday Night— half after Ten. 

What luxury of bliss I was enjoying this 
time yesternight ! My ever-dearest Clarinda, 
you have stolen away my soul : but you have 
refined, you have exalted it : you have given 
it a stronger sense of virtue, and a stronger 
relish for piety. — Clarinda, first of your sex, 
if ever I am the veriest wretch on earth to for- 
get you ; if ever your lovely image is effaced 
from my soul, 

" May I be lost, no eye to weep my end ; 
And find no earth that's base enough to bury me!" 

What trifling silliness is the childish fondness 
of the every-day children of the world ! 'tis 
the unmeaning toying of the younglings of the 
fields and forests : but where Sentiment and 
Fancy unite their sweets; where Taste and 
Delicacy refine ; where Wit adds the flavour, 
and Goodness gives strength and spirit to all, 
what a delicious draught is the hour of tender 
endearment ! — Beauty and Grace, in the arms 
of Truth and Honour, in all the luxury of 
mutual love. 

Clarinda, have you ever seen the picture 
realized ? Not in all its very richest colouring. 

Last night, Clarinda, but for one slight 
shade, was the glorious picture — 

Innocence 



Look'd gaily smiling on ; while rosy Pleasure 
Hid young Desire amid her flowery wreath, 
And pour'd her cup luxuriant ; mantling high, 
The sparkling heavenly vintage, Love and Bliss ! 

Clarinda, when a poet and poetess of Nature's 
making, two of Nature's noblest productions ! 
when they drink together of the same cup of 
Love and Bliss — attempt not, ye coarser stuff 
of human nature, profanely to measure enjoy- 
ment ye never can know ! — Good night, my 
dear Clarinda ! 

Sylvander. 



No. XVI. 

About \0th February. 

My ever dearest Clarinda, 
I make a numerous dinner party wait me 
while I read yours, and write this. Do not re- 
quire that I should cease to love you, to adore 
you in my soul — 'tis to me impossible — your 
peace and happiness are to me dearer than my 
soul — name the terms on which you wish to see 
me, to correspond with me, and you have them 
— I must love, pine, mourn, and adore in secret 
— this you must not deny me— you will ever 
be to me — 



©- 



" Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, 
Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart !" 

I have not patience to read the puritanic 
scrawl. — Vile sophistry! — Ye heavens! thou 
God of nature ! thou Redeemer of mankind ! 
ye look down with approving eyes on a passion 
inspired by the purest flame, and guarded by 
truth, delicacy, and honour ; but the half-inch 
soul of an unfeeling, cold-blooded, pitiful pres- 
byterian bigot cannot forgive any thing above 
his dungeon bosom and foggy head. 

Farewell ; I'll be with you to-morrow even- 
ing — and be at rest in your mind — I will be 
yours in the way you think most to your hap- 
piness ! I dare not proceed — I love, and will 
love you, and will with joyous confidence ap- 
proach the throne of the almighty Judge of 
men, with your dear idea, and will despise the 
scum of sentiment, and the mist of sophistry. 

Sylvander. 



No. XVII. 



Tuesday Evening, \2th Feb, 

That you have faults, my Clarinda, I never 
doubted : but I knew not where they existed, 
and Saturday night made me more in the dark 
than ever. O Clarinda ! why will you wound 
my soul, by hinting that last night must have 
lessened my opinion of you? True, I was "be- 
hind the scenes with you ;" but what did I 
see ? A bosom glowing with honour and bene- 
volence ; a mind ennobled by genius, informed 
and refined by education and reflection, and 
exalted by native religion, genuine as in the 
climes of heaven ; a heart formed for all the 
glorious meltings of friendship, love, and pity. 
These I saw. — I saw the noblest immortal soul 
creation ever showed me. 

I looked long, my dear Clarinda, for your 
letter ; and am vexed that you are complaining. 
I have not caught you so far wrong as in your 
idea, that the commerce you have with one 
friend hurts you, if you cannot tell every tittle 
of it to another. Why have so injurious a 
suspicion of a good God, Clarinda, as to think 
that Friendship and Love, on the sacred invio- 
late principles of Truth, Honour, and Religion, 
can be any thing else than an object of His 
divine approbation ? 

I have mentioned, in some of my former 
scrawls, Saturday evening next. Do allow me 
to wait on you that evening. Oh, my angel ! 
how soon must we part ! and when can we 
meet again ! I looked forward on the horrid in- 
terval with tearful eyes ! What have I lost by 
not knowing you sooner ! I fear, I fear my 
acquaintance with you is too short to make 
that lasting impression on your heart I could 
wish. 

Sylvander. 



LETTERS TO CLARINDA. 



765 



No. XVIII. 

" I am distressed for thee, my brother Jona- 
than !'" I have suffered, Clarinda, from your 
letter. My soul was in arms at the sad perusal : 
I dreaded that I had acted wrong. If I have 
robbed you of a friend, God forgive me ! But, 
Clarinda, be comforted : let us raise the tone 
of our feelings a little higher and bolder. A 
fellow-creature who leaves us, who spurns us 
without just cause, though once our bosom 
friend — up with a little honest pride — let him 
go ! How shall I comfort you, who am the 
cause of the injury ? Can I wish that 1 had 
never seen you ? that Ave had never met ? No ! 
I never will. But have I thrown you friend- 
less ? — there is almost distraction in that 
thought. 

Father of mercies ! against Thee often have I 
sinned ; through Thy grace I will endeavour to 
do so no more ! She who, Thou knowest, is 
dearer to me than myself, pour Thou the balm 
of peace into her past wounds, and hedge her 
about with Thy peculiar care, all her future 
days and nights ! Strengthen her tender noble 
mind, firmly to suffer, and magnanimously to 
bear ! Make me worthy of that friendship she 
honours me with. May my attachment to her 
be pure as devotion, and lasting as immortal 
life ! O Almighty Goodness, hear me ! Be to 
her at all times, particularly in the hour of dis- 
tress or trial, a Friend and Comforter, a Guide 
and Guard. 

" How are Thy servants blest, O Lord, 
How sure is their defence I 
Eternal Wisdom is their guide, 
Their help, Omnipotence !" 

Forgive me, Clarinda, the injury I have done 
you ! To-night I shall be with you j as indeed 
I shall be ill at ease till I see you. 

- Sylvander. 



No. XIX, 

Two o'clock. 

I just now received your first letter of yes- 
terday, by the careless negligence of the penny- 
post. Clarinda, matters are grown very serious 
with us ; then seriously hear me, and hear me, 
Heaven — I met you, my dear * * * *, by 
far the first of woman kind, at least to me ; I 
esteemed, I loved you at first sight ; the longer 
I am acquainted with you, the more innate 
amiableness and worth I discover in you. — You 
have suffered a loss, I confess, for my sake : 
but if the firmest, steadiest, warmest friendship ; 
if every endeavour to be worthy of your friend- 
ship ; if a love, strong as the ties of nature, and 
holy as the duties of religion — if all these can 
make any thing like a compensation for the 
evil I frave occasioned you, if they be worth 



your acceptance, or can in the least add to your 
enjoyments — so help Sylvander, ye Powers 
above, in his hour of need, as he freely gives 
these all to Clarinda ! 

I esteem you, I love you as a friend ; I ad- 
mire you, I love you as a woman, beyond any 
one in all the circle of creation ; I know I 
shall continue to esteem you, to love you, to 
pray for you, nay, to pray for myself for your 
sake. 

Expect me at eight — And believe me to be 
ever, my dearest Madam, yours most entirely, 
Sylvander. 



No. XX. 



February 14th, 1788. 

When matters, my love, are desperate, we 
must put on a desperate face — 

" On reason build resolve, 

That column of true majesty in man." 

Or, as the same author finely says in another 
place— 

■ " Let thy soul spring up, 

And lay strong hold for help on him that made thee." 

I am yours, Clarinda, for life. Never be dis- 
couraged at all this. Look forward ; in a few 
weeks I shall be somewhere or other out of the 
possibility of seeing you : till then, I shall 
write you often, but visit you seldom. Your 
fame, your welfare, your happiness, are dearer 
to me than any gratification whatever. Be 
comforted, my love ! the present moment is the 
worst : the lenient hand of Time is daily and 
hourly cither lightening the burden, or making 
us insensible to the weight. None of these 
friends, I mean Mr. and the other gen- 
tleman, can hurt your worldly support, and. for 
their friendship, in a little time you will learn 
to be easy, and, by and by, to be happy with- 
out it. A decent means of livelihood in the 
world, an approving God, a peaceful conscience, 
and one firm trusty friend — can any body that 
has these be said to be unhappy ? These are 
yours. 

To-morrow evening 1 shall be with you about 
eight ; probably for the last time till I return to 
Edinburgh. In the meantime, should any of 
these two unlucky friends question you respect- 
ing me, whether I am the man, I do not think 
they are entitled to any information. As to 
their jealousy and spying, I despise them. — ■ 
Adieu, my dearest Madam ! 

Sylvander. 



No. XXI. 



Glasgow, Monday Evening, 9 o'clock, 17th Feb. 1/88. 

The attraction of love, I find, is in an in- 
verse proportion to the attraction of the New- 



766 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



tonian philosophy. In the system of Sir Isaac, 
the nearer objects are to one another the 
stronger is the attractive force ; in my system, 
every mile-stone that marked my progress from 
Clarinda awakened a keener pang of attach- 
ment to her. 

How do you feel, my love ? Is your heart ill 
at ease ? I fear it. — God forbid that these perse- 
cutors should harass that peace which is more 
precious to me than my own. Be assured I 
shall ever think of you, muse on you, and, in 
my moments of devotion, pray for you. The 
hour that you are not in all my thoughts — 
"be that hour darkness! let the shadows of 
death cover it ! let it not be numbered in the 
hours of the day !" 

"When I forget the darling theme, 

Be my tongue mute! my fancy paint no more ! 
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat !'' 

1 have just met with my old friend, the ship 
captain ; guess my pleasure — To meet you 
could alone have given me more. My brother 
William, too, the young saddler, has come to 
Glasgow to meet me ; and here are we three 
spending the evening. 

I arrived here too late to write by post ; but 
I'll wrap half a dozen sheets of blank paper 
together, and send it by the fly, under the name 
of a parcel. You shall hear from me next post 
town. I would write you a long letter, but for 
the present circumstance of my friend. 

Adieu, my Clarinda ! I am just going to pro- 
pose your health by way of grace-drink. 

Sylvander, 



No. XXII. 

Cumnock, 2nd March, 1788. 

I hope, and am certain, that my generous 
Clarinda will not think my silence, for now a 
long week,* has been in any degree owing to 
my forgetfulness. I have been tossed about 
through the country ever since I wrote you ; 
and am here, returning from Dumfries-shire, at 
an inn, the post-office of the place, with just so 
long time as my horse eats his corn, to write 
you. I have been hurried with business and 
dissipation almost equal to the insidious decree 
of the Persian monarch's mandate, when he 
forbade asking petition of God or man for forty 
days. Had the venerable prophet been as 
throng as I, he had not broken the decree, at 
least not thrice a-daji . 

I am thinking my farming scheme will yet 
hold. A worthy intelligent farmer, my father's 
friend and my own, has been with me on the 
spot : he thinks the bargain practicable. I am 
myself, on a more serious review of the lands, 



[* The letter about the 23d of February seems to be 
wanting.] 



much better pleased with them. I won't men- 
tion this in writing to any body but you and 

. Don't accuse me of being fickle : I 

have the two plans of life before me, and I 
wish to adopt the one most likely to procure 
me independence. I shall be in Edinburgh 
next week. I long to see you : your image is 
omnipresent to me ; nay, I am convinced I 
would soon idolatrize it most seriously ; so much 
do absence and memory improve the medium 
through which one sees the much-loved object. 
To-night, at the sacred hour of eight, I expect 
to meet you — at the Throne of Grace. I hope, 
as I go home to night, to find a letter from you 
at the post-office in Mauchline. I have just 
once seen that dear hand since I left Edinburgh 
— a letter indeed which much affected me. 
Tell me, first of womankind ! will my warmest 
attachment, my sincerest friendship, my corres- 
pondence, will they be any compensation for 
the sacrifices you make for my sake ! If they 
will, they are yours. If I settle on the farm I 
propose, I am just a day and a half's ride from 
Edinburgh. We will meet — don't you say, 
" perhaps too often !" 

Farewell, my fair, my charming Poetess ! 
May all good things ever attend you ! I am 
ever, my dearest Madam, yours, 

Sylvander. 



No. XXIII. 

Mossgiel, 7th March, 1788. 

Clarinda, I have been so stung with your 
reproach for unkindness, a sin so unlike me, a 
sin I detest more than a breach of the whole 
Decalogue, fifth, sixth, seventh, and ninth arti- 
cles excepted, that I believe I shall not rest in 
my grave about it, if I die before I see you. 
You have often allowed me the head to judge, 
and the heart to feel, the influence of female 
excellence. Was it not blasphemy, then, against 
your own charms, and against my feelings, to 
suppose that a short fortnight could abate my 
passion ? You, my Love, may have your cares 
and anxieties to disturb you, but they are the 
usual recurrences of life ; your future views are 
fixed, and your mind in a settled routine. 
Could not you, my ever dearest Madam, 
make a little allowance for a man, after long 
absence, paying a short visit to a country full 
of friends, relations, and early intimates ? 
Cannot you guess, my Clarinda, what thoughts, 
what cares, what anxious forebodings, hopes 
and fears, must crowd the breast of the man of 
keen sensibility, when no less is on the tapis 
than his aim, his employment, his very exist- 
ence, through future life ? 

Now that, not my apology, but my defence, 
is made, I feel my soul respire more easily. I 
know you will go along with me *n my justifi- 



LETTERS TO CLARINDA. 



7G7 



cation — would to Heaven you could in my 
adoption too ! I mean an adoption beneath the 
stars — an adoption where I might revel in the 
immediate beams of 

" She, the bright sun of all her sex." 

I would not have you, my dear Madam, so 

much hurt at Miss 's coldness. ? Tis 

placing yourself below her, an honour she by 
no means deserves. We ought, when we wish 
to be economists in happiness — we ought, in 
the first place, to fix the standard of our own 
character ; and when, on full examination, we 
know where we stand, and how much ground 
we occupy, let us contend for it as property : 
and those who seem to doubt, or deny us what 
is justly ours, let us either pity their prejudices, 
or despise their judgment. I know, my dear, 
you will say this is self-conceit ; but I call it 
self-knowledge. The one is the overweening 
opinion of a fool, who fancies himself to be 
what he wishes himself to be thought ; the 
other is the honest justice that a man of sense, 
who has thoroughly examined the subject, owes 
to himself. Without this standard, this column 
in our own mind, we are perpetually at the 
mercy of the petulance, the mistakes, the pre- 
judices, nay, the very weakness and wickedness 
of our fellow-creatures. 

I urge this, my dear, both to confirm myself 
in the doctrine, which, I assure you, I some- 
times need ; and because I know that this causes 
you often much disquiet. — To return to Miss 

: she is most certainly a worthy soul, and 

equalled by very, very few, in goodness of heart. 
But can she boast more goodness of heart than 
Clarinda ? Not even prejudice will dare to say 
so. For penetration and discernment, Clarinda 

sees far beyond her : to wit, Miss dare 

make no pretence ; to Clarinda's wit, scarcely 
any of her sex dare make pretence. Personal 
charms, it would be ridiculous to run the pa- 
rallel. And for conduct in life, Miss 



was never called out, either much to do or to 
suffer ; Clarinda has been both • and has per- 
formed her part where Miss would 

have sunk at the bare idea. 

Away, then, with these disquietudes ! Let 
us pray with the honest weaver of Kilbarchan 
— " Lord, send us a guid conceit o' oursel !" 
Or, in the words of the auld sang, 

" Who does me disdain, I can scorn them again, 
And I'll never mind any such foes." 

There is an error in the commerce of intimacy 

***** 

* * way of exchange, have not 

an equivalent to give us ; and, what is still 
worse, have no idea of the value of our goods. 



* [This letter must have been written after his short visit 
to Edinburgh, when he concluded the bargain with Mr. 
Miller on the 13th March. He seems to have avoided seeing 



Happy is our lot, indeed, when we meet with 
an honest merchant, who is qualified to deal 
with us on our own terms ; but that is a rarity. 
With almost every body we must pocket our 
pearls, less or more, and learn, in the old Scotch 
phrase — ' To gie sic like as we get.' For this 
reason one should try to erect a kind of bank 
or store-house in one's own mind; or, as the 
Psalmist says, ' We should commune with our 
own hearts, and be slilk 1 This is exactly * 



No. XXIV.* 



I own myself guilty, Clarinda ; I should 
have written you last week ; but when you 
recollect, my dearest Madam, that yours of 
this night's post is only the third I have got 
from you, and that this is the fifth or sixth I 
have sent to you, you will not reproach me, 
with a good grace, for unkindness. I have 
always some kind of idea, not to sit down to 
write a letter, except I have time and posses- 
sion of my faculties so as to do some justice to 
my letter ; which at present is rarely my situa- 
tion. For instance, yesterday I dined at a 
friend's at some distance ; the savage hospitality 
of this country spent me the most part of the 
night over the nauseous potion in the bowl : 
this day — sick — head-ache — low spirit — mise- 
rable — fasting, except for a draught of water 
or small beer : now eight o'clock at night — 
only able to crawl ten minutes' walk into 
Mauchline to wait the post, in the pleasurable 
hope of hearing from the mistress of my soul. 

But, truce with all this ! When I sit down 
to write to you, all is harmony and peace. A 
hundred times a-day do I figure you, before 
your taper, your book, or work laid aside, as I 
get within the room. How happy have I been ! 
and how little of that scantling portion of time, 
called the life of man, is sacred to happiness ! 
i could moralize to-night like a death's head. — 

" O what is life, that thoughtless wish of all ! 
A drop of honey in a draught of gall." 

Nothing astonishes me more, when a little 
sickness clogs the wheels of life, than the 
thoughtless career we run in the hour of health. 
' ; None saith, where is God, my Maker, that 
giveth songs in the night ; who teacheth us 
more knowledge than the beasts of the field, 
and more understanding than the fowls of the 
air." 

Give me, my Maker, to remember thee ! 
Give me to act up to the dignity of my nature ! 
Give me to feel " another's woe ;" and continue 
with me that dear-lov'd friend that feels with 
mine ! 



Clarinda on this occasion. Its date is probably about the 
18th of March, 1788.] 



768 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



The dignified and dignifying consciousness 
of an honest man, and the well-grounded trust 
in approving Heaven, are two most substantial 
sources of happiness. 



Sylvander. 



No. XXV.* 



Before you ask me why I have not written 
you, first let me be informed of you how I shall 
write you? " In friendship," you say: and I 
have many a time taken up my pen to try an 
epistle of friendship to you ; but it will not 
do : 'tis like Jove grasping a pop-gun, after 
having wielded his thunder. When I take up 
the pen, recollection ruins me. Ah ! my ever 
dearest Clarinda ! Clarinda ! — what a host of 
memory's tenderest offspring crowd on my fancy 
at that sound ! But I must not indulge that 
subject — you. have forbid it. 

1 am extremely happy to learn that your 
precious health is re-established, and that you 
are once more fit to enjoy that satisfaction in ex- 
istence, which health alone can give us. My old 
friend has indeed been kind to you. Tell him, 
that I envy him the power of serving you, I 
had a letter from him a while ago, but it was 
so dry, so distant, so like a card to one of his 
clients, that I could scarcely bear to read it, 
and have not yet answered it. He is a good 
honest fellow ; and can write a friendly letter, 
which would do equal honour to his head and 
his heart ; as a whole sheaf of his letters I have 
by me will witness : and though Fame does not 
blow her trumpet at my approach ?ioiv, as she 
did then, when he first honoured me with his 
friendship, yet I am as proud as ever ; and 
when i am laid in my grave, I wish to be 
stretched at my full length, that I may occupy 
every inch of ground which I have a right to. 



* [This letter was written after the Poet's marriage.] 
t [The following recent account of Clarinda, written in Feb. 
1837, appears in a note, to the Memoir of Lord Craig, in 
"Kay's Edinburgh Portraits," and will be read with inte- 
rest by all admirers of the Poet : — " It may, perhaps, be 
worthy of notice that Lord Craig was cousin-german of 
Mrs. M'Lehose, the celebrated Clarinda of Burns, who is 
still living in Edinburgh, and was left an annuity by his 
Lordship. She is now nearly eighty years of age, but en- 
joys excellent health. We found her sitting in the parlour, 
with some papers on the table. Her appearance at first be- 
trayed a little of that I-anguor and apathy which attend age 
and solitude ; but the moment she comprehended the object 
of our visit, her countenance, which even yet retains the 
lineaments of what Clarinda may be supposed to have been, 
became animated and intelligent, 'That,' said she, rising 
up and pointing to an engraving over the mantel-piece, ' is a 



You would laugh were you to see me where 
I am just now ! — would to heaven you were 
here to laugh with me ! though I am afraid 
that crying would be our first employment. 
Here am I set, a solitary hermit, in the solitary 
room of a solitary inn, with a solitary bottle of 
wine by me — as grave and as stupid as an owl 
— but, like that owl, still faithful to my old 
song. In confirmation of which, my dear Mrs. 
Mack, here is your good health ! may the 
hand-waled benisons o' Heaven bless your 
bonnie face ; and the wretch wha skellies at 
your weelfare, may the auld tinkler deil get 
him to clout his rotten heart ! Amen. 

You must know, my dearest Madam, that 
these now many years, wherever I am, in what' 
ever company, when a married lady is called 
on as a toast, I constantly give you ; but as 
your name has never passed my lips, even to 
my most intimate friend, I give you by the 
name of Mrs. Mack. This is so well known 
among my acquaintances that when my mar- 
ried lady is called for, the toast-master will say 
— " O, we need not ask him who it is — here's 
Mrs. Mack !" I have also, among my convi- 
vial friends, set on foot a round of toasts, which 
I call a round of Arcadian Shepherdesses ; that 
is, a round of favourite ladies, under female 
names celebrated in ancient song ; and then, 
you are my Clarinda. So, my lovely Clarinda, 
I devote this glass of wine to a most ardent 
wish for your happiness ! 

In vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer, 
Point out a cens'ring world, and bid me fear ; 
Above that world on wings of love I rise, 
I know its worst, and can that worst despise. 
" Wrong'd, injur'd, shunn'd, unpitied, unredrest, 
The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest," 
Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall, 
Clarinda, rich reward ! o'erpays them all ! f 

I have been rhyming a little of late, but I 
do not know if they are worth postage. — Tell 
me * * * * 

* * * 

Sylvander. 



likeness of my relative (Lord Craig) about whom you have 
been inquiring. He was the best friend I ever had ! After 
a little conversation about his Lordship, she directed our at- 
tention to a picture of Burns, by Horsburgh, after Taylor, 
on the opposite wall of the apartment. * You well know 
who that is — it was presented to me by Constable and Co., 
for having simply declared what I knew to be true, that the 
likeness was good.' We spoke of the correspondence be- 
twixt the Poet and Clarinda, at which she smiled, and plea- 
santly remarked on the great change which the lapse of so 
many years had produced on her personal appearance. In- 
deed, any observation respecting Burns seemed to afford her 
pleasure ; and she laughed at a little anecdote we told of 
him, which she had never before heard. 

' ' Having prolonged our intrusion to the limits of courtesy, 
and conversed on various topics, we took leave of the vene- 
rable lady, highly gratified by the interview."] 



i £l 



769 



ADDENDA. 



iEpttap$ on Wl -. 

Rest gently, turf, upon his breast, 
His chicken heart's so tender ; 

But reai huge ce sties on his head, 
His skull will prop them under. 



poetical (Eptetle to EurtW, 

BY THE 

Rev. JOHN SKINNER. 

The following verses were addressed to the 
Poet by the author of the popular song of 
Tullochgorum ; and, it is hoped, they will be 
considered as an acceptable addition to this 
unique publication. In the Poet's own words, 
he looked upon them as the best poetical com- 
pliment he ever received.* 



! happy hour for ever mair, 

That led my Chill up Cha'mers'f stair, 
And gae him, what he values sair, 

Sae braw a skance 
Of Ayr-shire's dainty Poet there, 

By lucky chance. 

Waes my auld heart I was na wi' you, 
Tho' worth your while I cou'd na gie you, 
But sin' I had na hap to see you 

Whan ye was North, 
I'm bauld to send my service to you 

Hyne o'er the Forth. 

Sae proud 's I am that ye hae heard 
O' my attempts to be a Bard, 
And thinks my muse nae that ill far'd 
Seil o' your face ! 

1 wad na wiss for mair reward 

Than your good grace. 

! J Your bonnie bookie, line by line 
j I I've read, and think it freely fine ; 
j Indeed, I darena ca't divine, 

As others might ; 

' For that, ye ken, frae pen like mine, 

Wad no be right. 



! [See his letter to the Rev. John Skinner, page 632.] 



But, by my sang, I dinna wonner, 
That your admirers, niony hunner, 
Let gowkit flieps pretend to scunner 

And tak' offence ; 
Ye've naething said that looks like blunner 

To fowks o' sense. 

Your pawky " Dream" has humour in't, 
I never saw the like in print ; 
The birth-day Laurit durst na mint 

As ye hae done ; 
And yet there's nae a single hint 

Can be mista'en. 

Your " Mailie," and your guid " Auld Mare/ 
And "Hallow-even's" funny cheer; 
There's nane that's read them, far or near, 

But reezes Robie, 
And thinks them as diverting gear 

As Yorick's Tobie. 

But, O ! the weel tauld "Cotter's Night" 
Is what gies me the maist delight : 
A piece sae flnish'd, and sae tight, 

There's nane o' s a' 
Cou'd preachment-timmer cleaner dight 

In kirk nor ha'. 

But what need this or that to name ? 
It's own'd by a' there's no a theme 
Ye tak' in hand, but's a' the same, 

And nae ane o' them 
But weel may challenge a' the fame 

That we can gi' them. 

For me, I heartily allow you 

The wald o' praise sae justly due you : 

And but a Plowman ! Sail I true you ? 

Gin it be sae, 
A miracle I will avow you, 

Deny't wha may. 

What recks a leash o' classic lair, 

Thro' seven years, and some guide mair ; 

Whan plowman-lad, wi' nature bare 

Sae far surpasses 
A' we can do wi' study sair 

To climb Parnassus. 



f [The Printer of the Aberdeen Journal, in whose house 
Mr. Skinner first saw liurns's Poems.]' 

3 D 



770 



ADDENDA. 



But, thanks to praise, ye're i' your prime, 
And may chant on this lang lang time ; 
For, let me tell you, 'tware a crime 

To haud your tongue, 
Wi' sic a knack's ye hae at rhyme, 

And you sae young. 

Ye ken it's nae for ane like me 
To be sae droll as ye can be : 
But ony help that I can gie, 

Tho't be but sma', 
Your least command, 1'se let you see, 

Sail gar me draw. 

An hour or twa, by hook or crooK, 
And may be three, some orrow owk 
That I can spare frae haly bulk, 

(For that's my hobby,) 
I'll steal awa' to some by-neuk, 

And crack wi' Robie. 



Wad ye but only crack again, 
Just what ye like, in ony strain, 
I'll tak' it kind ; for, to be plain, 

I do expect it ; 
And, mair than that, I'll no be fain 

Gin ye neglect it. 

To Linshart, gin my hame ye spier, 
Whare I hae befit near fifty year, 
'Twill come in course, ye need na fear ; 

The pairt's weel ken't ; 
And postage, be it cheap or dear, 

I'll pay content. 

Now, after a', hae me exqueez'd 
For wishing nae to be releez'd ; 
I dinna covet to be reez'd 

For this fiel lilt ; 
But fiel or wise, gin ye be pleas'd, 

Ye're welcome tiU't. 

Sae, canty Plowman, fare ye weel ; 
Lord bless ye lang wi' hae and heil, 
And keep you aye the honest chiel 

That ye hae been ; 
Syne lift you to a better biel 

Whan this is dane ! 



POSTSCRIPT. 

This auld Scots muse I've courted h 
And spar'd nae pains to win her ; 

DowfF tho' I be in rustic sang, 
I'm no a late beginner. 



But now auld age taks clowie turns, 

Yet troth, as I'm a sinner, 
I'll aye be fond o' TIobie Burns, 

While I can sign 

John Skinner. 

Linshart, Sept. 25th, 1787- 

^ 



Ter£es 

ON THE DEATH OF BURNS. 

BY 

Mrs. GRANT, OF LAGGAN. 

What adverse fate awaits the tuneful train ! 
Has Otwat died, and Spenser liv'din vain? 
In vain has Collins, Fancy's pensive child, 
Pour'd his lone plaint by Aran's windings wild? 
And Savage, on Misfortune's bosom bred, 
Bar'd to the howling storm his houseless head? 
Who gentle Shenstone's fate can hear un- 

mov'd, 
By virtue, elegance, and genius lov'd ? 
Yet, pensive wand'ring o'er his native plain, 
His plaints confess'd he lov'd the Muse in vain; 
Chill Penury invades his favourite bower, 
Blasts every scene, and withers every flower ; 
His warning Muse to Prudence turn'd her 

strain, [vain ; 

But Prudence sung to thoughtlss bards in 
Still restless Fancy drives them headlong on, 
With dreams of wealth, and friends, and 

laurels won — 
On Ruin's brink they sleep, and wake undone. 



1 



And see where Caledonia's Genius mourns, 
And plants the holly round the grave of 

Burns : 
But late its " polish'd leaves and berries red 
Play'd graceful round the rural Poet's head," 
And, while with manly force and native fire 
He wak'd the genuine Caledonian lyre, 
Tweed's severing flood exulting heard her tell, 
Not Roman wreaths the holly could excel ; 
Not Tiber's stream along Campania's plain, 
More pleas'd convey'd the gay Horatian 

strain ; 
Than bonny Doon, or fairy -haunted Ayr, 
That wont his rustic melody to share, 
Resound along their banks the pleasing theme, 
Sweet as their murmurs, copious as their 

stream ; 
And Ramsay, once the Horace of the north, 
Who charm' d with various strains the listening 

Forth, 
Bequeath 'd to him the shrewd peculiar art 
To Satire nameless graces to impart, 
To wield her weapons with such sportive ease 
That, while they wound, they dazzle and they 

please. 



ADDENDA. 



But when he sung to the attentive plain, 
The humble virtues. of the Patriarch swain, 
His evening worship, and his social meal, 
And all a parent's pious heart can feel ; 
To genuine worth we bow submissive dow T n, 
And wish the cotter's lowly shed our own ; 
With fond regard our native land we view ; 
Its cl uster' d hamlets, and its mountains blue, 
Our " virtuous populace," a nobler boast 
Than all the wealth of either India's coast. 
Yet while our hearts with admiration burn, 
Too soon we learn that "man was made to 

mourn." 
The independent wish, the taste renVd, 
The energies of the superior mind, 
And Feeling's generous pangs, and Fancy's 

glow, 
And all that liberal Nature could bestow, 
To him profusely given, yet given in vain ; 
Misfortune aids and points the stings of pain. 

How blest, when wand'ring by his native 

Ayr, [care ; 

He " woo'd the willing muse," unknown to 
But when fond admiration spread his name, 
A candidate for fortune and for fame, 
In evil hour he left the tranquil shade, 
Where Youth and Love with Hope and Fancy 

play'd ; 
Yet rainbow-colours gild the novel scene, 
Deceitful fortune sweetly smilM like Jean ; 
Now courted oft by the licentious gay, 
With them through devious paths behold him 

stray. 
The opening rose conceals the latent thorn, 
Convivial hours prolonged awake the morn ; 
Even Reason's sacred power is drown'd in 

wine, 
And Genius lays her wreath on Folly's shrine. 
Too sure, alas ! the world's unfeeling train 
Corrupt the simple manners of the swain ; 
The blushing Muse indignant scorns his lays, 
And Fortune frowns, and honest Fame decays ; 
Till low on earth he lays his sorrowing head, 
And sinks untimely 'midst the vulgar dead. 

Yet while for him, belov'd, admir'd, in vain, 
Thus fond Regret pours forth her plaintive 

strain ; [hearse, 

While Fancy, Feeling, Taste, their griefs re- 
And deck with artless tears his mournful 

hearse, 
See Cunning, Dullness, Ignorance, and Pride, 
Exulting o'er his grave, in triumph ride ; 
And boast "though Genius, Humour, Wit, 

agree," 
Cold selfish Prudence far excels the three ; [go, 
Nor think, while grovelling on the earth they 
How few can mount so high to fall so low. 

Thus Vandals, Goths, and Huns exulting come, 
T' insult the ruins of majestic Rome ; 
But ye who honour Genius — sacred beam ! 
From holy light a bright ethereal gleam, 



Ye whom his happier verse has taught to glow, 
Now to his ashes pay the debt you owe — 
Draw Pity's ve 1 o'er his concluding scene, 
And let the stream of bounty flow for Jean. 

The mourning matron and her infant train, 
Will own you did not love the Muse in vain • 
While sympathy with liberal hand appears, 
To aid the orphans' wants, and dry the widow's 
tears. 



FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH- 
DAY OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Written for the "Caledonian Society," London, 1840, 
BY ANDREW PARK. 

Brave Scotland — Freedom's throne on Earth ! 

A bumper to thy glory ! 
This day thy matchless Bard had birth, 

So fam'd in song and story ! 
Where'er thy mountain-sons may stray, 

Thou'st thrown thy magic round them, 
And on this ever-hallow'd day 

In kindred love hast bound them. 

He nobly walk'd behind his plough, 

And gaz'd entrane'd on nature ; 
While genius grae'd his lofty brow, 

And play'd in every feature ! 
For then, inspir'd by glowing songs, 

Of " Bruce," or " Highland Mary," 
The minstrel-birds, in joyous throngs, 

Around their Bard would tarry ! 

But wae's my heart ! he sings nae mair 

In strains o' joy or sorrow ; 
Though on the bonny banks o' Ayr, 

His spirit smiles each morrow ! 
And Scotia's muse — enthron'd on high — 

The great, the gentle-hearted ! 
Sits with the tear-drop in her eye, 

And mourns her Bard departed ! 

O sacred land of gallant men ! 

Of maidens unassuming ! 
Who dwell obscure by loch and glen, 

Where still the thistle's blooming ; 
How well has Burns rehears'd your praise, 

Among your cloud-capt mountains, 
In never-dying, tuneful lays, 

Pure as your native fountains ! 

Then fill the sparkling goblet high, 

And let no discord stain it ; 
Let joy illume each manly eye, 

While to the dregs we drain it ! 
To Burns ! to Burns ! the Tfing of fi'ong] 

Whose lyre shall charm all ages ! 
Mirth, wisdom, love, and satire strong, 

Adorn his deathless pages ! 



772 



BROAD SWORDS OF OLD SCOTLAND. 

BY 

Air — TTie Boast beef of Old England 

Now there's peace on the shore and there's calm on the sea, 

Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free, 

Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose and Dundee. 

O, the broad swords of Old Scotland, 
O, the old Scottish broad swords. 

Old Sir Ralph Abercromby, the good and the brave, — 
Let him flee from our board, let him sleep with the slave, 
Whose libation falls slow as we honour his grave. 

O, the broad swords, &c 

Tho' he died not, like him, amid Victory's roar, 
Tho' disaster and gloom wove his shroud on the shore, 
Not the less we remember the spirit of Moore. 

O, the broad swords, &c. 

Yea, a place with the fallen the living shall claim, 
We'll entwine in one wreath every glorious name, 
The Gordon, the Ramsay, the Hope, and the Graham. 
O, the broad swords, &c. 

Count the rocks of the Spey, count the groves of the Forth, 
Count the stars in the clear cloudless sky of the North, 
Then go blazen their numbers, their names, and their worth. 
O, the broad swords, &c. 

The highest in splendour, the humblest in place, 
Stand united in honour as kindred in race, 
For the private is brother in blood to his Grace. 

O, the broad swoids, &c. 

Even a Huntley will joy that a bumper hath flow'd 
To himself, and the lowest e'er crimson'd the sod, 
When he drew by his side for his king and his God, 

The broad sword of Old Scotland. 

O, the old Scottish broad swords. 

Then sacred to all and to each let it be ; 
Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free,. 
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose and Dundee. 
O, the broad swords, &c* 

* The above truly national and heart-stirring song, which is here given as a companion to the noble 
Ode of " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled," was composed for the Mess of the (Edinburgh) Mid- 
Lothian Yeomanry Cavalry, about the year 1822: Mr. Thomson's attention being called to it, he was 
delighted on hearing it sung by the late Mr. Peter Hill, of Edinburgh, and requested, and got permis- 
sion, to publish it in his collection of " Scottish Melodies," — that splendid work to which Burns contri- 
buted so many of his best songs. 



773 



GLOSSARY. 



The explanation of Scottish words by Burns 
in his brief, but valuable, glossary annexed to 
the earlier editions of his poems, is now extend- 
ed to words and phrases contained in his songs 
and other posthumous pieces. All his definitions 
have been scrupulously retained, and to these 
have been added such illustrations from poetic 
and proverbial lore as cannot fail being accept- 
able even to readers intimate with the varied 
dialect of the north. The Scottish dialect, 
with which the English language of much of 
our verse is sprinkled, sometimes defies even 
description : these expressive northern words 
were only adopted because the language of the 
south, though rich to overflowing, had nothing 
to offer as an equivalent. This is peculiarly 
the case with Burns : his works abound with 
words, and phrases, and allusions, which can 
neither be translated nor explained in their 
native spirit and force. 

Yet some have thought it strange that Burns 
should be as popular in the south as in the 



north : this is not at all wondered at by those 
who are familiar with the very varied and forc- 
ible dialects of the English provinces. The 
truth is that the Scottish language is essen- 
tially Saxon, coloured a little with the Celtic, 
and as such is as well, perhaps better, under- 
stood in one half of the English counties than 
the scholastic language of Johnson and Gib- 
bra. 

Burns introduces his Glossary with these 
directions. " The ch and gh have always the 
guttural sound. The sound of the English 
diphthong co is commonly spelled ou. The 
French v.. a sound winch often occurs in the 
Scottish language, is marked oo, or ui. The a, 
in genuine Scottish words, except when forming 
a diphthong, or followed by an e mute after a 
single consonant, sounds generally like the 
broad English a in wall. The Scottish diph- 
thong ae always, and ea very often, sound like 
the French e masculine. The Scottish diphthong 
ey sounds like the Latin ei." 



A'. All. 

'* And puts a' nature in a jovial mood." 
Aback. Away, aloof, back-wards. 

Abeigh. At a shy distance. 

" Gaur'd puir Duncan stan' abeigh." Burns. 
Aboon. Above, up. 

" Aboon the town upon the southwart aide." 
Blind Harry. 
Abread. Abroad, in sight, to publish. 

"An' spread your beauties a' abread." Burns. 
Abreed. In breadth. 
Adle. Putrid water. 

Ae. One. 

" Ae man's meat's anither man's poison." 

Scots Proverb. 
Aff. Off. 

Aff4oof. Off-hand, extempore, without premeditation. 
To shoot aff-loof is to shoot without a rest. 
" E'en wi' a canty tale he'd tell aff-loof." 

Ramsay, 
Afore. Before; 

'•Better be afore at a burial than ahin 
at a bridal." Scots Saying. 

Aft.Aften. Oft. Often. 

" An' pried it aft, as ye may trow." Macneil. 
" Aften 1 have young sportive gilpics seen." 

Ramsay. 
Agley. Off the right line, wrong, awry. 

" The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men 

Gang aft agley." Burns. 

Aiblins. Perhaps. 

" The man may aiblins tyne a stot," Montgomery. 
Ain. Own. 

" This is no my ain house, 
I ken by the biggin' o't." Scots Song. 

Aim. Iron, a tool of that metal, a mason's chisel. 

"Thraw me thro' my aims, quo' the gude Gordon, 
They cost the town o' Dumfries fu' dear." 

Old Ballad, 
Airles. Earnest money. 

dirl-penny. A silver penny given as airles or hiring money. 
" Your proffer o' luves an' airl-pennie." Burns. 



Dunbar. 



Burns. 



On one side. 
Whilk pensylie he wears a thought agee." Ramsay. 
Quarter of the heaven, point of the compass. 
" And under what airt of the heaven so high." 
G. Douglas, 
An oath. 

" He swore the great aith bodily." Wyntown, 
Oats. 
" Wheie aits are fine an' said by kind." 

Scottish So7tg. 
An old horse. 

" Suppose I were ane auld yaud aiver, : 
A hot cinder, an ember of wood. 
" She noticed na an aizle brunt 
Her braw new worset apron." 
Alas. 

" O dool and alake ! " an exclamation of sorrow. 
Alone. 

" And hald his heritage hir alane." Wyntown. 
Awkward, athwart. 

" As he glaid by akwart he couth him ta." 

Blind Harry. 
Almost. 
" A midge is as big as a mountain a' but amaist." 
Scots Saying. 
Among. 

" I met four chaps yonbirks amang." Boswcll. 
An'. And, if. 

"Ando , quo' he, an' I were as free." King Jas. V. 
Ane. Ance. One. Once. 

" But giff it war ane or twa." Barbour. 

Over-against, concerning, about. 
Another. 

"Nature made her what she is, 

And never made anither." Burns, 

Ashes of wood, remains of a hearth fire. 

" Remember that thou art but ase." Dunbar. 
Asquint, aslant. 

Abroad, stirring in a lively manner. 
" My mither she's a scauldin' jaud, 

Hauds a' the house astcer." Old Son?. 
Between. 
" Aqueesh twa queans I kenna how to look." 
Scottish Rhyme, 



Agee. 
Airt. 



Aith. 
Aits. 



Aiver. 
Aizle. 



Alake. 
Alane, 



Akwa. 



Amaist. 



Anent. 
Anither 



Ase. 



Asklent. 
Asleer. 



Aqueesh. 



774 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Athout. Athwart. 

Attour. Moreover, beyond, besides. 

" Attour the king shall remain in keeping." 

Pitscottic. 

Aught, Possession, as " in a' my aught," in all my pos- 

session. 

" I hae the Bible, an' there's no a better book 
in a' yere aught." Scots Saying. 

Auld. Old. 

Auld-farran' . Auld farrant, sagacious, prudent, cunning. 

" These people right auld farr an' will be 
laith." Ramsay. 

Auld lang syne. Olden time, days of other years. 
Ava. At all. 

" She neither kent spinning nor carding, 

Nor brewing nor baking ava." Ross. 

Awa. Away, begone. 

"Awa, quo' she, the diel's owre gritwi' you." 
Ramsay. 
AivfiC . Awful . 

"An awfu' scythe out owre ae shouther." 

Burns. 
Auldshoon. Old shoes, literally ; a discarded lover, meta- 
phorically. 

" Ye may tell the coof that gets her, 
That he gets but my auld shoon." 

Scots Song. 
Aumos. Gift to a beggar ; thus described in an old song : 
"A handfu' o' meal, a pickle o' grotts, 
Cauld panitch, or herring- bree." 

Scots Song. 

Aumos-dish. A beggar's dish in which the aumos is received. 

"An' she held up her greedy gab, 

Just like an aumos-dish." 

Awn. •> The beard of barley, oats, &c. 

vnie. J Bearded. 

"And aits set up their awnie horn." 
Ayent. Beyond. 

" The auld wife ayont the fire, 

She died for lack o' sueeshing." 



Burns. 

Burns. 

Ross. 



Ba\ 



Ball. 



Backets. 
Backlins. 



Baide. 



" She saw three bonnie boys playing at the 

ba . Scots Song. 

Ash-boards, as pieces of backet for removing 

ashes. 
Comin', coming back, returning. 
"And backlins frae the bull to shift." A Scott. 
Back-yett. Private gate. 

"An' thro' the back-yett, an' let naebody 
see." Old Song. 

Endured, did stay. 
"But teuchley doure it baide an unco' bang." 
Burns. 
The belly. 

" Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie." 

Burns. 
Having large bones, stout. 
A child. 

"As glad tyfchings unto my child and bairn." 
G. Douglas. 
Baimtime. A family of children, a brood. 
Baith. Both. 

" Baith sceptre, sword, crown, and ring." 

Wyntown. 
Ballets, ballants. Ballads. 

"An' it were about Robin Hood, or some o' 
Davie Lyndsay's ballants." Scott 

To swear. 
" Our lass Bess may curse and ban." 

Old Song. 
Bone. 
" What's bred in the bane's ill to come out o' 
the flesh." Scots Proverb. 

Bang. To beat, to strive, to excel, 

"E'en ony rose her cheeks did bang." 

Davidson. 
Bannosk. Flat, round, soft cake. 

"Bannocks o' bear-meal, bannocks o' barley." 
Old Song. 
Bardie. Diminutive of bard. 

" He was your bardie monie a year." Burns. 
Bare-fit. Bare-footed. 

"The lasses skelpin bare-fit thrang. Burns. 
Barley-bree. Barley-broo, liquor of barley, malt-liquor. 



Bainie 
Bairn. 



Ban. 
Bane. 



easty. 

r barmy brain ." Montgomery, 

Gait. 

Polwart. 
Burns. 



Barmie. Of, or like, barm, 
" Quhilk boils yo 
Batch. A crew, a gang. 

"A batch o' wabster lads." 
Baits. Botts. 

"The bleiring bats an' benshaw, 
Bauckie-bird. The bat. 

" Or wavering like the bauckie-bird. 
Baudrons. A cat. 

"And whyles a voice on baudrons cried." 

Old Ballad. 
Bauld. Bold. 

" My een are bauld an' dwall on a place." 

Scots Song. 
Baivk. A piece of unploughed land among corn. 

Baws'nt. Having a white stripe down the face. 

"And sauld your crummock and her baws'nt 
quey." _ Ramsay. 

Be. To let be, to give over, to cease. 

" He's aye woo wooing, and he'll never let me 
be." Scots Song. 

Beets. Boots. 

" What maks yere master wear beets, man ? — 
Because he has nae sheen." 

Aberdeen Saying. 
Bear. Barley. 

Bearded-bear. Barley with its bristly head. 

"Amang the bearded barley." Scots Song. 

Beastie. Diminute of beast. 

" Wee sleekit, cowrin', timorous beastie." 

Burns. 
Beet, beck. To add fuel to a fire, to bask. 

"An' beek the house baith but an' ben." 

Ramsay. 
Beld. Bald. 

" An' tho' his brow be beld aboon." Burns. 
Belyve. By and by, presently, quickly. 

" Belyve Eneas membris schuke for cauld." 
G. Doug I, is 
Ben. Into the spence or parlour, 

" Spredaml i'ra thauk to thauk, baith but and 
ben." G. Douglas 

Benmost-bore. The remotest hole, the innermost recess. 

"And seek the benmost-bore." Burns. 

Bethankit. Grace after meat. 

" The auld gudeman just like to rive 

Bethankit hums." Burns. 

Beilk. A book. 

Bicker. A kind of wooden dish, a short rapid race. 
" And bang'd about the nectar bicker." 

Evergreen. 
Bickering. Careering, hurrying with quarrelsome intent. 

"In glittering show and the once bickering 

stream." Davidson. 

Birnie. Birnie ground is where thick heath has been 

burnt, leaving the turns, or unconsumed 

stalks, standing up sharp and stubley. 

Dumfries-shire. 
Bie, or bield. Shelter, a sheltered place, the sunny nook of 
a wood. 
" Better a wee bush than nae bield." Scots Prov 
Bien. Wealthy, plentiful. 

" And thou in berne and byre so bene and big.' 
Henrysone. 
Big, Biggit. To build— built. 

" They biggit a house on yon burn brae." Old Song. 
Biggin'. Building, a house. 

" I hae house a biggin." Old Song. 

" Bv some auld hornet-haunted biggin." Burns. 
Bill. A bull. 

" An' like a bill amang the kye." Ramsay. 
Bitlie. A brother, a young fellow, a companion. 

" Now fear ye na my billie, quo' he." Old Ballad. 
Bing. A heap of grain, potatoes, &c. 

" Quhen they depulye the mekil bing of quhete." 
G. Douglas. 
Birdie-cocks. Young cocks, still belonging to the brood. 

" And our guid wife's wee birdie-cocks." Burns. 
Birk. Birch. 

" Amang the birks sae blythe an' gay." 
T. C 
Birkie. A clever, a forward conceited fellow. 

" Spoke like yourseP, auld birkie never fear." 
Ramsay. 
Birken-shaw. Birchen- wood shaw, a small wood. 
Birring. The noise of partridges when they rise. 

" Ane gret staff sloung berrand with felloune 
wieght." Gaw. Douglas. 



Buses. 



Bristles. 

" The rough birsis c 



the briest and ciest." 
Guw. Douglas. 
Crisis, nick of time, place. 

" Just as I was coming up the bit I saw a man 
afore me." Scott. 

A bustle, to buzz. 

"An' singe wi hair- devouring bizz." Fergusson. 
e grim'. As black as the ground. 
" Nae wonder he's as black's the grim'." Burns. 
A shrivelled dwarf, a term of contempt, full of 
mischief. 

" An' how the blasties did behave." Train. 
Blasted. 
Bashful, sheepish. 

" We Phenicianis nane sae blate breistis has." 
Douglas. 
Bladder. 

A flat piece of anything, to slap. 
He was like to cling the pulpit in blads." Melvill. 
Blaudin-shvwer. A heavy driving rain ; a blauding signifies 
a beating. 
" For blaudin' o' the tailor sae." Cock. 

To blow, to boast ; " blaw i' my lug," to flatter. 
" Keep your temper sweetly, an' neither brag 
nor blaw." Duff. 

Bedimmed, eyes hurt with weeping. 
I Bleer't and blin' . Bleered and blind. 
Bleer my een. Dim my eyes; 

" I bleer my een wi' greetin'." Old Song. 

Bleezing, bleeze. Blazing, flame. 

" An' of bleeched birns pat on a canty bleeze." 
Ramsay. 
Idle talking fellow. 

" A bletherin', blust'ring, drunken blellum." 
Burns. 



Lit. 



Black's t 
B/aslie. 



Blastit. 
Blate. 



Blather. 
Bl md. 



Bla 



JUeerit. 



Blellum. 



Blether 
Bleth'r 



\ To talk idly ; talking idly. 
" For an' they winna haud their blether." Hamilton. 
Blink. A little while, a smiling look, to look kindiy, to 

shine by fits. 
" Blink owre the burn, sweet Betty." Old Song. 
Blinker. A term of contempt, it means too a lively en- 
gaging girl. 
Blinkin'. Smirking, smiling with the eyes, looking lovingly. 
" She is a bonnie lassie wi' a blythe blinking ee." 
Old Song. 
Blirt and blearie. Out-burst of grief, with wet eyes. 
" The lassie lost her silken snood, 

Which cost her many a blirt and blearie." 
Old Song. 
Blue-gown. One of those beggars who get annually, on the 
kind's birth-day, a blue cloak or gown with a 
badge. 
hlU'd. Blood. 

Blu/itie. Snivelling. 
Blype. A shred, a large piece. 

"Till skin in blypes cam haurlin." Burns. 
Bobbit. The obeisance made by a lady. 

" O when she cam ben she bobbit fu' low." 

Old Song. 
Bock, booked. To vomit, to gush intermittently, gushed. 
" He gat it owre 
" Without a host, a bock, or glow'r." Cleland. 
Bodle. A copper coin of the value of two pennies Scots, 

or one third of an English penny. 
" I was na worth a single bodle." Scots Song. 
Bogie. A small morass. 

Bogles. Spirits, hobgoblins. 
Bo/inie, or bonny. Handsome, beautiful. 

" She s a v^ry bonnie lassie, an' you be she." 

Old Song. 

Bonnock. A kind of thick cake of bread, a small jannock 

or loaf made of oatmeal. See bannock. 
Boord. A board. 

" The Letter-gae o' holy rhyme sat up at our 
boord head." Ramsay. 

Bore. A hole in a wall, a cranny. 

"An' into holes and bores thaim hid." Buret. 
Boortree. The shrub elder, planted much of old in hedges 
of barn-yards and gardens. 
" An' sughin through the boortrees comin'." Burns. 
Boost. Behoved, must needs, wilfulness. 

Botch, blotch. An angry tumour. 
Bousing. Drinking, making merry with liquor. 
Bouk, bowk. Body. 

" I wadna gie his wee finger for your hale bouk." 
Scots Saying. 



Bow-kail. Cabbage. 

Bow-hought. Out-knee' d, crooked at the knee joint. We say 
bow-beaked of a hawk. 
" A short hought man, but fu' o' pride." Ramsay. 
Bowt, bowlt. B. nded, crooked. 

"A runt was like a sow tail, sae bowt that night.'-* 
Burns. 
Brachens. Fern. 

" It's either the tod or the bracken bush." 

Scots Proverb. 
A declivity, a precipice, the slope of a hill. 

" Twa nen I saw ayont yon brae." Ross. 

Broad. 
The king has written a braid letter." Old Ballad. 
An instrument fur rough-dressing flax, a kind of 

harrow. 
" A braik for hemp that she may rub." Watson. 
To run rashly forward, to churn violently. 

" She gied the kirn an angry brainge an' spoilt 

the butter." Scots Saying. 

" The horse brainget," plunged and fretted in 

the harness. 
Broke, became insolvent. 

"He brak wi' the fou' hand" — spoken of a 
dishonest debtor. 
A kind of wooden curb for horses 

" Gif the beast be to the fore and the branks 
bide hale." 
Gaudy. 
" Whare hae ye been sae brankie o'." Scots Song. 
A sudden illness. 

" A brash, a slight fit of sickness," Sinclair. 
Coarse clothes, rags, &c. 

" He desires no more in the world but a bit 
and a brat." Scots Saying, 

A short race, hurry, fury. 

" Giff our twa herds come brattling down the 
brae." 
Fine, handsome. 

" Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes." Old Song. 
■ brawlie. Very well, finely, heartily, bravely. 
" I win but six-pennie a' the day lang, 

An' I spent at night fu' brawlie." Old Song. 
Diseased sheep. 
" While moorland herds like gude fat braxies." 
Burns. 
Diminutive of breast. 

Did spring up or forward ; the act of mounting a 
hors< 



Brae. 
Braid. 

Braik. 

Brainge. 

Braing' t. 
Brak. 

Branks. 

Brankie. 

Brash. 

Brats. 

Brattle. 

Braw. 
Brawlys, i 

Braxies. 



Breastie. 
Breastit. 



Breckan. 
Breef. 



Breeks. 
Brent. 



Brewin' . 



She breasts the billows," men say of a ship 
when she has a fair wind. 
Brechame. A horse-collar. 

" Ane brechame and two brochis fyne." 

Bannatyne Poems. 
Fern. 
An invulnerable or irresistible spell. 

" The breef was out ; 'twas him it doomed 

The mermaid's face to see." Finlay. 

Breeches. 

Bright, clear ; " a brent brow," a brow high and 
smooth. 
" For his blvth browis brent and athir ane." 

G. Douglas. 
Brewing, gathering. 

" He saw mischief a brewin'." Burns. 

Bree, brie. Juice, liquid. 

"An' plyed their cutties at the smervy bree." 
Ramsay. 
Brig. A bridge. 

" Brig o' Balgounie, black be yere fa'." 

Scots Saying. 
Brunstane. Brimstone. 

" He stole his whig-spunks tipt wi' brunstane" 
Jacobite Rcliques. 
The breast, the bosom. 

" White legs an' briskets bare." Morison. 

A brother. 

" My brither Jock an' anither gentleman." 

Scots Saying. 
A badger. 

" Whan yc have done tak hame the hrok " 



Brisket. 
Brither. 

Brock. 



Brogue. 
Broo. 



A hum, a trick. 
" And played on man a cursed brogue." Bu^ns. 
Broth, liquid, water. 

"What's no i' the bag will be i' the broo," 
said the Highlandman when he dirked 
the haggis. 



77Q 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Brose. A kind of pottage made by pouring boiling wa- 

ter or broth on oatmeal, which is stirred 
while the liquor is poured. 
Broose. A race at country weddings ; he who first reaches 
the bridegroom's house on returning from 
church wins the broose. 
Browst. Ale, as much malt liquor as is brewed at a time. 
" Ye drink o' yere ain browst," ye suffer for 
your own mischief. 
Brugh. A burgh. 

" A royal brugh," a royal borough. 
Bruilzie. A broil, combustion. 

"For drinking, an' dancing, an' bruilzies. "Ross. 
Brunt. Did burn, burnt. 

" Turn out the brunt side o' my shin." Ramsay. 
Brust. To burst, burst. 

'The fiery sparkes brusting from his een." 

G. Douglas. 
Buchan-bullers. The boiling of the sea among the rocks on 

the coast of Buchan. 
Buckskin. An inhabitant of Virginia. 
Buff our beef. Thrash us soundly, give us a beating behind 

and before. 
Bught. A pen. 
Bughtin-time. The time of collecting the sheep in the pens 

to be milked. 
Buirdly. Stout marie, broad built. 

" He's mair buirdly i' the back than i' the brain." 

Scots Saying. 

Bum-clock. The humming beetle, that flies in the summer 

evenings. 

" The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone." Burns. 

Bummi?i\ Humming as aees, buzzing. 

"The cucking of cuckoos, the bumbling of bees." 

Urquhart. 

Bummle, bummler. To blunder — a drone, an idle fellow, one 

whose noise is greater than his work. 

" The loudest bummler' s no the best bee." 

Scots Saying. 
Bunker. A window seat. 

" Ithers frae aff the bunkers sank, 
Wi' een like collops scored." Ramsay. 

Burdies. Diminutive of birds. 
Bure. Did bear. 

Burn, burnie. Water, a rivulet, a small stream which is 
heard as it runs. 
"A flovvrie brae by which a burnie trotted." 

Scots Song. 
Burnewin\ Burn the wind, a blacksmith. 

The bellows blow wind into the fire — hence 
burn the wind. 
Burr-thistle. The thistle of Scotland. 

" The rough burr-thistle spreading wicL." Burns. 
Buskie, buskit, busks. Bushy, dressed, dresses. 

"A bonnie bride is soon busket." Scots Proverb, 
Buskit-nest. An ornamented residence. 
Buss. Shelter. 

Busle. A bustle, to bustle. 

But, bot. Without. 

"Touch not a cat but a glove." Scots Proverb. 
But and ben. The country kitchen and parlour. 

" Mony blenkis ben our the but fall far sittis." 
Dunbar. 
By himself. Lunatic, distracted, beside himself. 
Byke. A bee hi/e, a wild bee nest. 

" In herrying o' a bee byke I hae got a stang." 
Old Song. 
Byre. A cow-house, a sheep-pen. 

" He ettled the bairn in at the breast ; 

The bolt flew owre the byre." King James I. 



J To call, to name, to drive. 
" Ca' the yowes to the knowes." Scots Song. 
— ' — - | Called, driven, calved. 

L " While new ca't kye rowte at the stake." 

Burns. 
Cadger. A carrier. 

" Here ride cadgers, creels and a'." Nursery Song. 
Cadie, or Caddie. A person, a young fellow, a public mes- 
senger. 
" Where will I get a little foot page ? 

Where will I get a caddie ?" Old Song. 
Cqff. Chaff. 

" King's caff is better than other folks corn." 

Scott Proverb. 



Caird. A tinker, a maker of horn spoons, and teller of 

fortunes. 
" Hegh, sirs, what cairds an' tinklers." Fergusson. 
Cairn. A loose heap of stones, a rustic monument. 

" I will add a stone to your cairn." Scots Saying. 
Calf -ward. A small enclosure for calves. 
Culimanco. A certain kind of cotton cloth worn by ladies. 

" Her wat o' calimanco." Forbes. 

Caltan. A boy. 

" Far-famed and celebrated Allan, 
Renowned Ramsay, cantie callan." Hamilton. 
Caller. Fresh, sound, refreshing. 

"The callour air penetrative and pure." 

G. Douglas. 
Callet. A loose woman, a follower of a camp. 

" Here's to ragged brats and callets." Burns. 
Cannie. Gentle, mild, dexterous. 

" Ca' cannie lad, yere but the new-come cooper." 
Scots Suying. 
Cannilie. Dexterously, gently. 

" She wad a reined in as cannilie as a cadger's 
oony." Scott 

Cantie, or Canty. Cheerful, merry. 

" I'll be mair canty wi't, an' neer cry dool." 
Ramsay 
Cantraip. A charm, a spell. 

" a witch that for sma' price 

Can cast her cantraips and gie me advice." 

Ramsay 
Cap-stane. Cope-stone, topmost stone of the building. 

" Has laid 'die cap-stane o' them a'." A. Wilson. 
Car. A rustic cart with or without wheels. 

"Tumbler-cars, so called to distinguish them 
from trail-cars, both of which were in com- 
mon use. " Lockhart. 
Curl, Carle. An old man. 

" A pawkie auld carle cam' owre the lea." 

K. James V. 
Careerin\ Moving cheerfully. 

Carl-hemp, The male stalk of hemp, easily known by M 
superior strength and stature, and beiri{. 
without seed. 

" Thou stalk o' carle-hemp in man." Burns. 
Carlin. A stout old woman. 

" Carlin, will your dochter marry ?" 

Scots Song. 
Cartes. Cards. 
Custock. The stalk of a cabbage. 

"An there will be lang-cale and castocks." 

Scots Song. 
Caudron., A cauldron. 

" Gar tell the lady o' the place 

I'm come to clout her caudron." Scots Song. 
Cauk and keel. Chalk and red clay. 

" Wi' cauk an' keel I win my bread." 

King James V. 
Cauid. Cold. 

" Cauld winter is awa', my luve." Scots Song. 

Coup. A wooden drinking vessel, a cup. 

" We drank out o' luggies, noggies, goans, 
caups, bickers, quaighs, an' stoups." 

Scots Story. 
Cuvie. A hen-coop, 

" Croose as a cock in his ain cavie." Mayne. 
Cesses. Taxes. 

Chanter. A part of a bagpipe, the drone. 

" From their loud chanters down and sweep." 
Scott. 
Chap. A person, a fellow. 

" I met four chaps yon birks amang." Boswell. 
Chaup. A stroke, a blow. 

" Wad neither chaup nor ca'. Gil Morice. 

Cheek for chow. Close and united, brotherly, side by side. 
" Gang cheek for chow whare'er we stray." 

Macauley. 
Cheekit. Cheeked. 

"An' twa red cheekit apples." Burns, j 

Cheep. A chirp, to chirp. 

" I wad rather hear the lark sing than the 
mouse cheep." Scots Saying. 

Chiel, or cheat A young fellow. 

" The chiels may a' knit up themselves for me." I 
Ramsay. 
Chimla, or Chimlie. A fire-grate, fire-place. 

"And ilka chimla o' the house." Jamieson. 

Chimla-lug. The fire-side. 

" Ben to the chimla-lug." Burns. ' 

Chirps. Cries of a young bird. 



GLOSSARY. 



777 



Chock in 
Chow. 



Chuckle. 



Chuffie. 



Clartie. 

Clarklt. 



Clash. 



Clatter. 



C laugh t. 



Chitterlng. Shivering, trembling. 

" To let the chittering infant in." Ramsay. 
Choking. 

To chew ; a quid of tobacco. 
He took aff his bannet and spat in his chow." 

O.d Song. 
A brood hen. 
" Wi' hook an' line he baited chuckie." 

Pennycuik. 
Fat-faced. 

" How Bessie Fretocks chuffie cheekit wean." 
Ramsay. 

Clachan. A small village about a church, a hamlet. 
" The first time that he met with me 

Was at a clachan in the west." Watson. 
Clalse, or claes. Clothes. 

" Quhill that my claes grew threadbare on my back." 
Scots Rhyme. 
Claith, claithing. Cloth, clothing. 

'• Ane tailyeour can nocht make ane garment 
but of clayth." Hamilton. 

Clapper-claps. The clapper of a mill ; it is now silenced. 

"When clack, clack., clack, he heard a mill." 
Ramsay. 
Clap-clack. Clapper of a mill. 

" Whisky gill likr clap o' mill, 

Inspired his tongue wi' endless clatter." 
Dirty, filthy. 

" With claity silk about their tails." Maitland. 
Wrote. 

"Twa lines o' Davie Lyndsay wad ding a' he 
ever clarkit." Scott. 

An idle tale, the story of the day. 
' The auld wives were making game, 

An" roun' the clash did ca' man." Scots Song. 
To tell idle stories, an idle story. 

" Some playes the fule and all out clatters." 

Dunbar. 
Snatched at, laid hold of. 

" Auld Satan cl-ught him by the spaul." 

Jacobite Reliques. 
Claut, clouted. To clean, to scrape, scraped. 

" May it do nae gude to him who clauts it out 
o' the widow's house." Wilson. 

Clovers. Idle stories. 
Clavers and havers. Agreeable nonsense, to talk foolishly. 

" They frae a skelf began to claver." Morison. 
Claw. To scratch. 

" An' claw owre soon an auld man's pow." Plcken. 
Cleckin. A brood of chickens, or ducks. 

" Scared frae its minnie an' the cleckin." Burns. 
Cleed, deads. To clothe, clothes. 

" And leaves to cleed the lichen bowers." 

Fergusson. 
Cleek, cleckit. Hook, snatch ; having caught. 

" Syne up their leglins cleek." Ramsay. 

Clegs. The gad flies. 

" Of rlyes, grasshoppers, hornets, clegs, an' clocks." 

Hudson. 

Clinkiri' ■ "Jerking, Clinking down," sitting down hastily. 

Clinkum-bell. The church bell ; he who rings it ; a sort of 

beadle. 

"Auld Clinkum at the inner port cries three 
times Robin." Burns. 

Clips. Wool-shears. 

" A bonnier fleece ne'er crossed the clips." Burns. 
Clishmacluver. Idle conversation. 

"It's no right o' you, sir, to keep me clishma- 
clavering." Gait. 

Clock, clocking. To hatch, a beetle ; hatching. 

" Ye'ie sae keen o' clockin' ye'll die on the eggs." 
Scots Proverb. 
The hoof of a cow, sheep, &c. 

" When a hundred sheep rin how mony cloots 
clatter." Scots Saying. 

A familiar name for the Devil. 
' Auld Satan, Hornie, Nick, or Clootie." Burns. 
A bump, or swelling, after a blow. 

" Tho' mony had cloured pows." Ramsay. 
Repairing with cloth. 
Clouds. 

" The flaes they flew awa in cluds." Old Song. 
The sound in setting down an empty bottle. 
" And made the bottle clunk 

To their health that night." Burns. 

"Wheedling. 
A fishing-boat. 

" A litel kobil there they met." Wyntown. 



Cloot. 



Clootie. 
I Clour. 



Clouti 
Cluds. 



Clunk. 



Coaxiu' 
Coble. 



Cockernony. A lock of hair tied up on a girl's head, a cap. 
Cod. A pillow. 

" Twa heads may lie on ae cod, and naebody 
ken where the luck lies." Scots Proverb. 
Coft. Bought. 

" He that all mankind coft frae care." Wyntown. 
Cog, and Coggie. A wooden dish. 

" I wadna gie my three-girred cog 

For a' the queans in Bogie."" Old Song. 
Coila. From Kyle, a district in Ayr-shire, so called, 

saith tradition, from Coil, or Coilus, a Pictish 
Monarch. 
Collie. A general, and sometimes a particular name for 

country curs. 
" Or hounded collie owre the mossy bent " 

Ramsay. 
Collie-shangie. A quarrel among dogs, an Irish row. 

"The collyshangy raise to sic a height." Ross. 
Commaun. Command. 

" I tald them I had seen the day they had nae 
sic commaun." Scots Song. 

Convoyed. Accompanied lovingly. 

" A Kelso convoy e — a stride an' a half owre 
the door-stane." Scots Proverb. 

Cool'd in her linens. Cool'd in her death-shift. 

" Blessed be the day that she cooled in her linnens." 
Burns. 
Cood. The cud. 

Coof. A blockhead, a ninny. 

"The rest seem coofs compar'd wi' my dear Pate." 
Ramsay. 
Cookit. Appeared and disappeared by fits. 

" All close under the cloud of night thou coukkit." 
Kennedy. 
Cooser, coosser. A stallion, 

" Ye ken a fey man an' a coosser fears na the deil." 
Scott. 
Coost. Did cast. 

" We coost the cavels us amang." Old Ballad. 
Coot. The ancle, a species of water-fowl. 

"Stand there and cool ye're coots." Scots Say. 
Corbies. A species of the crow, blood crows. 
Cootie. A wooden kitchen dish, rough-legged ; also those 
fowls whose legs are clad with feathers are 
said to be cootie. 
" Spairges about ihe brunstane cootie." Burns. 
Core. Corps, party, clan. 

" He was the king o' a' the core." Burns. 
Corrtt. Fed with oats. 

" Thei were better cornytthan they were formyer." 
Acts James II. 
Cotter. The inhabitant of a cot-house, or cottage. 

" A cotter is kept for each plough on the farm " 
Sinclair. 
Couthie. Kind, loving. 

" Fu' weel they can ding dool away 

Wi' comrades couthie." Fergusson. 

Cooe. A cave. 

" King Constantine was ta'en and brought to 

ane cove." Bellenden. 

Cowe. To terrify, to keep under, to lop ; a fright, a 

branch of furze, broom, &c. 

" Ye wad gar me trow my head's cowed, 

though there's no a hair wrang on't yet." 

Scots Proverb. 

Cowp. To barter, to tumble over. 

" I mon run fast in drede I get a cowp." 

Lyndsay 
Cowp the cran. To tumble a full bucket or basket. 
Cowpit. Tumbled. 

" First coupit up his heels, so that his head 
went down." Knox. 

Cowrin\ Cowering. 
Cowte. A colt. 

" Mony a ragged cowte's been known 

To make a noble aiver." Burns. 

Cozie, cozily. Snug, snugly. 

" To keep vou cozie in a hoord." Ramsay. 
Crabbit. Crabbed, fretful. 

Crack, cruckin' . Conversation, to converse, to boast; con- 
versing. 
'■ When ye hae done it's time to crack" 

Montgomery. 
Craft, or croft. A field near a house, in old husbandry. 

" The carle he came owre the craft." Old Song. 
Craig, craigie. Neck. 

" He stretched out his craig to the sword." 

Pitscottie. 



m 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Craiks. Cries or calls incessantly, a species of bird, the 
corn-rail. 

"That geese and gaisling cryis and craikis." 
Polworth. 
Crambo-clink, or crambo-jingle. Rhymes, doggrel verses. 
Crank. The noise of an ungreased wheel — metaphorically 

inharmonious verse. 
Crankous Fretful, captious. 

" This while she's been in crankous mood." Burns. 
Cranreuch. The hoar-frost, called in Nithsdale " frost-rhyne." 
" No frost, excepting some cranreuch, or small 
frost." 
Crap. A crop, to crop. 

"That sword it crapped the bonniest flower." 
Old Song. 
Craw. A crow of a cock, a rook. 

" As the auld cock craws the young ane learns." 
Scots Proverb. 
Creel. A basket, to have one's wits in a creel, to be 

craz'd, to be fascinated. 
" Here come cadgers, creels an' a'." 

Nursery Rhyme. 
Creeshie. Greasy. 

" I ken by his greischy mou, 

He has been at ane feast." Lyndsay. 

Creuks. A disease of horses. 

" She had the cleeks, the cauld, the creuks." 
Old Song. 
Crood, or Croud. To coo as a dove. 

" Where hae ye been a' day, 

My wee wee crooding dow." Old Ballad. 
Croon, Crooning. A hollow and continued moan ; to make 
a noise like the continued roar of a bull ; 
to hum a tune ; humming. 
Crouchie. Crook-backed. 

" He swore 'twas hilchin Jean Macraw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie." Burns. 
Crouse. Cheerful, courageous. 

"They craw crouse that craw last." Scots Proverb. 
Crously. Cheerfully, courageously. 

Crowdie. A composition of oatmeal, boiled water and but- 
ter ; sometimes made from the broth of beef, 
mutton, &c. 
Crowdie time. Breakfast time. 

" Crowdie aince, crowdie twice, 

Crowdie three times in a day." Old Song. 

Crowlin'. Crawling, a deformed creeping thing. 
Crummie's nicks. Marks on the horns of a cow. 

" My crummie is ane useful cow." Scots Song. 
Crummock, Crummet. A cow with crooked horns. 

" Spying an unco cxummit be;ist." Davidson. 

Crump, crumpin' . Hard and brittle, spoken of bread ; 

frozen snow yielding to the foot. 

" Lest his crumpin' tread should her untimely 

rouse." Davidson. 

Crunt. A blow on the head with a cudgel. 

"Though I had got a fell crunt ahint the haf- 
fet." Scots Story. 

Cuddle. To clasp and caress. 

" She cuddled in wi' Johnnie." Ramsay. 

Cuif. A blockhead, a ninny. 

Cummock. A short staff with a crooked head. 

" To tremble under fortune's cummock." Burns. 
Cummock driddle. Walk slowly, leaning on a staff with a 

crooked head. 
Curch. A covering for the head, a kerchief. 

" A soudely courche o'er head and neck let 
fall." Blind Hurry. 

Curchie. A curtsey, female obeisance. 

" An' wi' a curchie low did stoop." Bums. 
Curler. A player at a game on the ice, practised in Scot- 
land, called curling. 
" To curie on the ice does greatly please." 

Pennecuik. 
Curlie. Curled, whose hair falls naturally in ringlets. 

" Green curlie kale." " Scots Story. 

Curling. A well-known game on the ice 

" As cauld's a curling stane." Scots Saying. 
" He was playing at curling with Riddel of 
Staining." Fountainhall. 

Curmurring. Murmuring, a slight rumbling noise. 
C'urpin. The crupper, the rump. 

" And were I a man I'd gar their curpins crack." 
Hamilton. 
Curple. The rear. 
Vus7ial, The dove, or wood-pigeon; 

" The cushat croods, the corbie cryes." 

Montgomery . 



Cutty. Short, a spoon broken in the middle. 

" He gae to me a cuttie knife." Old Ballad. 

Cutty Stool, or Creepie Chair. The seat of shame, stool of 

repentance. 

" The cutty stool is a kind of pillory in the 

church." Sincluir. 



I 



D 

A father. 

" Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad." 

Scots Song. 
Merriment, foolishness. 
" Quhat kind of dariin' is this all day," Lyndsay 
Mcny, giddy, foolish; Daft-buckie, mad fish. 
" Thou art the daftest fule that evir I saw." 

Lyndsay. 
Rare, now and then ; daimen icker, an ear of 
corn occasionally. 
" Paste and Yule, and daimen times." 

Scots Saying. 
Pleasant, good-humoured, agreeable, rare. 
" A dainty whistle, with a pleasant sound." 



Daffin'. 
Daft. 



Dainty. 



Dales. Plains, valleys. 

Dandered. Wandered. 

" Nae mair through flowery howes I'll dander." 
Ramsay. 
Darklins, Darkling, without light. 

"An' darklin grub this earthly hole." Burns. 
Daud. To thrash, to abuse. Daudin-showers, rain urged 

by wind. 
" Then took his bonnet to the bent, 

And daudit off the glar." Ramsay. 

Daur. To dare ; Daut, dared ; Daurna, dare not. 

" Ye daur weel but ye downa." Scots Saying. 
Daurg, or Dawk. A day's labour. 

" He never wrought a gude darg that began 
grumbling. Scots Proverb. 

Davoc. Diminutive of Davie, as Davie is of David. 

Dawd. A large piece. 

" Raw dauds make fat lads." Scots Saying. 
" A dawd o' a bannock, or fadge to prie." 

Old Ballad. 
Dawin'. Dawning of the day. 

" lie this the dawin' gan at morn wax rede." 
Gawin Douglas. 
Dawtit,Dawtet. Fondled, caressed. 

" Or has some dauted wedder broke his leg." 
Ramsay. 
Dearies. Diminutive of dears, sweethearts. 

" I 11 rowe thee owre the lea rig, my ain kind 
dearie O." Old Song. 

Dearthfu'. Dear, expensive. 

" Wi' bitter dearthfu' wines to mell." Burns. 
Deave. To deafen. 

" Wha tear their lungs and deave your ears." 
Ramsay. 
Deil-ma-care. No matter, for all that. 
Deleerit. Delirious. 

" And lived and died deleerit." Burns. 

Descrive. To describe, to perceive. 

" How pleased he was I scarcely can descrive." 
Hamilton, 
Deuks. Ducks. 

" Mony a time he wad slip to see me wi' a 
brace o' wild deuks on his pouch, when 
my gudeman was at Falkirk tryste." 

Scott. 
Dight. To wipe, to clean corn from chaff. 

" They canna dight their tears now, sae fast 
as they fa'." Old Song. 

Ding. To worst, to push, to surpass, to excel. 

" Ye may ding the deil into a wife, but ye'll 
never ding him out o' her." 

Scots Proverb. 
Dink. Neat, lady-like. 

" A dink damsel makes aft en a dirty wife." 

Scots Proverb. 
Dinna. Do not. 

" Dinna be chappit back, or cast down wi' the 
first rough answer." Scott. 

Dirl. A slight tremulous stroke or pain, a tremulous 

motion. 

" Gart Lawrie's heart-strings dirle." 

Ramsay. 



GLOSSARY. 



770 



Distain. Stain. 

" May coward shame distain his name." Burns. 
Dizzcn, or di.z'n. A dozen. 

" Man's twal" is no sae gude as the deil's diz- 
zen." Scots Proverb. 

Dochter. Daughter. 

" He repudit Agasia, the king of Britonis 
dochter." Bellenden, 

Doited. Stupified, silly from age. 

" Full doited was his head." Dunbar. 

Dolt. Stupified, crazed ; also a fool. 

Uonsie. Vjnlucky, affectedly neat and trim, pettish. 

'• For fear o' donsie whirl into the stream." 

Davidson. 
Doodle. To dandle. 

" I have an auld wife to my mither, 

Will doodle it on her knee." Scots Song. 
Dool. Sorrow; to sing dool, to lament, to mourn. 

" O dool for the order, sent our lads to the border." 
Scots Song, 
Doo, doos. A dove, doves, pigeons. 

" Thou wee wee crouding doo." Nursery Song. 
Dorty. Saucy, nice. 

'• Your well-seen love, and dorty Jenny's pride." 
Ramsay. 
Douce, or douse. Sober, wise, prudent. 

'• I've given a douse advice and plain." Ramsay. 
Duucely. Soberly, prudently. 

" " So ye may doucely fill a throne." Burns. 
lought. Was or were able. 

" And never dought a doit afford." Ramsay. 
Doup. Bottom. 

" But a' the skaith that chanced indeed 

Was only on their doups." Ramsay, 

Doup-skelper. One that strikes the tail. 

'• And did tbe bairns's doups and loofs. " 

Scots Poem. 
Dour and din. Sullen and sallow. 

" He had a wife was dour and din." Burns. 
Douse. Sober, wise, prudent. 

" ye douse pepill discend from Dardanus." 
G. Douglas. 
Douser. More prudent. 

" A doucer man never brak warld's bread." 

Scots Saying. 
Dow. Am, or are, able, can. 

" Though he dow not to leid a tyke. Dunbar. 
Dowff. Pithless, wanting force. 

'• Void of curage, and dowff as ony stane." 

G. Douglas. 
Dowie. Worn with grief, fatigue, &c, half asleep. 
•' The dowie tones and lays lamentabil." 

G. Douglas, 
Doicna. Am, or are, not able, cannot. 

''But downa do's come owre me now." Burns. 
Doylt. Wearied, exhausted, stupid. 

" Sair doylt wi' driving o' his hirsel hame." 

T. Cunningham. 
Dozen. Stupified, the effects of age, to dozen, to benumb. 
" The birds of clay 
Dozen in silence on the bending spray." 

Fergusso?i. 
Drab. A young female beggar ; to spot, to stain. 

" She drabbled them owre wi' a black tade's 
blude." Scots Song. 

Drap, drapping. A drop, to drop ; dropping. 

" She's a drap o' my dearest blude." Scots Saying. 
Draunting. Drawling, speaking with a sectarian tone. 

'• He drinks wi' Clavers and draunts wi' Cameron." 
Scots Saying. 
Dreep. To ooze, to drop. 

" And luish me out an' laid me down to dreep." 
Ross. 
Dreigh. Tedious, long about it, lingering. 

"A dreigh drink is better than a dry sermon." 
Scots Saying. 
Dribble. Drizzling, trickling, slaver. 

•' An' dribbles o' drink coming through the draff." 

Scots Song, 

Driddle. Tbe motion of one who tries to dance but moves 

the middle only. 

" Wha used at trystes an' fairs to driddle." Burns. 

Drift. A drove, a flight of fowls, snow moved by the wind. 

;: better an even down snaw than a driving drift." 

Scots Proverb. 

Droddum. The breech. 

'• Wad mess 7/ere droddum." Bums. 

prone, P.trt \>i a baypipe, the chanter. 



Droop-rumpVt. That droops at the crupper. 

"The sma' droop-rumpl't hunter cattle." Bums. 
Droukit, Wet. 

"All droukit and forewrocht." G. Douglas. 
Drouth. Thirst, drought. 

" The balmy dewe thro' burning drouth lie dries." 
King James VI. 
Drucken. Drunken. 

" Some drucken, wi' drouth do burn." 

Har'st Rig. 
Druhilie, drumly. Muddy. 

" Drumly of mude and skaldand as it were wode." 
G. Douglas. 
Drummock, or Drammock. Meal and water mixed, raw. 
" For to refresh my stamoch, 
I was received and fed with drammock." 

Watson's Collection. 
Drunt. Pet, sour humour. 

"And Mailie nae doubt took the drunt." Burns, 
Dub. A small pond, a hollow filled with rain water. 

" There lay a deuk-dub at my daddie's door." 
Old Song. 
Duds, duddie. Rags, clothes ; ragged. 

" A hair-brained wee ane wagging a' wi' duds." 
Ross, 
Dung-Dang. Worsted, pushed, stricken. 

" Jenny dang the weaver." Old Song. 

Dunted. Throbbed, beaten. 

" He dunted the kist and the boards did flee." 
Old Song. 
Dush, dunsti. To push or butt as a ram. 

" The unco brute much dunching dreed." Davidson. 

Dusht. Overcome with superstitous fear, to drop down 

suddenly, pushed by a ram, &c. 

" Down duschit he in dede thraw all forloist." 

Gawin Douglas. 

Dyvor. Bankrupt, or about to become one. 

" A dyvour buys your butter, woo' and cheese, 

But or the day of payment breaks and flees." 

Ramsay . 

E 

E'e. The eye. 

" And the blythe blinks ia her e'e." Old Song. 
Een. The eyes, the evening. 

" A winding sheet drawn o'er my een." Old Song. 
E'ebree. The eyebrow. 

" Her bonnie e'ebrees a holy arch." Scots Song. 
E'enin'. The evening. 

Eerie. Frighted, haunted, dreading spirits. 

" Gloomy, gloomy was the night, 

And eerie was the way." Old Ballad. 

Eild. Old age. 

" Ane hundreth maidens had she young and 
eild." Gawin Douglas. 

Elbuck. The elbow. 

" Hab fidg'd and leugh, his elbuck clew." Ramsay. 
Eldritch. Ghastly, frightful, elvish. 
En\ End. 

" O haste ye an' come to our gate en'." Scots Song. 
Enbrugh. Edinburgh. 

" As I came in by Enbrugh town." Old Song. 
Eneugh. Enough. 

'• But thei war glad eneugh." Dunbar. 

Especial. Especially. 

Ether-stone. Stone formed by adders, an udder bead. 
Ettle. To try, attempt, aim. 

" If I but ettle at a sang." Ramsay. 

Eydent. Diligent. 

" Them that's slack in gude are eydent in ill." 
Scots Saying. 



Fa\ Fas. Fall, lot, to fall, fate ; does fall. 

" Brig of Balgonie, black be your fa'." 

Scots Saying, 
Fu that. To enjoy, to try, to inherit. 

" How Marstig's daughter I may fa'." Jamieson, 
Faddom't. Fathomed, measured with the extended arms. 
Faes. Foes. 

" Now my dear lad maun face his faes." Maync. 
Facm, Foam of the sea. 

"Amang the white sea facm." Scu'.s Ballad 



780 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Faiket. Forgiven or excused, abated, a demand. 

" I'll no faik a farden o' my right." Gait. 

Fainness. Gladness, overcome with joy. 
Fairin'. Failing, a present brought from a fair. 

" He'll gie him his fairin' I'll be caution for't." 
Scott. 
Fallow. Fellow. 

" It is full fair to be fallow and feir." Scots Poem. 
Fand. Did find. 

" For a while their dwelling good they fand." 
Hudson. 
Farl. A cake of bread ; third part of a cake. 

" O'er a weel tostit girdle farl." Fergusson. 
Fash, fasht. Trouble, care, to trouble, to care for, troubled. 
" They're fenyiet freens that canna be fasht." 
Scots Proverb. 
Fasheous. Troublesome. 
Fasten e'en. Fasten's even. 
Faught. Fight. 

" Man is a sodger and life is a faught." Burns. 

Faugh. A single furrow, out of lea, fallow. 

" Farmers faugh gars lairds laugh." Scots Proverb. 
Fauld, faulding. A fold for sheep, to fold ; folding. 

" Will yc ca' in by our town as ye gang to the 
fauld. " Scots Song. 

Faut. Fault. 

'• Wha will own he did the faut." Burns. 

Fawsont. Decent, seemly. 
Feal. Loyal, stedfast ; a field, smooth. 

" Farewell my leal, feal friend." Scott. 

Fearfu'. Fearful, frightful. 
Fear't. Affrighted. 

Feat. Neat, spruce, clever. 

" The naturally neat will aye be feat." 

Scots Saying. 
Fecht,Fechtin\ To fight, fighting. 

" Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck." Burns. 
Feck. Number, quantity. 

" My words they were na mony feck." Scots Song. 
Fecket. An under waistcoat. 
Feckfu' . Large, brawny, stout. 

"Till mony a teckfull chiel that day was slain." 
Hamilton. 
Feckless. Puny, weak, silly. 

" Breathless and feckless there she sits her 
down." Ross. 

Feckly. Mostly, weakly. 

"Three carts and twa are feckly new." Burns. 
Feg. A fig. 

Fegs. Faith, an exclamation. 

" By my fegs 
Ye've set auld Scota on her legs." Beattie. 
Feide. Feud, enmity. 

"Quhar Wilyham micht be bettir frae thair 

feide . ' ' Blind Harry . 

Fell. Keen, biting; the flesh immediately under the 

skin ; a field pretty level, or the side or top of 

a hill. 

Felly. Relentless. 

" Fortune's felly spite." Burns. 

Fend. To make a shift, to contrive to live. 

" For poortith I might make a fen." Burns. 
Ferlie, or ferley. To wonder, a wonder, a term of con- 
tempt. 
" Nane ferlies mair than fulis." Montgomery. 
Fetch, fetch'' t, To pull by fits ; pulled intermittently. 
Fey. Strange ; one marked for death, predestined. 

" The folk was fey that he before him fand." 
Blind Harry. 
Fidge. To fidget, fidgetting. 

" No ane gies e't-r a fidge or fyke." 

Macaulay . 
Fidgm'-fain. Tickled with pleasure. 

" I'm fidging-fain to see you." Scots Sons. 
Fiel. Soft, smooth. 

Fient. Fiend, a petty oath. 

" Fient a crum o' thee she fa's. Old Sung. 

Fien-ma-care. The devil may care. 

"I'm the deil, quo he, fien ma' care, quo I." 
Scots Story. 
Fier, fiere, Sound, healthy ; a brother, a friend. 

" There's Jenny comely, fier and tight. 

A. Douglas. 

Fissle. To make a rustling noise, to fidget, bustle, fuss. 

*' The oddest fike and fissle that e'er was seen." 

Ross. 

Fit, Foot. 

" O think that eild wi' wyly fit." Fergusson. 



Fittie-lan. The nearer horse of the hindmost pair in the 

plough. 
Fizz. To make a hissing noise, fuss, disturbance. 

" What fizzes in the mou' winna feed tho 
wame." Scots Saying. 

Flaffen. The motion of rags in the wind ; of wings. 

" There was rustlin o' silks an' flaffin o' 
feathers." Scots Story. 

Flainen. Flannel. 
Flang. Threw with violence. 



Fleech, fleechir 



Fleesh. 



To supplicate in a flattering manner ; sup- 
plicating. 
" At fairs or at preaching, nae wooing, nae 
fleeching." Old Song. 

A fleece. 

"As fox in ane lambes fleesch feinge I my 
cheir." Dunbar. 

A kick, a random blow, a fight. 
" Syne at the lown a fearful fleg let flee." 

Hamilton. 
fTo decoy by fair words. 

tl "Aye Aether away; since I'll no do wi' 
foul play, try me wi fair." 
Scots Saying. 
Flethrin, flethers. Flattering — smooth wheedling words. 
Fley. To scare, to frighten. 

"Them that's ill fleyed are seldom sair hurt." 
Scots Proverb. 
Flichter, flichtering. To flutter as young nestlings do when 
their dam approaches ; fluttering. 
" I trow my heart was flichtering fain." 

Scots Song. 
Shreds, broken pieces. 

" Into a thousand flinders flew." Scott. 

t. A piece of timber hung by way of partition 
between two horses in a stable ; a flail. 
Flisk, flisky, fliskit. To fret at the yoke, fretted. 

" But never ane will be sae daft as tent auld 
Johnies flisky dame." Hogg. 

" Fasheous fools are easiest flisket." 

Scots Proverb. 
To vibrate like the wings of small birds. 
"She's a bad sitter that's ay in a flitter." 

Scots Proverb. 
Fluttering, vibrating, moving tremulously from 

place to place." 
A servant in livery. 

" So flunky braw when drest in Maister's 
claise." Fergusson. 

Flyte, fly ting . Scold ; scolding. 

" Quha cannot hald their peace are free to flyte." 
Gawin Douglas, 
A ford. 
" I aye roose the foord as I ride it." 

Scots Proverb. 
Forbears. Forefathers. 

" Thare our forbearis in their credillis lay." 

Gawin Douglas. 
Besides. 

" Forbye the ghaist, the green room does na 
vent weel in a high wind." Scott. 

Forfairn. Distressed, worn out, jaded, forlorn, destitute. 

" So sadly forfairn were we." Ross. 

Forfoughten, foughten. Troubled, fatigued. 

" Or gif I wes forfochten faynt." King James. 
Forgather. To meet, to encounter with. 

" Fools are fond o' a' they foregather wi*. 

Scots Proverb. 
Forgie. To forgive. 

" It's easier to forgi'e than forget." Scots Prov. 
Forinawed. Worn out. 

"Forjidged, forjesket, forinawed." Scots Rhymes. 
Forjesket. Jaded with fatigue. 

" Forejidged, forfoughten an' forjesket." 

Scots Saying. 
Fodder. 
Full, drunk. 

" I pertaive him well fou'." Lyndsay. 

Plenty, enough, or more than enough. 

" Thy copious fouth or plenitude." G. Douglas 
A measure, a bushel : also a pitchfork. 

" Some fork low but ye fow owre the mou." 

Scots Saying. 
From. 
" Far far frae me and Logan braes." 

Mayne. 
Froth ; the frothing of ale in the tankard. 
" O rare to see thee fizz and freath." Burns. 



Fleg. 



Flether. 



Flinders. 
Flingintret 



Flitter. 



Flittering 
Flunkie. 



Foord 



Forb, 



Father. 
Fou'. 



Fouth. 



Fow. 



Frae, 



Freath. 



GLOSSARY. 



781 



Frie?i\ Friend. 

" A firm frien' raay be found in the fremit " 

Scots Sayi?ig. 
Frosty -calker. The heels and front of a horse-shoe, turned 

sharply up for riding on an icy road. 
Fu'. Full. 

" I'm no just fou, but I'm gayley yet." Old Song. 
Fuel. The scut or tail of the hare, coney, &c. 

"An' scarcely left to co'er their fuds." Burns. 
Fuff, ftift. To blow intermittently ; did blow. 

" The breath o' a fa'use frien's waur nor the 

fuff o' a weasel." Scots Proverb. 

Fu-hant. Full-handed; said of one well to live in the world. 

"He canna fail fair that breaks wi' the fu' ban'." 

Scots Proverb. 

Funnie. Full of merriment. 

" When he has his grog aboard he's so d — d 
funny wi' his cranks and his jests." Scott. 
Fur. A furrow. 

Fur-ahin. The hindmost horse on the right hand when 
ploughing. 

" My fur-ahin's a wordy beast." Burns. 

Furder. Further, succeed. 

" Weel, my babie, may ye furder." Scots Song. 
Furm. A form, a bench. 

Fyke. Trifling cares, to be in a fuss about trifles. 

"And made the carles strangely fidge and fyke." 
Hamilton. 
Fyle, fyl't. To soil, to dirty ; soiled. 

" Her face wad' fyle the Logan water." Burns. 



Gab. The mouth, to speak boldly or pertly. 

" I'll thraw my gab and gloom." Ramsay. 
Gaberlunzie. Wallet-man, or tinker. 

" She's aff wi' the gaberlunzie man." 

King James V. 
Gadsman. Plough-boy, the boy that drives the horses in the 

plough. 
Gae. To go ; gaed, went ; gane, or gaen, gone ; gaun, 

going. 

" Fy gae rub her owre wi' strae." Scots Song. 
Gaet, or gate. Way, manner, road. 

" I'll ne'er advise my niece sae grey a gate." 
Ramsay. 
Gairs. Parts of a lady's gown. 

" My lady's gown there's gairs upon't." Burns. 
Gang. To go, to walk. 

" Full tenderlie till thou beyonth to gang." 

Dunbar. 
Gangrel. A wandering person. 

" An' like a gangarel on to graep." Dunbar. 
Gar. To make, to force to ; gar't, forced to. 

" Fye gar ride and fye gar rin." K. James V. 
Garten. A garter. 

" Bot of ane auld red gartane." Scots Poem. 
Gash, gashing. Wise, sagacious, talkative, to converse ; 
conversing. 

"The cheering supper gars them glibly gash." 
Fergusson. 
Gatty. Failing in body. 

" She's grown gattie that was ance a dautie." 
Scots Saying. 
Gaucy. Jolly, large, plump. 

"When pacing wi' a gawcy air." Fergusson. 
Gaud and gad. A rod or goad. 

" A red het gad o' airn." Old Ballad. 

Gaudsman. One who drives the horses at the plough. 

" A gadsman ane, a thresher t'other." Burns. 
Gaun. Going. 

" She's gaun gear, gaun gear." Scots Saying. 
Gaunted. Yawned, longed. 

" When he list gaunt or blaw the fyre is bet," 
G. Douglas. 
Gawky, gawkie. Half-witted, foolish, romping ; a thought- 
less person and something weak. 
" Wert thou a giglet gawky like the lave." 

Ramsay. 
Gaylies, gaylie. Pretty well. 

" I'mno that fou' but I'm gaylie yet." Scots Song. 
Gear. Riches, goods of any kind. 

" Which made the laird take up more gear." 
Watson. 
Geek. To toss the head in wantonness or scorn. 

" She geeks at me and says I smell o' tar." 

Ramsay. 



Ged. A pike. 

" Ged of that ilk had three geds, or pykis 
argent. ' * Mackenzie. 

Gentles. Great folks. 

" Here ride gentles, spurs an' a'." 

Nursery Rhymes. 
Genty. Elegant. 

" Her waist and feet's fu' genty." Ramsay. 
Geordie. George, a guinea, called Geordie from the head 
of King George. 
" And they hae slain Sir Charlie Hay, 

An' laid the wyte on Geordie." Old Ballad 
Get and geat. A child, a young one. 

" Then Cupid, that ill-deedy get." Ramsay. 
Ghaist ghaistis. A ghost. 

"All is but gaistis and elrische fantasayes." 

G. Douglas. 
Gie. To give ; gied, gave ; gien, given. 

" Gie her a kiss an' let her gae." Scots Song. 
Giftie. Diminutive of gift. 

" Wad but some power the giftie gie us." 

Burns. 
Giglcts. Laughing maidens, playful girls. 

" But what if some young giglet on the 
green." Ramsay. 

Gillie, gillock. Diminutive of gill. 

" He gangs frae the jilt to the jillock." 

Scots Saying. 
Gilpey. A half-grown, half-informed boy or girl, a romp- 
ing lad, a hoyden. 

" A gilpey that had seen thefaught." Ramsay. 
Gimmer. An ewe two years old, a contemptuous term for 
a woman. 
" The mim-mou'd gimmers them misca'd." 

Galloway. 
Gin. If, against. 

" Gin a body meet a body coming thro' the 
rye." Scots Song. 

Gipsey. A young girl. 

" Gypsey, a young girl, a term of reproach." 
Sibbald. 
Girdle. A round iron plate on which oat-cake is fired. 

" Or Culross girdles on it hammer." Meston. 
Gim, girning. To grin, to twist the features in rage, agony, 
&c. ; grinning. 
" At hame to gim, and whinge, and pine." 

Fergusson. 
Gizz. A perriwig, the face. 

" Set up a frightfu' gizz." Tarras. 

Glaikit. Inattentive, foolish. 

" Quhattane ane glaikit fule am I." 

Scottish Chronicles 
Glaive. A sword. 

" O wae be to the hand whilk drew na* the 
glaive." Scots Song. 

Glaizie. Glittering, smooth, like glass. 

" I've seen thee dapplit, sleek an' glazie." 

Burns. 
Glaumed. Grasped, snatched at eagerly. 

" Few get what they glaum at." Scots Prov. 
Girran. A poutherie girran, a little vigorous animal ; a 

horse rather old, but yet active when heated. 
Gled. A hawk. 

" And by them cam the greed y gled," 

Scots Proverb 
Gleg. Sharp, ready. 

" To Berwick Law make gleg retreat." 

Fergusson. 
Glen. Dale, deep valley. 

Gleib, Glieb o' Ian'. A portion of ground. The ground 
belonging to a manse is called "the glieb," 
or portion. 
Gley. A squint, to squint; a-gley, off at a side, 

wrong. 

" Sum scornit him, sum gleyd carl called him 
thair." Blind Harry. 

Gleyde. An old horse. 

" Ane crukit gleyd fell owre ane heugh." 



Glib-gabbit. That speaks smoothly and readily. 

"An' that glib-gabbit Highland baron." Burns. 
Glint, GlintM. To peep, peeping. 

" The sun was glinting owre the scene." Mayne. 
Glinted by. Went brightly past. 

" It was nae sae ye glinted by." Burns. 

Gloamin'. The twilight. 

"At e'en in the gloamin' nae swankies are 
roamin." Scots Song. 



782 



THE WORKS OF BURNS 



Gloamin shot. Twilight, musing ; a shot in the twilight. 

"A gloamin shot it was, I trow." Burns. 

Glow'r. To stare, to look; a stare, a look. 

" He girn't, he glowr'd." Dunbar. 

Glowrin'. Around, looking suspiciously, gazing. 

" My mither's ay glow ran owre me." Ramsay. 
Glum. Displeased. 

" Glum fowks no easily guided." Scots Proverb. 
Gor-cocks. The red game, red cock, or moor-cock. 
Goavan. Walking as if blind, or without an aim. 

" Some show a gliff o' the gowk, but yere aye 
" goavan." Scots Proverb. 

Gowan. The flower of the daisy, dandelion, hawk- 
weed, &c. 
" Where the gowan heads hang pearly." 

Scots Song. 
Gowany. Covered with daisies. 

" Sweeter than gowany glens, or new mown 
hay." Ramsay. 

Gowd. G..Id. 

" And gowd amang her hair." Scots Song. 
Goiul. To howl. 

"The ravening pack are gowling led " 

Davidson. 
Gowf. A fool ; the game of golf, to strike, as the bat 

does the ball at golf. 

" A gowf at Yule will no be bright at Beltane." 
Scots Proverb. 
Gowk. Term of contempt, a cuckoo. 

"The gowk, the gormaw, and the gled." 

Dunbar. 
" Daft gowk leave off that silly whinging way." 
Ramsay. 
Grane, or grain. A groan, to groan; graining, groaning. 

" He graned like ony ghaist." King James I. 
Grained and gaunted. Groaned ;md yawned. 
Gruip. A pronged instrument for cleaning cowhouses. 

"The graip he for a harrow tak's" Burns. 
Gruith. Accoutrements, furniture, dress, gear. 

"The irne graith, the werkmen and the wrich- 
tis." Douglas. 

Grannie. Grandmother. 

" The gladness which dwells in their auld 
grannie's e'e." Scots Song. 

Grape. To grope ; grapit, groped. 

" Quhilk ye shall see and grape." Lyndsay. 
Grat. Wept, shed tears. 

Great, grit. Intimate, familiar. 

" Awa, awa, the deil's owre grit wi' you." 

Ramsay. 
Gree. To agree ; to bear the gree, to be decidedly vic- 

tor ; gree't, agreed. 

" Allan bears 
The gree himself, and the green laurel wears." 
Ross. 
Green-graff. Green grave. 

" They howkit his graff in the Dukit Kirk- 
yard." Scots Song. 
Greet. To shed tears, to weep ; greetin' , weeping. 

"For sorrowe he 'gan grete." Sir Tristrem. 
Grey-neck- quill. A quill unfit for a pen. 

" He's frae the tap o" the wing, but yere a 
grey- neck -quill." Scots Proverb, 

vfrien. Longing, desire. 

" And foik wad threep that she did grien." 

Ramsay. 
Grieves. Stewards. 

" A gude grieve is better than an ill worker." 
Scots Proverb. 
Grippit. Seized, catched. 

"And they hae grippit Hughie Graham." Old Bal. 
Groanin-maut. Drink for the cummers at a lying in. 

" Wha will buy my groanin maut." Bums. 
Groat. To get the whistle of one's groat; to play a 

losing game, to feel the consequences of one's 
folly. 
Grousome, or Gruesome. Loathsomely, grim. 

" Thy gruesome grips were never scaithly." 

Hogg. 
Grozet. A gooseberry. 

" He lap at me like a cock at a grozet." 

Scots Saying. 
Grumph. A grunt, to grunt. 

" What can ye get of a sow but a grumph." 

Scots Proverb. 

Grumphie, grumphin. A sow ; the snorting of an angry pig. 

" Better speak bauldly out than aye be 

grumphing." Scots Proverb- 



Grim''. Ground. 

'• Hi' 's sometimes in the air, but ye're aye OK 
the grun'." Scots Saying. 

Grunstone. A grindstone. 

"Be to the poor like ony whunstane, 
An' haud their noses to the grunstane." 

Burns. 
Gruntle. The phiz, the snout, a grunting noise. 

" The gruntill of Santt Antonis sow." Lyndsay. 
Grunzie. A mouth which pokes out like that of a pig ; the 
face, the countenance. 

" Dights her grunzie wi' a hushion." Burns. 
Gnishie. Thick, of thriving growth. 

" Ye're a' grease, but I'm only grushic." 

Scots Saying. 
Gude, guid, guids. The Supreme being, good, goods. 

" Let us choose five of this guid companye." 
Blind Harry. 
Gude auld-has-been. Was once excellent. 

" My Ian' afore's a gnid-auld-has-been." 

Burns. 
Guid mornin'. Good morrow. 

" Guid mornin' maist blytheiy the auld carle 
said." Scots Song. 

Guid e'en. Good evening. 

" Wi' mony guid e'ens an' guid days to me." 
K. James V. 
Guidfuther and Guidmother. Father-in-law, and Mother-in- 
law. 

" Caratak fled to his gude moder Cartumandia." 

Bellenden. 

Guidman and Guidwife. The master and mistress of the 

house ; young guidman, a man newly married. 

" The auld guid man that thou talks of." 

Scots Song. 
Gully, or guttle. A large knife. 

" Yon gullie is nae mows." Ramsay. 

Guii'urage. Joyous mischief. 

" Watty's was a walloping gulravage." Gait 
Gumlie. Muddy. 

" What's this that I see jaupin gumlie?" 

Tarras. 
Gumption. Discernment, knowledge, talent. 
" They're but unlearned clerks, 
And want the gumption." Hamilton. 

Gusty, guslfiC. Tasteful. 

" O withered bent wi' gustfu' hungry bite." 

Davidson. 
Gut-scraper. A fiddler. 

" As weel as puir gut-scraper. Bums. 

Gutcher. Grandsire. 

" Ye might be my gutcher." Macniell. 



H 



Ha'. Hall. 

" Stately stept he east the ha'." Scots Ballad. 
Ha' Bible. The great bible that lies in the hall. 

"The big ha' bible, ance his father's pride." 
Burns. 
Haddin'. House, home, dwelling-place, a possession. 

" Tho' her hauding be but sma'." Train. 

Hae, ha' en. To have, to accept ; haven. 

"He's no sae deaf; he hears when they say 
hae." Scots Proverb. 

Haet, fient haet. A petty oath of negation ; nothing. 

" Diel haet has she but the gown she gangs 
in." Scots Saying. 

Haffet. The temple, the side of the head. 

" Clinkand about his haifets with ane din." 

Douglas. 
Hafflins. Nearly half, partly, not fully grown. 

" While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak." 

Burns. 
Hag. A gulf in mosses and moors, moss ground. 

" His honour was wi' the folk who were get- 
ting down the dark hag." Scott. 
Haggis. A kind of pudding, boiled in the stomach of a 
cow or. sheep. 

" As thou wad for a haggis, hungry gled." 
Dunbar. 
Hain. To spare, to save, to lay out at interest. 

" Jump't in, swam o'er, and hain'd his plack." 



Hain'd 



Spared ; hain'd gear, hoarded money. 
" Hain'd gear helps welL" 



Scots Proverb. 



GLOSSARY. 



783 



Hairst. Harvest. 

" In hairst at the shearing." Scots Song. 

Haith. A petty oath. 

" Haith Allan hath bright rays." A. Nicol. 
Huivc-fs. Nonsense, speaking without thought. 

" Some hae haurls o' sense, but yere aye baivering." 
Scots Proverb. 
Hal', or hold. An abiding place. 

" Ane gousty hald within laithlie to see." 

G. Douglas. 
Hale, or haill. Whole, tight, healthy. 

" Weyll rewlytt offtong, right haill of contenance." 
Blind Harry. 
Hallan. A particular partition wall in a cottage, or more 
properly a seat of turf at the outside. 
" Hab got a kent stood by the hallan." 

Ramsay. 
Hallowmass. Hallow eve, the 31st of October. 

" When hallowmass is come and gane." 

Scots Song. 
Haly. Holy; "haly -pool, " holy well with healing 

qualities. 

"Thir Rapys war gude haly men." Wyntown. 
Hame. Home. 

" Hame is ay hame be it ever sae harnely." 

Scots Proverb. 
Hammered. The noise of feet like the din of hammers. 

" He in the parlour hammered." Burns. 

Han' or Haun', Han's breed. Hand ; hand's breadth. 

" A limpin leg a han's breed shorter." Burns. 
Hanks. Thread as it comes from the measuring reel, 
quantities, &c. 
" Her hair in hanks o' gowden thread," 

Scots Song. 
Hansel-throne. Throne when first occupied by a king. 

" To hansel a new coat is to put a coin in the 
pocket." 
Hap. An outer garment, mantle, plaid, &c ; to wrap, 

to cover, to hap. 
" I'll make a hap for my Johnny Faa." Scots Song. 
Harigals. Heart, liver, and lights of an animal. 

" He that never eats flesh thinks harigals a 
feast." Scots Proverb. 

Hap-shackled. When a fore and hind foot of a ram are fast- 
ened together to prevent leaping, he is said to 
be hap-shackled. A wife is called " the kirk's 
hap -shackle." 
Happer. A hopper, the hopper of a mill. 

"An' heapet high the happer." ScGtsSong. 
Hap-step-an' -loup. Hop — step — and leap. 

" The best gie whiles a jump, but yere aye at 
hap-step-an'-loup." Scots Saying. 

Harkit. Hearkened. 

" Had I to guid advice but harkit." Burns. 
Ham. A very coarse linen. 

"As coarse as Nancie's harn sark — three 
threads out o' the pund." Scots Saying. 
Hash. A fellow who knows not how to dress nor act 

with propriety. 
" 1 canna thole the clash 

Of this impertinent old hash." Ramsay. 
Hastit. Hastened. 

" He hastit to his end like the moth to the 
caunle." Scots Proverb. 

Haud. To hold. 

" Some can steek their neive, but ye hae nae 
haud o' yere han'." Scots Proverb. 

HaugJis. Low lying, rich lands, valleys. 

" Amid the haughs and every lusty vale." 

G. Douglas. 
Haurl. To drag, to pull violently. 

" Achilles haurlet Hector's body tlvrys." 

G. Douglas. 
Haurlin'. Tearing off, pulling roughly. 

" He haurled auld luckie out o' her bed." 

Scots Song. 
Haver-meal. Oatmeal. 

" Whare gat ye that haver-meal bannock." 

Scots Song. 
Haveril. A half-witted person, half-witted, one who habi- 
tually talks in a foolish or incoherent manner. 
" Ye've learned to crack sae crouse, ye haveril 
Scot." Fergusson. 

Ravins. Good manners, decorum, good sense. 

" For me to speer wad nae gude havins been." 
Ross. 
Hawkie. A cow, properly one with a white face. 

" Whan han' for nieve the hawkies stan'." Picken. 



Heapit. Heaped. 

" Some strake the measure o' justice, but ye 
giet heapit." Scots Proverb. 

Healsome. Healthful, wholesome. 

"As healsome as the waal o' Spa, an' unco' 
biate." Ramsay. 

Hearse. Hoarse. 

" Alas ! my roupit muse is hearse." Burns. 
Heather. Heath. 

" As fire to heather set." Scots Ballad. 

Hcch. Oh, strange, an exclamation during heavy work. 

"The silliest strake has the loudest bech." 

Scots Proverb. 
Hecht. Promised, to foretell something that is to be got 

or given, foretold, the thing foretold, offered. 
" And thai may hecht als to fulfill." Barbour 
Heckle. A board in which are fixed a number of sharp 
steel prongs upright for dressing hemp, flax, &c 
" I'd climb a hill o' heckle teeth 

For luve o' thee, my lady O." Scots Song. 
Hee balou. Words used to soothe a child. 

" Hee balou, my sweet wee Donald." Burns. 

Heels-owre-gowdie. Topsy turvy, turned the bottom upwards. 

" I eonped Mungo's ale 

Clean heels o'er head, when it was ripe an' stale." 

Ross. 

Heeze. To elevate, to rise, to lift. 

" Towart the lift wi' mony a heeze and hale." 
G. Douglas. 
Hellim. The rudder or helm 

" An' did our hellim thraw, man." Burns. 
Herd. To tend flocks, one who tends flocks. 

" When they were able now to herd the ewes." 

Ross. 

Herry. To plunder ; most properly to plunder birds' nest?. 

" And herryit them in sic manner. Barbour 

Herryment. Plundering, devastation. 

" Ha'es nae herryment." Scots Proverb. 

HerseV , hirsel' . Herself; a flock of sheep, also a herd of 
cattle of any sort. 

" Ae scabbu sheep will scau' the hale hirsel." 
Scots Proverb 
Hessel. So many cattle as one person can attend. 
Het. Hot, heated. 

" Strike iron while it's het, if ye'd have it to wald." 
Ramsay 
Heugh. A crag, a ravine ; coal heugh, a coal pit ; lowin 
heugh, a blazing pit. 

" Sae Inch up in the heugh." Montgomery. 
Hilch, hilchin'. To halt, halting. 

" He swore 'twas hilchin' Jean Macraw." Burn*. 
HimseV. Himself. 
Hiney. Honey. 

" For though thy hair were hanks o' gowd, 

And thy lips o' drapp:'" hinny." Scots Song. 
Hing. To hang. 

" Gar hing him, hang him, high upon a tree." 
Scots Song. 
Hirple. To walk crazily, to walk lamely, to creep. 

" He, tired and weary, hirpled down the brae." 
Ross. 
Histie. Dry, chapt, barren. 

" With hirstis harsh of waggand windil strayis." 
G. Douglas. 
Hitcht. A loop, make a knot. 
Hizzie. Hussy, a young girl. 

"A braw bouncing hizzie O." Scots Song. 
Hoddin. The motion of a husbandman riding on a cart- 
horse. 

" Gaed hoddin by their cotters." Burns. 

Hoddin-grey. Woollen cloth of a coarse quality made by 
mingling one black fleece with a dozen white 
ones. 

" Maun with the shepherds stay 
And tauk what God will send in hoddin grey." 
Ramsay. 
Hoggie. A two-year old sheep. 

" An unco' tyke lap owre the dyke, 

An' maist has killed my hoggie." Burns. 
Hog-score. A distance line in curling drawn across the rink. 
When a stone fails to cross it, a cry is raised 
of " A hog, a hog," and it is removed. 
Hog-shouther. A kind of horse play by justling with the 
shoulder ; to justle. 
" Hog-shouther, jundie stretch an' strive." 

Burns. 
Hoodie-craw. A blood crow, corbie. 

" The huddit craws cried varrok, varrok." 



784 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Hool. Outer skin or case, a nutshell, pea husk. 

" I thought my heart had coupit frae its hool." 
Ross. 

Hoolie. Slowly, leisurely. 

" Oh ! that my wife wad drink hoolie and fairly." 
Scots Song. 
Hoord. A hoard, to hoard. 

" He hid a bodle and thought it a hoord." 

Scots Saying. 
Hoordit. Hoarded. 

" It's owre weel hoordit that canna be foun'." 
Scots Proverb. 
Horn. A spoon made of horn. 

" Ram horns a-piece, an' bae done wi't." 

Tinker's Grace. 
Hornie. One of the many names of the devil. 

"Auld Hornie, Sata-n, Nick, or Clootie." Burns. 
Host, or hoast, hostin' . To cough ; coughing. 
Hotch'd. Hitched, turned topsy-turvy, blended, mixed. 

" Gude help ye to a hotch, for ye'll never get a 
coach." Scots Proverb. 

Houghmagandie. Loose behaviour, fornication. 
" An' mony a job that day begun 

May end in houghmagandie." Burns. 

Housie. Diminutive of house. 

" Thy wee bit housie too in ruin." Burns. 
Hove, hoved. To heave, to swell. 

" The whole body is hoved like a loaf." 

Hogg — Highland Society Trans. 
Howdie. A midwife. 

" How Mungo's mare stood still and swat wi' fright, 
When he brought cast the howdie under night." 
Ramsay. 
Howe. Hollow, a hollow or dell. 

" Every hight has a how behind it." Scots Prov. 
Howebackit. Sunk in the back, spoken of a horse. 

" Ye'll ne'er grow howbackit bearing yere frien's." 
Scots Proverb. 
Iloivff. A house of resort, a hiding-place. 

" Frae ilka favourite kowff and beild." Fergusson. 
Howk. To dig. 

" Be there gowd where he's to beek, 
He'll howk it out o' brimstone smeek." 

Scots Poem. 
Howkit. Digged. 

" They howkit his graff in the Duket's kirkvard." 
Old Ballad. 
Howkin'. Digging deep, 
Howlet. An owl. 

" He kens nae a mavis frae a madge howlet." 
Scots Proverb. 
Hoy, hoy't. Tj urge, urged. 

" They hoy'd him out o' Lauderdale, 

Fiddle an' a' thegither." Scots Song. 

Hoyse. A pull upwards. Hoyse a creel, to raise a bas- 
ket ; hence "hoisting creels." 
Hoyte. To amble crazily. 

Hughoc. Diminutive of Hughie, as Hughie is of Hugh. 
Hums and hankers. Mumbles, and seeks to do what he 

cannot perform. 
Hunkers. Kneeling, and falling back on the hams. 

" A hunker doddie " on the ice, is to be pushed 
along in that posture. 
Hurcheon. A hedgehog. 

" Owre a hill o' heckle teeth, 

An' down a vale o' hurcheon hides." 

Old Rhyme. 
Ilurdies. The loins, the crupper. 

" Gaured a' their hurdies wallop." Ramsay. 
Hushion, or hoshen. A cushion, also an old stocking with 
the foot, or sole of the foot, worn out. 
" And sewed his saul up in a hoshen." 

T. Cunningham. 
Huchyalled. To move with a hilch. 

" They mounted him high on a huchyalled horse." 
Scots Rhyme. 



Icker. An ear of corn. 

" A daimen icker in a thrave." Bums, 

leroe. A great grandchild. 

Ilk, or ilka. Each, every. 

"For ilka sheep ye hae I'll number ten." Ramsay. 
lU-imUie. Ill-natured, malicious, niggardly. 

"An ill-willy cow should have short horns." 
Scots Proverb. 



Genius, ingenuity. 
" For beautie, sweetness, modestie, ingine." 
Brummond. 
Fire, fire-place. 

" And some the haly ingle with them bare." 
G. Bouglas. 
Ingle-low. Light from the fire, flame from the hearth. 

"A bleezing ingle and a clean hearth stane." 
Ramsay, 
I rede ye. I advise ye, I warn ye. 

" I rede ye, gude people, beware o' me." 

Scots Song. 
I shall, or will. 
" But gin't be sae, Sir, I'se be judg'd by you." 
Ross, 
Other, one another. 

" The deil's bairns are aye fain o' ither." 

Scots Saying. 



Ingie. 
Ingle. 



I'se. 



Ither. 



Jad. Jade ; also a familiar term among country folks 

for a giddy young girl. 

" Conscience, quo' I, ye thowless jad." Burns. 
Jauk. To dally, to trifle. 

" Get up, my muse, ye lazy jauker." Fisher. 
Jauner. Talking, and not always to the purpose. 
" You teaze me jaunering av of faith." 

Falls of Clyde. 
Jaup. A jerk of water, to jerk, as agitated water. 

" Is by the jaup of fludis couerit quite," 

G. Bouglas. 

Jaw. Coarse raillery, to pour out, to shut, to jerk as 

water. 

" Quhilk as thou seis with mony jaup and jaw." 

G. Bouglas. 

Jillet. A jilt, a giddy girl. 

" A jillet brak his heart at last." Burns. 

Jimp. To jump, slender in the waist, handsome. 

" And wha will lace my middle jimp." Old Ballad. 
Jink. To dodge, to turn a corner ; a sudden turning, a 

corner. 
Jink an' diddle. Moving to music, motion of a fiddler's 
elbow. 

Starting here and there with a tremulous 
movement. 
linker. That turns quickly, a gay sprightly girl. 

" Contend wi' thriftless mates or jinkers." Ramsay. 
Jinkin' . Dodging, the quick motion of the bow on the 
fiddle. 

" To dance wi' her where jinkin' fiddles plav." 
A. Scott. 
Jirt. A jerk, the emission of water, to squirt. 

Thus the poet says of fortune : 

" She's gien me many a jirt an' fleg." Burns. 
Jocteleg. A kind of knife 

"There's thretty pennies, gang and buy me a 
jocteleg." Jamieson. 

Jouk. To stoop, to bow the head, to conceal. 

" And joukit under thf spere<" G. Bouglas. 
Jow, to jow. The swinging motion and pealing sound of a 
large bell. 

" The bells they jow'd and run." Old Ballad. 
Jundie. To justle, a push with the elbow. 

" If a man's gaun down the brae ilka ane gies 
him a jundie." Scots Proverb, 

K 

Kae. A daw. 

" Bark like ane dog, and kekil like ane kae." 

Kail. 

Kailrunt. 

Kain. 

Kebars. 

Kebbuck. 



Colewort, a kind of broth. 

" There's cauld kail in Aberdeen." Scots Song. 
The stem of a colewort. 

" Fient haet o't wad hae pierced the heart 
O' a kail-runt." Burns. 

Fowls, &c, paid as rent by a farmer. 

"Tho' they should dearly pay the kain." 

Fergusson, 
Rafters. 

" As it had been ane kebir or ane spar." 

G. Bouglas. 
A cheese. 

" They'll stou the kebbuck to the heel," 

Fergusson. 



GLOSSARY. 



7SS 



Keckle. Joyous cry ; to cackle as a hen, 

" Coup her under a creel and put the heckling 
off her." Scots Saying. 

Keek. A keek, to peep. 

" Keek into the draw-well. Janet, Janet." 

Ramsay. 

Kelpies. A sort of mischievous water-spirit, said to haunt 

fords and ferries at night, especially in storms. 

" Gin kelpie he nae there." Old Ballad. 

Ken. To know, ken'd, or ken't, knew, known. 

" Ken ye whare cleekie Murray's gane." 

Jacobite Reliques. 
Kennin. A small matter. 

" Gif o' this world a kennin maer, 

Some get than me." Nicol. 

Kenspeckle. Well known. 
Ket, ketty. Matted, a fleece of wool. 

" The soil is said to be ketty when bound to- 
gether with quickgrass." Jamieson. 
Kiaugh. Carking, anxiety ; to be in a flutter. 
" Sae laughing and kiaughiug, 

Ye fain wad follow me." Scots Song. 

Kilt. To truss up the clothes. 

" I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee." 

Scots Song. 
Kimmer. A young girl, a gossip. 

" My kimmer an' I lay down to sleep." 

Scots Song. 
Kin\ Kindred, kind. 

" Began to reckon kin' and rent. Scott. 

King's-hood. A certain part of the entrails of an ox. 

" Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan." 

Burns. 

Kintra, kintrie. Country; Kintra-cooser, country stallion. 

" Keep the kintrie, bonnie lassie." Scots Sotig. 
Kirn. The harvest supper, a churn. 

" He reserved several handsful of the fairest 
corn for the harvest kirn." Scots Story. 
Kirsen. To christen, to baptize. 

"The morning dew had kirsen 'd the young 
flowers." Scots Story. 

Kist. Chest, a shop counter. 

" He dunted the kist, an' the boards did fiee." 
Scots So?ig. 
Kitchen. Anything that eats with bread, to serve for soup, 
gravy. 

" Better hae a louse i' the pot than nae kit- 
chen." Scots Proverb. 
Kith. Kindred. 
Kittle. To tickle, ticklish. 

" Or dread a kittle cast." Ramsay. 

Kittling. A young cat. 

Kintle, kintleing, or kuittle. To cuddle, cuddling, fondling. 
" Sat kuittling wi' the maiden kimmer." 

Scots Story. 
Knaggie. Like knags, or points of rocks. 

" She said, where's my necklace? I've hung 
it, quo' he, on a knag." Scots Presb. Eloq. 
Knap. To strike or break. 

Knappin-hammer. A hammer for breaking stones. 
Knurl. Dwarf. 

Knurlin. Crooked but strong, knotty. 

" A knurlin's ay a wurlin." Scots Saying. 

Known. A small round hillock, a knoll. 

"Ca' the yowes to the knowes." Scots Song. 
Kye. Cows. 

" Tydy kye lowis valis by them rennis." 

G. Douglas. 
Kyte. The belly. 

" Mony a weary day, but ne'er a fou kyte." 

Scots Song. 
Kythe. To discover, to show one's self. 

" His craftes gan he kythe." Sir Tristrem. 



Labour. Thrash. 

"And aften labour them completely." Burns. 
Laddie. Diminutive of lad. 

" I lo'e ne'er a laddie but ane." Scots Seng. 
Lc.ggen. The angle between the side and the bottom of a 

wooden dish. 

" And coost a laggen-gird myself." Ramsay. 
La'sh. Low. 

" Thai ewyn laich with the erele has made." 

Wyntown. 



Lairing, lairie. Wading, and sinking in snow, mud, &c, 
miry. 

" Carried me through the dub an' the lairie." 
Scots Song. 
Laith. Loath, impure. 

" Sic fischin to neglect they will be laith." 

Lyndsay. 
Laithfu' '. Bashful, sheepish, abstemious. 

" A landward lad is ay laithfu'." Scots Prov. 
Lallans. Scottish dialect, Lowlands. 

" And scorned to own that Lallaud sangs they 
knew." A. Wilson. 

Lambie. Diminutive of lamb. 

" For 'tweesh twa hillocks the poor lambie 
lies." Ross. 

Lammas moon. Harvest moon. 

" Light's heartsome, quo' the thief to the 
lammas moon." Scots Proverb. 

Lan\ Land, estate. 

" I wad gie a' my lands an' rents, 
I had that lady within my stents." 

Scots Ballad. 
Law '-afore, Foremost horse in the plough. 

" My lan'-afore's a wordy beast." Burns. 

Lan-ahin' . Hindmost horse in the plough. 

" My lan'-ahin's a weel gaun fillie." Burns. 
Lane, lanely. Lone ; my lane, thy lane, &c, myself alone ; 
lonely. 

" Lang hae I lain, my luve, lanely and eerie." 
Scots Song, 
Lang. Long ; to think lang, to long, to weary. 

" He lede a lang tyme of his life." Wyntown. 
Lap. Did leap. 

" He lap quhill he lay on his lendis." 

King James I. 
Late and air. Late and early 

" They plague me air and late." Scots Song. 
Lave. The rest, the remainder, the others. 

' ' And the lave syne, that dede war thai*. ' ' 

Barbour. 
Laverock. The lark. 

" An' the lift has faun an' smoored the lave- 
rocks." Scots Saying. 
Lawin'. Shot, reckoning, bill 
Lawlan\ Lowland. 

" The lawlan' lads think they are fine." 

Scots So?ig. 
Lay my dead. Attribute my death. 

" Should she refuse I'll lay my dead 

To her twa e'en o' bonnie blue." Burns. 
Lea-rig. Grassy ridge. 
Leal. Loyal, true, faithful. 

" Yere a lad baith true and leal, 
The priest-cat ye winna steal." 

Scots Rhyme. 
Lear. Learning, lore. 

Lee-lang. Live-long. 

"A' the lee-lang night I dim my een wi' 
weeping." Scots Song. 

Leesome luve. Happy gladsome love. 

" The tender heart o' leesome luve." 

Burns, 
Leeze me. A phrase of congratulatory endearment ; I am 
happy in thee, or proud of thee. 
"Leeze me on liquor, my todlin dow." 

Old Song. 
Leister. A three-pronged and barbed dart for striking 
fish. 

" He could not conceive why a man should be 
put in fttters for leistering a salmon." 

Cat. Mer. 
Leugh. Did laugh. 

" The lordes on the tothir side for liking they 
leugh." Gawan and GoL 

Leuk. A look, to look. 

" He leukit east, he leukit west." 

Scots Ballads 
Libbet. Castrated. 

" Gif libbet Italy be singing." Burns. 

Lick, licket. Beat, thrashen. 

" To lend his loving wife a loundering lick." 
Ramsay. 
Lift. Sky, firmament. 

" High in the lift full glaide he gan behald." 
G. Douglas. 
LichUy, lightly. Sneerin;?ly, to sneer at, to undervalue. 

" His lychtly scorn he shall repent fu' s dr." 
Blind Harry. 
3 E 



786 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Lilt. 


A ballad, a tune, to sing. 


Mak'. 


To make ; makin' , making. 




"And Rosie lilts sweetly the 'milking the 




" Gif e'er I hear ought o' your makin' mair." 




ewes.' " Ramsay. 




Kennedy. 


Limmer. 


A kept mistress, a strumpet. 


Matty. 


Molly, Mary. 




" Syne gart the limmers tak their heels." 




" Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, Mally's modest 




Scots Ballad. 




and discreet." Scots Song. 


Limpit. 


A kind of shell fish. 


Mang. 


Among. 


Limp't. 


Limped, hobbled. 




" Mang men, wae's heart, we aften find." 




" Them wha gae jumping awa aften come 




Fergusson. 




limpin back." Scots Saying. 


Manse. 


The house of the parish minister is called "the 


Link. 


To trip along ; linkin', tripping along. 




manse." 




" Linkin' o'er the lea." Old Song. 


Manteele. 


A mantle. 


Linn. 


A waterfall, a cascade. 




" Mae than the diel wear a black manteei. ' 




" Sen owre the linn it came." Montgomery. 




Scots Proverb. 


Lint. 


Flax ; lint V the bell, flax in flower. 


Mark. 


Marks. This and several other nouns, which, in 




" Now Bessie's hair's like a lint tap." 




English, require an s to form the plural, are, 




Ramsay. 




in Scotch, like the words sheep, deer, the same 


Lint-white. A linnet, flaxen. 




in both numbers. 




" She lilts like ony lint- white." 


Mark, merk. A Scottish coin, value thirteen shillings and 




Scots Saying. 




fourpence. 


Loan. 


The place of milking. 


Marled. 


Party coloured. 




" And muckle kye stand routing i' the loans." 




" They delight to wear marled clothes." 




Ramsay. 




Monypenny. 


Loaning. 


Lane. 


Mar's year. The year 1/15. Called Mar's year from 1 




" But now there' s a moaning in ilka green 




Rebellion of Erskine, Earl of Mar. 




loaning." Old So7ig. 


Martial chuck. The soldier's camp-comrade, female com- 


Loof, looves. The palms of the hands. 




panion. 




" Wi' weel spread looves an' lang wry faces." 




" When up arose the martial chuck." Burns. 




Burns. 


Mashlum 


Mixed com. 


Loot. 


Did let. 




'• Nae man shall presume to grind wheat, 




" Loot a' his duddies fa'." James V. 




maisloch, or rye, with hand." Statutes. 


Losh-ma 


% ! Rustic exclamation modified from Lord man. 


Mask. 


To mash, as malt, &c, to infuse. 




" Them that cry losh, fain wad cry Lord." 




" They grind the malt over small in the miln 




Scots Saying. 




that it will not run when it is masked." 


Loun. 


A fellow, a ragamuffin, a woman of easy virtue. 


Maskin-pat. Tea-pot. 




" Quod I loun thou leis." G. Douglas. 




" Then up they gat the maskin-pat." Burns. 


Loup. 


Jump, leap, startled with pain. 


Maukin. 


A hare. 




" A loup rycht lychtly maid he than." 




" There's mair maidens than maukins." 




Barbour. 




Scots Proverb. 


Louper-like. Lan-louper, a stranger of a suspected cha- 


Maun, mauna. Must, must not. 




racter. 




" illy mother says I mauna." Scots Song. 




" A horse couper and a lan-louper." 


Maut. 


Malt. 




Scots Rhyme. 




" I hae brewed a forpet o' maut." 


Lowe, lowin'. A flame ; flaming ; lowin-drouth, burning de- 




Scots Song. 




sire for drink. 


Mavis. 


The thrush. 




" Then low or rek sail it discover." Barbour. 




" The mavis frae the Rew-bloom'd thorn." 




" A smith's hause is aye lowin." Scots Prov. 




Fergusson. 


Lowrie 


Abbreviation of Lawrence. 


Maw, mawin'. To mow ; mowing; maun, mowed ; maw'd, 




" Then Lowrie as ane lyoun lap." K. James. 




mowed. 


Lowse. 


To loose. 




" In simmer I maw'd my meadow." 




" They may bide in her window till Beltane 




Scots Song. 




ere 1 lowse them." Scott. 


Mown. 


A small basket without a handle. 


Lug. 


The ear, a handle. 




" Well cover him wi' a mawn, o'." 




" Ye canna mak a silk purse o' a sow's lug." 




Scots Song. 




Scots Proverb. 


Meere. 


A mare. 


Lug of the law. At the judgment seat. 




" The auld man's meere's dead." Old Song. 




" Ye live at the lug of the law." Scots Prov. 


Meikle. 


Much. 


Lugget. 


Having a handle. 


Melancholious. Mournful. 




" Ye've a lang nose, an' yet yere cut lugget." 




" Come join the melancholious croon, 




Scots Proverb. 




O' Robin's reed." Burns. 


Luggie. 


A small wooden dish with a handle. 


Melder. 


Corn or grain of any kind, sent to the mill to be 




•' Wi' green horn spoons beech luggies min- 




ground. 




gle." Ratnsay. 




" Our simmer melder niest was milled." 


Lnm, 


The chimney ; lum head, chimney top. 




Morison. 




" An' clouds o' reek frae lurn-heads do ap- 


Mell. 


To be intimate, to meddle ; also a mallet for 




pear." Ross. 




pounding barley in a stone trough. 


Lunch. 


A large piece of cheese, meat, &c. 




" But Diomede mells aye wi' thee." 




" They may dunch that gie the lunch." 




Scots Poem. 




Scots Proverb. 


Melvie. 


To soil with meal. 


Lunt, lunting. A column of smoke, to smoke, to walk 




" Nor melvie his braw claithing." Burns. 




quickly ; smoking. 


Men'. 


To mend. 




" Auld Simon sat luntin' his cuttie." A. Scott. 




" Ye may en' him, but ye'll never men' him." 


Lyart. 


Of a mixed colour, grey. 




Scots Proverb. 




"The bandsters are runkled, lyart, and grey." 


Mense. 


Good manners, decorum. 




Scots Song. 




" Thair manhead and thair mense." 




M 




Priests of Peblis. 




Menselesi 


. Ill bred, rude, impudent. 








"As menseless as a tinkler's messan." 


Mae, mair, maist, maistly. More, most, almost, mostly. 




Scots Saying. 




" And break my pipe an' never whistle mair." 


Merle. 


The black-bird. 




Ramsay. 




" Sic mirth the mavis and the merle couth mae." 


Maggot' 


'•-meat. Food for the worms. 




Henryson. 




" Wha I wish were maggot's meat." Burns. 


Messin. 


A small dog. 


Mahoun 


Satan. 




" He is our mekill to be your messoun." 




" Gramercy, tailor, said Mahoun." Dunbar. 




Dunbar-. 


Mailen. 


A farm. 


Midden. 


A dunghill. 




" To take ane mailen that grit lawbour re- 




" Come lyk a sow out of a mydding." 




quyris. Maitland. 




Dunbar. 



GLOSSARY. 



787 



Midden-hole. A gutter at the bottom of a dunghill. 

" Beyond was the dungstead, with a pond of 
putrid water, termed the midden dub, into 
which the juices of the dung were col- 
lected." Agricultural Survey. 
Middin-creels. Dung - baskets, panniers in which horses 
carry manure. 

" Her wa!y neeves like midden creels." Burns. 
Milkin-shiel. A place where cows or ewes are brought to be 
milked. 
" It's a sma' sheal that gies nae shelter." 

Scots Proverb. 
Mim. Prim, affectedly meek. 

" As ony lamb as modest and as mim." Ross. 
Mim-mou'd. Gentle-mouthed. 

"A mim-mou'd cat is na guid mouser." 

Scots Proverb. 
Min'. To remember ; mind, remembrance, 

" O dinna ye min' Lord Gregorie." Old Ballad. 
Minawae. Minuet. 

" She moves him in a minawae." Scots Rhyme. 
Mind't. Mind it, resolved, intending, remembered. 
Minnie. Mother, dam. 

" Sin' that I was born of my minnie." Evergreen. 
Mirk, mirkest. Dark, darkest. 

" And the myrk nycht suddenly." Wyntown. 
Misca'. To abuse, to call names ; misca'd, abused. 

" And Russel sair misca'd her." Burns. 

Mischanter. Accident. 

"Did sic a mishap and mischanter befa' me." 
Ross. 
Mislear'd. Mischievous, unmannerly.'' 

" Nor maun she be mislear'd." Fergusson. 
3Iisteuk. Mistook. 

" He misteuk 
His neibor's pouch for his ain plaid neck." 

Scots Poem. 
Mither. Mother. 

" Quo Jock, an' laughing like to rive, 

What think ye o' my mither ?" Ramsay. 
Mixtie-maxtie. Confusedly mixed, mish-mash. 

" Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch." Burns. 

Moistify, moistified. To moisten, to soak ; moistened, soaked. 

" Some are gay drouthy, but ye're aye moistified." 

Scots Saying. 

Mons-meg. A large piece of ordnance, composed of iron bars 

welded together and then hooped. 

" Oh willawins ! Mons-meg for you." Fergusson. 

Mools. Earth. 

" have seen the cauld-rife mools on thine." 

Ramsay. 
Mony, or Monie. Many. 

" Sure nature herried mony a tree." Fergusson. 
Moop. To nibble as a sheep. 

" The parings of their brede to moop up soon." 
G. Douglas. 
Moorlan' . Of, or belonging to, moors. 

"The wale o' our maidens is moorlan' Meg." 
Scots Song. 
Morn. The next day, to-morrow. 

" The fiest the fidler to morne." G. Douglas. 
Mou'. The mouth. 

" Wha thraw their mou's and tak the dorts." 
Fergusson. 
Muudiwort. A mole. 

" Ane may like to be luved, but wha wad mool 
in wi' a moudiewort ?" Scots Saying. 

Mousie. Diminutive of mouse. 

" But mousie thou art no thy lane." Burns. 
Muckle, or mickle. Great, big, much. 

"There's mickle guid love in bonds and bags." 
Ramsay. 
Muses-stank. Bfuses-rill, a stank, slow flowing water. 

" And fand ane stank that flowed from ane well." 
G. Douglas. 
Musie. Diminutive of muse. 

" My musie tir'd wi' mony a sonnet." Burns. 
Muslin-kail. Broth, composed simply of water, shelled bar- 
ley, and greens — thin poor broth. 
" Penny-wheep's guid enough for muslin-kale." 
Scots Proverb. 
Mutchkin. An English pint. 

" The mutchkin-stoup it hauds but dribs, 

Sae bring us in the tappit-hen," Ramsay. 
MyseV, Myself. 

" I winna blaw about myseP." Burns. 



N 

Na, or nae. No, nor, not any. 

" That on na manner micht a-ccord." Barbour, 
Naething, or naithing. Nothing. 

" He had naething for to despend." Barbour, 
Naig. A horse, a nag. 

" On a' the Nith there's nae sic smith 
For shoeing outher naig or gelding." 

Scots Rhyme. 
Nane. None. 

" Thus I declare the nane uncertaine thing." 
G. Douglas. 
Nappy. Ale, to be tipsy. 

" And when that the carles grew nappy." 

Old Ballad. 
Negleckit. Neglected. 

" But then to see how ye're negleckit." Burns. 
Neibor, or neeboi\ A neighbour. 

" An' aye sinsyne the neebors roun', 

They jeer me air and late." Scots So7ig. 
Neick. Nook. 

"The sun frae the east neuk o' Fife." Ramsay. 
Niest. Next. 

" A meaner phanton neist wi' meikle dread." 
Ramsay. 
Nieve, nief. The fist. 

" Hard on the left niei' was the scharp stele hede." 
G- Douglas. 
Nievefu'. Handful. 

" A nievefu' o' meal or a gowpen o' groats." 
Old Ballad, 
Niffer. An exchange, to exchange, barter. 

" He's fond o' barter that niffers wi' auld Nick." 
Scots Saying. 
Niger. A negro. 

" That made Canaan a niger." Burns. 

Nine-tailed cat. A hangman's whip. 

" But haud ye're nine-tailed cat a wee." Burns. 
Nit. A nut. 

" Ye're owre fair o' flesh to live upon deaf nits." 
Scots Saying. 
Norland. Of, or belonging to, the north. 

" Was like the norlan' blast," Scots Ballad. 
Notic't. Noticed. 

"Them wha stand on a knowe 's sure to be 
notic't." Scots Saying. 

Noivte. Black cattle. 

" Als bestiall as horse and nowte within." 

Blind Harry. 



o 



0'. 



Of. 



I'm Willie o' the Wastle." Scots Rhyme. 
Ochels. The name of mountains in Scotland. 
O'ergang. Overbearingness, to treat with indignity, literally 
to tread. 

" For fear that truth should clean o'ergang 
them." Pennecuik. 

O'erlay. An upper cravat. 

" He faulds his owrelay down his breast wi' 
care." Ramsay. 

O'haith! faith ! An oath. 
Ony, or Onie. Any. 

" Gin thei-e be ony that lykis." Wyntown. 
Or. Is often used for ere, before. 

" Wittail were scant or August cou'd appear." 
Blind Harry. 
Orra-duddies. Superfluous rags, old clothes. 

" To drink their orra-duddies." Burns. 

O't. Of it. 

" Jock will make a bridal o't." Scots Song. 
Ourie. Drooping, shivering. 

" The ourie cattle hang their heads." Nicol. 
Oursel, oursels. Ourselves. 

" There's nae sel sae dear as our ain sel." 

Scots Proverb. 
Outlers. Outlyers ; cattle unhoused. 

" The deil, or else an outlier quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon." Burns. 

Ower, owre. Over, too. 

" Owre the water to Charlie." Scots Song. 
Qwre-hip. Striking with a fore-hammer by bringing it with 
a swing over the hip ; a way of fetching a blow 
with the hammer over the arm. 
" Brings hard owre hip wi' sturdy wheel, 

The Strang forehammer." Burns. 

St2 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Owsen. Oxen. 

" I hae three gude owsen ganging in a pleuch." 
Scots Song. 
Oxtered. Carried or supported under the arm. 

" The priest he was oxtered, the clerk he was 
carried." Scots Song. 



Pack. Intimate, familiar ; twelve stone of wool. 

" An' pack an' thick as tods could be." Nicol. 
Paidle, paidlen. To walk with difficulty, as if in water. 

" He's but a paidlen bodie O." OldSong, 

Painch. Paunch. 

" Pakand thair painch like Epicureans." 

Scots Poem. 
P ait rick. A partridge. 

"An' paitricks scraichan loud at een." Burns. 
Pang. To cram. 

"As fou's the house could pang." Ramsay. 
Parishen. Parish. 
Parle. Courtship. 

" A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle." 
Burns. 
Parritch. Oatmeal pudding, a well-known Scotch dish. 

" Frae the milk coggie or the parritch caup." 
Fergusson. 
Pat. Did put, a pot. 

" Fier pat my heart in sic a flocht." Buret. 
Pattle, or pettle. A small spade to clean the plough. 
" I wad be laith to rin and chase thee, 

Wi' murdering pettle." Burns. 

Paughty. Proud, haughty. 

"And pauchtie pride rycht sair I do detest." 
Scots Poems. 
Pauky, pawkie. Cunning, sly. 

" A pauky aula carle cam o'er the lea." 

King James V. 
Pay't. Paid, beat. 

" He's easily payt that's payt wi' paiks." 

Scots Proverb. 

Peat-reek. The smoke of burning turf, a bitter exhalation, 

whisky. 

"Wi' gude peat-reek my head was light." Dvff. 

Pech, pechin'. To fetch the breath shortly, as in an asthma, 

respiring with difficulty. 

" Begood to pech and limp behind." Mayne. 
Pechan. The crop, the stomach. 

" He puts in a bad purse that puts it in his 
pechan." Scots Proverb. 

Pet. A domesticated sheep, &c, a ^avourite. 

" The Deil's pet lambs lo'e Claverses lads." 

Scots Saying. 
Pettle. To cherish. 

"An' pettle ye up a dainty lamb." Scots Song. 
Philabeg, or philibegs. The kilt ; short petticoats worn by 
Highlanders. 
" Wi' his philabeg and tartan plaid." Scots Song. 
Phraise. Fair speeches, flattery, to flatter. 

" They need na mak sae great a phraise." Skinner. 
Pibroch. A martial air. 

" Heardst but the pibroch answering brave, 
To many a target clanking round." Scott. 
Pickle. A small quantity, one grain of corn. 

" O gin my love were a pickle o' wheat." 

Scots Song. 
Pigmy-scraper. Little fiddler ; a term of contempt for a bad 
player. 

"A pigmy-scraper wi' his fiddle." Burns. 

Pint-stoup. A two-quart measure. 

"Some can stan' the sword better than the 
pint stoup." Scots Proverb. 

Pine. Pain, uneasiness. 

" In meikle dule and pine O " Scots Song. 
Pingle. A small pan for warming children's sops. 

" Ye want a pingle lassie weel and guid." 

Scots Poem. 
Pit. To put. 

Placad. A public proclamation, to publish publicly. 
Plack. An old Scotch coin, the third part of an English 

penny. 
" He'll no mak his plack a bawbee." Scots Prov. 
Plackless. Pennyless, without money. 

" The case is clear my pouch is plackless." Tarras. 
Plaidie. Diminutive of plaid. 

" Come under my plaidie and sit down beside me." 
Macneill. 



Platie. Diminutive of plate. 

" Whyles owre the wee bit cup and platie." BurnSi 
Plew, or pleugh. A plough. 

" At mornin when frae pleugh or fauld I come." 
Fergusson. 
Pliskie. A trick. 

" Their lugs in onie rackless pliskie." Nicol. 
Plumrose. Primrose. 

" The plumrose and the snawdrap 

Are the flowers that's dear to me." 

Scots Song. 
Pock. A meal-bag. 

" Then she took up the meal pocks, 

And flang them owre the wa\" K. Jas. V. 
Poind. To seize on cattle, or take the goods as the laws 

of Scotland allow, for rent, &c. 
" To pryk and poynd bathe to and fra." 

Wyntown. 
Poortith. Poverty. 

" But poortith Peggy is the warst of a'." Ramsay. 
Posie. A nosegay, a garland. 

" I'll tie this posie round wi' the silken banda 
o' love." Burns. 

Pou, pou'd, pou't. To pull, pulled. 

" When Samson poud to ground the great pil- 
lare." Blind Harry. 

Pouk. To pluck. 

" And ay as they at the auld carlin plaid pouk." 
Scots Song. 
Poussie. A hare or cat. 

" And morning poussie whidding seen." Burns. 
Pouse. To pluck with the hand. 

" Pride prinks her povv for the deil to pouse." 
Scots Proverb. 
Pout. A polt, a chick. 

" O' woodcocks, teals, moor-powts, an' plivers." 

Ramsay. 

Pouthery, pouther, or powther. Fiery, active, like powder; 

gun-powder. 

" Mounted on a pouthery pownie." Scots Saying. 

Pow. The head, the skull. 

" Abiet my pow was bald and bare." Ramsay. 
Pownie. A little horse, a pony. 

" He'll gang mad on a horse wha's proud on a 
pownie." Scots Saying. 

Preclair. Super-eminent. 

" More pleasand and preclair," A. Scott. 

Preen. A pin. 

"Thousands a year's no worth a preen." Ramsay. 
Prcnt. Printing, print. 

" That na prenter presume to prent anie books, 
balladis sangs." Acts Marie. 

Prie. To taste ; prie'd, tasted. 

" That ye're awa', ae peaceful meal to prie." 
Fergusson. 
Prief. Proof. 

" To prief thair horse with jauvelins in thair 
hands." G. Douglas. 

Prig. To cheapen, to dispute; priggin, cheapening. 

" I thought by priggin that she might hae 
spun," &c. Fergusson. 

Primsie. Demure, precise. 

" A primsie damsel maks a daidlen dame." 

Scots Proverb. 
Propone. To lay down, to propose. 

" The poet first proponing his intent." G. Douglas. 
Pund, pund o' tow. Pound, pound weight of the refuse of 
flax. 
" But a' that she cou'd mak o' it 

Was ae puir pund o' tow." Scots Song. 
Pyet. A magpie. 

"Thair were pyats, and paitricks, and plivers 
anew." Scots Poem. 

Pyle, a pyle o' caff. A single grain of chaff. 

" The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May hae some pyles o' chaff in." Burns. 
Pystle. Epistle. 

" An' penn'd a pretty pystle." Scots Rhyme. 

Q 

Quat, Quit. 

" Come quat the grup ye tinkler loon." 

Scots So?ig. 
Quale, quakH'. Quack, the cry of a duck; to quake, quak- 
ing. 
" When wi' an eldritch stoor quak, quak." Burns. 



GLOSSARY. 



Quech. A drinking cup made of wood, with two handles. 

" Never count the lawin wi a' toom quech." 

Scots Proverb. 
Quey. A cow from one to two years old, a heifer. 

" A cannie quey males a sonsie cow." 

Scots Proverb. 
Quines. Queans. 

" It will cost the quine a skirling." 

Scots Saying. 

R 

Ragweed. Herb-ragwort. 

" As rank a witch as e'er rade on a ragweed." 
Scots Saying. 
Raible. To rattle, nonsense. 

" There's plenty o' raible whan drink's on the 
table." Scots Saying. 

Rair. To roar. 

" Under thy feet the erd did rair and trymbil." 
G. Douglas. 
Raize. To madden, to inflame. 

"And she ran aff as raised as ony deei." 

Ross. 
Ramfeezled. Fatigued, overspread. 

" The tapetless ramfeezled hizzie." Burns. 
Rampin'. Raging. 

" The diel he heard the stour o' tongues, 

And rampin' came amang us." Old Song. 
Ramstam. Thoughtless, forward. 

" The least we'll get if we gang ramstam in 
upon them." Scott. 

Randie. A scolding sturdy beggar, a shrew. 

" Was Rab the beggar randie." Old So?ig. 

Rantin\ Joyous. 

" They ca' me the rantin' laddie." Old Song. 
Raploch. Properly a coarse cloth, but used for coarse. 
" Thair clais quhilk wes of raploch grey." 

Lyndsay. 
Rarely. Excellently, very well. 

" The sun it raise and better raise, 

And owre the hill lowed rarely." Old Song. 
Rash. A rush ; rash-buss, a bush of rushes. 

" Becaus the rasche-buss keipis his kow." 

Lyndsay. 
Ratton. A rat. 

" Thocht rattones ouer them rin, they tak na 
care." Lyndsay. 

Raucle. Rash, stout, fearless, reckless. 

" O rakel hond to do so foule a mis." 

Chaucer. 
Raught. Reached. 

" Swith swelleand that morsel raucht had 
sche." G. Douglas. 

Raw. A row. 

" He driues forth the stampand hors on raw." 
G. Douglas. 
Rax, rased. To stretch ; stretched. 

" Begoud to rax and rift." Ramsay. 

Ream. Cream, to cream. 

" Without ream, sugar and bohea." Ramsay. 
Reamin'. Brimful, frothing. 

" He merely ressauis the remand tais." 

G. Douglas. 
Reave. Take by force, rove. 

" To rieffe that crown that is a great outrage." 
Blind Harry. 
Rebute. To repulse, rebuke. 

" That I rebutet was and doung abak." 

G. Douglas. 
Reck. To heed. 

" There's little to reck, quo' the knave to his 
neck." Scots Saying. 

Rede. Counsel, to counsel, to discourse. 

" And for I think off him to rede." Barbour. 
Red-peats. Burning turfs. 

"A toom tar-barrel and tvva red peats." Burns. 
Red-wat-shod. Walking in blood over the shoe-tops, 
" In tyrants' blood walked red-wat-shod." 

Scots Poem. 
Red-wud. Stark mad. 

" Some are only dafi, but yere red-wud 
raving." Scots Saying. 

Use. Half drunk, fuddled; a ree yaud, a wild 

horse. 

" Ye love a' ye see, like Rob Roole when he's 
ree." Scots Saying. 



Reek, reekin, reekit. Smoke, smoking, smoked, smoky. 
" A reekit wee devil looked over the wa'." 

Scots So?ig. 
Reestit. Stood restive ; stunted, withered. 

" It was a bogilly bit : the horse saw some- 
thing, and snorted and reestit." 

Scots Story. 
Remead. Remedy. 

"All makes for the ruin of this isle, and I see 
yet no means to remied it." Baillie. 

Reef, rief. Plenty. 
Requite. Requited. 

" A drap and a bite's a sma' requite." 

Scots Saying. 
Rest, restit. To stand restive ; stood restive, stunted, 

withered. 
Restricked. Restricted. 
Rew. To smile, look affectionately, tenderly. 

" Rew on me, true Thomas, she said." 

Thomas the Rhymer. 
Rickles. Shocks of corn, stooks. 

" A pickle's no mist in a rickle." 

Scots Saying. 
Riddle. Instrument for purifying corn. 

" The dumb riddle, the coarse riddle, and the 
fine riddle." Farmer's Inventory. 

Rief-randies. Men who take the property of others, accom- 
panied by violence and rude words, sturdy 
beggars. 

" Rief-randies, I disown ye." Burns. 

Rig. A ridge. 

" Quhare thou thy riggis telis for to saw." 

G. Douglas. 
Rin. To run, to melt ; rinnin\ running. 

" Whare will I get a bonnie boy 

My errant for to rin." Scots Ballad. 

Rink. The course of the stones, a term in curling on 

ice. 
" Be this they wan near to the renkis end." 

G. Douglas; 
Rip. A handful of unthreshed corn. 

" Hae there's a rip to thy auld baggie." 

Burns- 
Ripples. Pains in the back and loins, sounds which ushei 
in death. 

" I rede ye beware of the ripples, young man." 
Old Song, 
iiipplin-.^me. Instrument for dressing flax. 

" Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle, 
"An' I'll lend you my ripplin-kame." 

Scots Song. 
Riskit. A noise like the tearing of roots. 

"While spretty knowes just raired an' riskit." 

Burns. 

Rockin'. A denomination for a friendly visit. In former 

times young women met with their distaffs 

during the winter evenings, to sing, and spin, 

and be merry ; these were called "rockings." 

Roke. Distaff. 

" The roke and the wee pickle tow." 

Scots Song. 
Rood. Stands likewise for the plural, roods. 

Roon. A shred, the selvage of woollen cloth. 

" The best o' webs is rough at the roons." 

Scots Saying. 
Roose. To praise, to commend. 

" Come view the men thou likes to roose." 

Ramsay. 
Roun'. Round, in the circle of neighbourhood. 

" The king lies doun, yet the warl rins roun'." 
Scots Saying. 
Roup. A sale by auction. 

Roupet. Hoarse, as with a cold. 

" O may the roup ne'er roost thy weason." 

Beattie, 
Routh, routine. Plenty, plentiful. 

" I dinna want a rowth o' country fare." 

Ramsay. 
Routh o' gear. Plenty of goods. 

Row, row't. To roll, to wrap, to roll as water; rolled, 
wrapped. 

" Rowet at ains with stormes and windis thre." 
G. Douglas. 
Rowte, rowtin'. To low, to bellow ; lowing. 

" Frae faulds na mair the owsen rowte." 

Fergusson. 
Rozet. Rosin. 

" Full of roset doun bet is the fir tree." G. Douglas. 



790 


THE WORKS 


: . _ 

OF BUBNS. 


Rue. 


Regret, repent. 


Scrimp. 


To scant ; scrimpet, scanty. 


Rumble- 


gumption. Rough common sense. 




" There's Johnnie Trams has got a wife, 




" Ye suld hae stayed at hame, and wan tit a 




That scrimps him in his cogie." 




wife till ye got mair rumble-gumption." 




Scots Song. 




Hogg. 


Scroggie. 


Covered with underwood, bushy. 


Hun-deils. Downright devils. 




" Amang the braes sae scroggie." 




" Jock's a mislear'd imp, but ye're arun-deil." 


Sculdudrey. Fornication. 




Scots Saying. 




" Could sa'r sculdudrey out like John." 


Rung. 


A cudgel. 




Ramsay. 




" Quhen rungy's wes laid on riggis." 


Seed. 


Saw, did see. 




King James. 


Seizin'. 


Seizing. 


Runt. 


The stem of colewort or cabbage. 


Sel'. 


Self; a body's sel\ one's self alone. 




" Bairns, when ye are weary digging, ye can 




" Sel' ! sel' ! has peopled hell." 




pou kale runts." Scots Sailing. 




Scots Proverb 


Runkled. Wrinkled. 


SeWt. 


Did sell, sold. 




" A moupin runkled granny." Ramsay. 




" He sell't his saul for a cracket sixpence." 


Ruth. 


A woman's name, sorrow. 




Scots Saying. 




" I'the book o' truth there's love and ruthe." 


Sen'' , sen 


t. To send, sent, or did send. 




Scots Saying. 




" An' then she'll sen' ye to the deil." Scots Song. 


Ryke. 


Reach. 


Servan'. 


Servant. 




" Let me ryke up to dight that tear." Bums. 




" Godliness is great gain, but sin keeps mony 
a servan ' . " Scots Saying . 




s 


Settlin' . 


Settling ; to get a settlin', to be frightened into 
quietness." 


Sae. 


So. 




" She gat a fearfu' settlin'." Burns 




" Sae thrang this dav." Fergus r ^n. 


Sets, sets 


off. Goes away. 


Soft. 


Soft. 


Shachlet-feet. Ill-shaped. 




" Saft ease shall teach you to forget." Old Song. 




" Ye shape shoon by your ain shacklet-feet." 


Sair. 


To serve, a sore ; sairie, sorrowful ; suirly, sore- 




Scots Proverb. 




ly ; sair't, served. 


Shair'd. 


A shred, a shard. 




" He has a saw for a' sairs." Scots Proverb. 




" Ye're grown a skrinkie an' a shaird." 


Sark. 


A shirt. 




Scots Saying. 




" Held on his sark, and tuk his suerd so gud." 


Shangan. 


A stick cleft at one end for pulling the tail of a 




Barbour. 




dog, &c, by way of mischief, or to frighten 


Sarkit. 


Provided in shirts. 




him away. 




" But here half mad, half fed, half sarkit." 




" Like collie wi' a shangan." Davidson. 




Bums. 


Shank-it. 


Walk it ; shanks, legs. 


Saugh. 


Willow. 




" Them that canna ride maun shank it." 




" He rules easier wi' a saugh wand than a 




Scots Saying. 




sharp brand." Scots Sailing. 


Shaul. 


Shallow. 


Saugh woodies. Withies, made of willows, now supplanted 




" Shaul water's never smooth." Scots Proverb. 




by ropes and chains. 


Shaver. 


A humorous wag, a barber. 




" The sonks o' his yaud war tyed wi' saugh 




" He was an unco shaver 




widdies." Scots Story. 




For mony a day." Burns. 


Saul. 


Soul. 


Shavie. 


To do an ill turn. 




" An' lous the saul out of this mortall state." 




" I played my filly sic a shavie." Burns. 




G. Douglas. 


Shaw. 


To shew ; a small wood in a hollow place. 


Saionon 


t. Salmon. 




"Amang the shaws are nuts and haws/' 




" He kens nae a selgh frae a saumont." 




Scots Rhyme. 




Scots Proverb. 


Sheen. 


Bright, shining. 


iaunt. 


Saint. 


Sheep-shank. To think one's self nae sheep-shank ; to be 




" Ilka name has a saunt, save that auldest 




conceited. 




ane sinner." Scots Proverb. 




" He has gowd in the bank, an' he's nae 


Saut, su 


utit. Salt, salted. 




sheep-shank." Scots Rhyme. 




" And get their tails weel sautit." Fergusson. 


Sherra-muir. Sherriff-muir, the famous battle of, 1715. 


Saw, sa 


vin' . To sow ; sowing. 




" Sherra-ir'ur was but a cock fight till't." 




" In fragil flesche your feebill sede is saw'n." 




Scots Saying. 




Douglas. 


SJiengh. 


A ditch, a trench, a sluice. 




" Hope is sawin while death is mawin." 




" The ciete circulet, and markit be ane seuch 




Scots Proverb. 




[Sheugh]." G. Douglas. 


Sax. 


Six. 


Shiel, shealing. A shed~ a shepherd's cottage. 




" Sax score o' lambs I sauld them ilka clute." 




" Ten miles frae ony town tins shealing lies." 




Ramsay. 




Ross. 


Scaith. 


To damage, to injure, iniurv. 


Shill. 


Shrill. 


Scaud. 


To scald. 




" A miller's daughter has a' a shrill voice." 




" Ye had better get a scaud than a scoutlier." 




Scots Proverb. 




Scots Proverb. 


Shog. 


A shock, a push off at one side; 


Scauld, 


scuwl. To scold ; a scold. 




" Gien earth a shog, and made thy will a law." 




" My Eppie's tongue I vow its sweet, 




Ramsay. 




E'en though she flytes an' scaulds a wee." 


Shoo. 


Ill to please, ill to fit. 




Scots Song. 




"Then, daughter, ye should na be sae ill to 


Scaur. 


Apt to be scared ; a precipitous bank of earth 




shoo." Old Song. 




which the stream has washed red. 


Shool. 


A shovel. 




''That chafes against the scaur's red side." 




" Let spades an' shools do what they may, 




Sir W. Scott. 




Dryfe will hae Dryfesdale Kirk away." 


Scone. 


A kind of bread. 




Old Rhyme. 




" The floure skounys were set in by and by." 


Shoon. 


Shoes. 




Douglas, 




" Where can I get a bonny boy 


Sconne> 


A loathing, to loath. 




That will win hose and shoon." 




" We sconner at most parts o' meat." Cleland. 




Scots Ballad. 


Scraich and Scriegh. To scream, as a hen or partridge. 


Shore, snor'd. To offer, to threaten ; offered and threatened. 




" It is time enough to screigh when ye're 




"When she disna scaul she shores." 




strucken." Scots Proverb. 




Scots Saying. 


Screed. 


To tear, a rent ; screeding, tearing. 




" He shored the dog, an' then he shot at it." 




" Screeding of kerches, crying dool and dair." 




Scots Story. 




Ross. 


Shouther. 


The shoulder. 


Svricve, 


scrieven. To glide softly ; gleesomely along, swiftly, 




" Shouther to shouther stands steel an' poa- 




"And cwre the hill gaed scrieven." Lwns, 




ther." Scots Saying. 



Shot. One traverse of the shuttle from side to side of 

the web. 

" He has nae put in a single shot i' the wab 
this blessed day." Scots Story. 

Sic. Such. 

" Sic like a Robin Hood debates." Fergusson. 
Sicker. Sure, steady. 

" Out thourch his ribs a sicker straik he drew." 
Barbour. 
" I inak sicker." Motto of the Kirkpatrick Arms. 
Sidelins. Sideling, slanting. 

" For Nory's sake this sideling hint he gae." Ross. 
Silken-snood. A fillet of silk, a token of virginity. 
" The lassie lost her silken snood, 
Which cost her mony a blirt and bleary." 
Scots Song. 
Siller. Silver, money, white. 

" Her e'en were o' the siller sheen." Fergus. 
Simmer. Summer. 

" O' simmer's showery blinks, and winter sour." 
Fergusson. 
Sin. A son, since. 

"There's mirth 'mang the kin when the kim- 
mer cries a sin." Scots Proverb. 

Sin syne. Since then. 

" It's no that lang sin syne." Scots Poem. 
Skaith. To damage, to injure, injury. 

"And kisses laying a' the wyte 

On you if she keep ony skaith." Ramsay. 
Skeigh. Proud, nice, saucy, mettled. 

" She's skiegh, but she winna skriegh." 

Scots Saying. 
Skellum. A noisy, reckless fellow. 

" She tauld thee weel thou wert a skellum." 
Burns. 
Skelp. To strike, to slap ; to walk with a smart tripping 

step, a smart stroke. 
"And laid on skelp for skelp." Lyndsay. 

Skelpi-limmer. A technical term in female scolding. 

" Ye little skelpi-limmer's face." Burns. 

Skelpin, skelpit. Striking, walking rapidly ; literally, strik- 
ing the ground. 

" I cam to a place where there had been some 
clean skelping." Scott. 

" A skelpit bottom breaks nae banes." 

Scots Sayi?ig. 
Skinklin. Thin, gauzy, scaltery, a small portion. 

" Squire Pope but busks his skinklin-patches." 

Burns. 

Skirl, Skirling. To cry, to shriek shrilly, shrieking, crying. 

" Sitting skirling on a caulr* brae side." Scott. 

Skirl't. Shrieked. 

" I skirl't fu' loud, ' Oh ! uae befa' thee.' " 
Fer^ 
Sklent. Slant, to run aslant, to deviate from truth. 

"Of drawin' swords sklenting to and fra." 

Douglas. 
Sklented. Ran, or hit, in an oblique direction. 

" The draps sklented off like rain from a wild 
duck's wing." Scots Saying. 

Skouth. Vent, free action. 

" The rain comes skouth when the win's i' the 
south." Scots Sayjng. 

Skreigh. A scream, to scream, the first cry uttered by a 
child. 

"For what wad gar her skirl and skreigh some 
day." Ramsay. 

Skyte. A worthless fellow, to slide rapidly off. 

" He's a selfish skyte that cares but for his 
kyte." Scots Saying. 

Skyrin. Party coloured, the checks of the tartan. 
"And a' the skyrin brins o' light." 

Scots Poem. 
Slae. Sloe. 

" Ane buss of bitter slaes." Montgomery. 

Slade. Did slide. 

" The wife slade cannie to her bed." Burns. 
Slap. A gate, a breach in the fence. 

" He's a sharp tyke that can catch at every slap." 
Scots Proverb. 
Slaw. Slow, 

"The feet are slaw when the head wears snaw." 
Scots Saying. 
Slee, sleest. Sly, slyest. 

"Or Fergusson the bauld and slee." Burns. 
S'cekit. Sleek, sly. 

" He's an auld farrant sleekit h }die." 

Scots Story. 



Sliddery. Slippery. 

" He slaid and stammerit on the sliddry ground." 
G. Douglas. 
Slip-shod. Smooth shod. 

" Slip shod's no for a frozen road." 

Scots Saying. 
Sloken. Quench, slake. 

" To keep the life, but not to sloken thirst." 
Hudson. 
Slype, slypet. To fall over j fell over, with a slow reluctant 
motion. 
" Till spretty knowes just-raired and risket, 

And slypet owre." Burns. 
Sma\ Small. 

" Though my fortune be but sma'." Scots Song. 
Smeddum. Dust, powder, mettle, sense, sagacity. 

" Has fowth o' sense an' smeddum in her." 

Skinner, 
Smiddy. A smithy. 

" Sae I joined the smiddy thrang." A. Scott. 
Smirking. Good-natured, winking. 
Smoor, smoored. To smother, smothered. 

" That his hie honour should not smure." Lyndsay. 
Smoutie. Smutty, obscene ; smoutie phiz, sooty aspect. 
" The smoultrie smith, the swart Vulcanus." 
English Poem. 
Smytrie. A numerous collection of small individuals. 

" A smytrie o' wee duddie weans." Burns. 
Snapper. Mistake, stumble. 

"He's never out o' ae whipper-snapper till 
he's into anither." 
Snash. Abuse, Billingsgate, impertinence. 

" The tither says I'll hae't, an' that right 
snash." Morison. 

Snaw, snawie. Snow, to snow, snowy. 

" He's ane o' Snaw-ba's bairntime." Scots Saying. 
Snaw-broo. Melted snow. 

" The river, swelled wi' snaw-broo, was raging 
frae bank to brae." Scots Story. 

Sned. To lop, to cut off. 

" It is good that God snedde the unfruitful 
and rotten branches." Boyd. 

Sned-besoms. To cut brooms. 

" But I'll sned besoms, thraw saugh woodies 
Before they want." Burns. 
Sneeshin. Snuff ; sneeshing-mill, a snuff-box. 

" Or else they are not worth a sneeshin." Meston, 
Snell and snelly. Bitter, biting ; snellest, bitterest. 

" Not Boreas that sae snelly blaws." Fergusson. 
Snick, or sneck. The latchet of a door. 

"Just lift the sneck, and say peace be here." 
Scots' Advice 
Snick-drawing. Trick contriving. 

" Then you, ye auld snic-drawing dog." Burns 
Snirt, snirtle. Concealed laughter, to breathe through the 
nostrils in a displeased manner. 
" Now let her snirt and fyke her fill." Herd. 
Snool. One whose spirit is broken with oppressive 

slavery ; to submit tamely, to sneak. 
" Our dotard dads, snool'd wi' their wives." 

Ramsay. 
Snoove. To go smoothly and constantly, to sneak. 

" The naigs snooved awa', and the furrow fell 

owre like a ribbon." Scots Story. 

Snowk, snowkit. To scent or snuff as a dog, scented, snuffed. 

" The drink and eke the offerings great and small, 

Snokis and likis." G. Douglas. 

Sodger. A soldier. 

" On town guard sodgers' faces." Fergusson. 
Sonsie. Having sweet engaging looks, lucky, jolly. 

" Sonsie and cantie and gausie." Old Song. 
Soom. To swim. 

" He'll soom wi' the stream, gae contrair 
wha will. ' ' 
Sooth. Truth, a petty oath. 

Sough. A sound dying on the ear, or a continued sound 

like the noise of high wind. 
Souk. To suck, to drink long and enduringly. 

"And aye she took the tither sook 

To drouck the stowrie tow." Scots Song. 
Souple, Soupled. Flexible, swift ; suppled. 

"As he rins he grows warm, an' as he grows 

warm he gets soupled, and then ye canna 

cast saut on his tail." Scots Saying. 

" The eel, fu' souple, wags her tail." Fergus. 

Souther, sowther. To solder. 

" Ye hae cowpit the southering pan, my lass-" 
Scots Song, 



7)2 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Souter. A shoemaker. 

"Up wi' the souters o' Selkirk." 

Scots Song, 

Sowens. A dish made of oatmeal ; the seeds of oatmeal 
soured, &c, boiled up till they make an agree- 
able pudding. 



Sowp, 
Sowth, 



" And sowens and farles and baps." Scots Song. 
A spoonful, a small quantity of anything liquid. 



6 A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink." Burns. 
To try over a tune with a low whistle. 
" The soft sowth of the swyre and sound of 
the streams." Dunbar. 

Spae. To prophecy, to divine. 

" For thoch sho spayit the soith." G. Douglas. 
Spails. Chips, splinters. 

" Some strikkit thraw the coist with the spalis 
of tree." G. Douglas. 

Spairge. To clash, to soil, as with mire. 

" Spairges about the brunstane cootie." 

Burns. 
Spates. Swollen streams. 

" The burne on spate hurls down the bank." 
G. Douglas. 
Spaul. A limb. 

" Auld Sathan claught him by the spaul." 

Jacobite Relics. 
Spaviet. Having the spavin. 

" Ye winna men' a spaviet horse wi' a braw 
bridle." S. P. 

Speat, spates. A sweeping torrent after the rain or thaw ; 
sudden floods. 

" Unguarded was the hallan gate, 
And Whigs poured in like Nith in spate." 
Jacobite Relics. 
Speel. To climb. 

" I hope to speel a higher tree, 

" And herry a richer nest." Scots Song. 
Spence. The parlour of a farm house or cottage. 

" Intil a spense where victual was plentye." 

Henry son. 
Spier. To ask, to enquire; spier' t, inquired. 

" Whare do ye win, gin ane may spier." 

Fergusson. 
Spinnin-graith. Wheel and roke and lint. 

" Then Meg took up the spinning-graith." 

Burns. 
Splatter, To splutter, a splutter. 

" There's an unco' splutter, quo' the sow in 
the gutter." Scots Saying. 

Spleughan. A tobacco pouch. 

" Ilk chiel screwed up his dogskin spleu- 
chan." Davidson. 

Splore. A frolic, noise, riot. 

"We have had some bits o' splores thegither." 
Scott. 
Sprachled. Scrambled. 

" Came spraughlin in a hurry out." 

Mactaggart. 
Sprattle. To scramble. 

" And making a sprattle for your life." Scott. 
Spreckled. Spotted, speckled. 

" The spreckled mavis greets your ear." 

Fergusson, 
Spring. A quick air in music, a Scottish reel. 

" Playand on his harp of Trace sa plea- 
sand springis." Douglas. 
Sprit, spret. A tough-rooted plant, something like rushes, 
jointed-leaved rush. 

"The ground is for the most part covered with 
sprit." Trans. Highland Society. 

Sprittie. Full of spirits. 

" He was lying in a little green spretty hol- 
low." Scots Story. 
Spunk. Fire, mettle, wit, spark. 

" Is nocht left in ane spunk." Godly Songs. 
Spunkie. Mettlesome, fiery ; will o' the wisp, or ignis fa- 
tuus ; the devil. 

'* He'll get a begunkie that lippens to spun- 
kie." Scots Saying. 
Spurtle. A stick used in making oatmeal pudding or por- 
ridge, a notable Scottish dish. 
" Ane spurtle braid, and ane elwand." 

Bmnnatyne Poems. 
Squad. A crew or party, a squadron. 

"The same day the council ordered out a 
squad of the guards." Wodrow. 

Squatter. To flutter in water, as a wild duck, &c. 

" Syne squaterit down into the sea." Lyndsay. 



Squattle. To sprawl in the act of hiding. 

" Swith in some beggars haflit squattle." 

Burns, 
Squeel. A scream, a screech, to scream. 

" I trow he gaured the kimmers squeel." 

Scots Song. 
Stacker. To stagger. 

" Like a stirk stacharand in the rye." 

Dunbar. 
Stack. A rick of corn, hay, peats. 

"A peat stack at the door to keep a ranting 
fire." Old Song. 

Staggie. Diminutive of stag. 

" An' could hae flown like ony staggie." 

Burns. 
Staig. A two year old horse. 

" Quhiles, thou stall staigs and stirks." 

G. Douglas. 
Stalwart. Stately, strong, stout. 

" Now strong Gyane now stalwart Cloantheus." 
Douglas. 
Stang. Sting, stung. 

" In berrying o' a bee bike 1 hae got a stang." 
Scots Song. 
Stan't. To stand; stan't, did stand. 

"I canna stan't, I canna stan't; taking my 
siller is like taking my heart's blude." 

Scots Story. 
Stane. A stone. 

" Sum strack with stingis, sum gadderit 
stanes." King James. 

S/ank. A pool of standing water, slow moving water. 

'•And fund ane stank that fiowit from ane 
well." Douglas. 

Stap. Stop, stave. 

" I'll take a stap out o' your cog." 

Scots Saying. 
Stark. Stout, potent. 

" Stark mighty wines and small wines." 

Aberdeen Records. 
Startle. To run as cattle stung by the gadfly. 

" That gars thee startle." Burns. 

Staukin. Stalking, walking disdainfully, walking without 
an aim. 

" He gangs staup staukin, and yet he's wide 
waking." 
Staumrel. A blockhead, half-witted. 

" A full staumrel is half a gomeral." 

Scots Saying. 
Staiv. Did steal, to surfeit. 

" We'll staw'd wi' them, he'll never spier." 

Fergusson. 
Stech, stechin. To cram the belly ; cramming. 

" His father stecht his fortune in his wame." 
Ramsay. 
" There's meat and drink, and sae stech 
yoursels well." A Scotch Exhortation. 
Steek. To shut, a stitch. 

" Whan thrasher John, sair dung, his barn- 
door steeks." Fergusson. 
Steer. To molest, to stir. 

" Steer her up and haud her gaun." 

Scots Song. 
Steeve. Firm, compacted. 

" As hot as ginger, and as steeve as steel." 

Robertson. 
Siell. A still. 

" Her nainsel does as gude as keep a sma' 
stell." Scots Story. 

jten, stent. To rear as a horse, to stride, to leap suddenly ; 
reared. 

'"My heart to my mou gied a sten." Burns. 
Stravagin. Wandering without an aim. 

" He has gi'en up a trade and ta'en to stra- 
vagin. ' ' Scots Saying. 
Stents. Tribute, dues of any kind. 

" To ta\ and stent the hale inhabitants within 
the Parochin." Acts James VI. 

Stey. Steep ; styest, steepest. 

" Set a stout heart to a stey brae." 

Scots Proverb. 
Stibble.. Stubble : stubble rig, the reaper in harvest who 
takes the lead. 

" Shod i' the cradle and barefoot i' the 
stubble." Scots Proverb. 

Stick-an'-stow. Totally, altogether. 

"Which gin I gie you stick-an'-stow." 

Sheriffs. 





GLOSSARY. 


793 


Stilt, stilts. A crutch ; to limp, to halt ; poles for crossing a 


Shirt. 


Trouble ; to molest. 




river. 




" To sturt them on the streme fra hand to hand." 




" The Dunscore salt lairds stilt the Nith." 




Douglas. 




Scots Song. 


Startin . 


Flighted. 


Stimpart. 


The eighth part of a Winchester bushel. 




" When death lifts the curtain its time to be 




"Them that canna get a peck maun pit up 




startin'." Scots Proverb. 




wi' a stimpart." Scots Saying. 


Sty me. 


A glimmer. 


Stirk. 


A cow or bullock a year old. 




" Suppose thou sees her not a styme," 




" Our stirks and young beistis mony ane." 




Montgomery. 




G. Douglas. 


Sucker. 


Sugar. 


Stock. 


A plant of colewort, cabbages. 




" An' just a wee drap spiritual burnin' 




"A body's .no broke while they hae a green 




And gusty sucker." Burns. 




kale-stock." Scots Proverb. 


Sud. 


Should. 


Stockin' . 


Stocking ; throwing the stockin' ; when the bride 




" That you sud musing gae." Fergusson. 




and bridegroom are put into bed, and the can- 


Sugh, or 


sough. The continued rushing noise of wind or 




dle out, the former throws a stocking at ran- 




water. 




dom among the company, and the person 




" Cald blaws the nippin' north wi' angry sugh." 




whom it falls on is the next that will be mar- 




Fergusson. 




ried. 


Sumph. 


A pluckless fellow, with little heart or soul. 


Stook, stooked. A shock of corn, made into shocks. 




" Surveys the self-made sumph in proper light." 




" And when its a 5 cut I'll stook it wi' pleasure." 




Ramsay. 




Galloway. 


Suthron. 


Southern, an old name for the English nation. 


Stoor. 


Sounding hollow, strong, and hoarse. 




" A southern there he slew at every stroke." 


Slot. 


A young bull, or ox. 




Blind Hurry. 




" Semin young stottis, that yoik bare neuir 


Sivaird. 


Sword. 




nane." Douglas. 




" Yere a fine swaird, quo the fule to the wheat 


Stound. 


Sudden pang of the heart. 




braird." Scots Saying. 




"So tyl hys heart stoundis the pryk of death." 


SwalVd. 


Swelled. 




G. Douglas. 




" Its a world's pity to see how these rings are 


Stoup, or stowp. A kind of high narrow jug or dish with a 




pinching the poor creature's swalled fin- 




handle, for holding liquids. 




gers." Scott. 




" Freyr Robert sayd, dame, fill ane stoup of ale." 


Swank. 


Stately, jolly. 




Dunbar. 




"Mair hardy, souple, steeve and swank." 


Stoure. 


Dust ; more particularly dust in motion ; stourie, 




Fergusson. 




dusty. 


Swankie 


or Swanker. A tight strapping young fellow or girl. 




"The Strang stowre raise like reek amang 




" At een in the.gloamin' 




them fast." Blind Harry. 




Nae swankies are roamin'." Scots Song. 


Stownlins 


By stealth. 


Swap. 


An exchange, to barter. 




"And stownlins when there was na thinking." 




" I trou we swappit for the warse." Old Song. 




Nicol. 


Swarfed. 


Swooned. 


Stown. 


Stolen. 




" The scene dumfoundered the wretch, and 




" Aft tymis gear tynt or stowin is getten agane 




swarfed him sae that he could not utter a 




be conjurers." Hamilton. 




word . ' ' Mactaggart. 


Stoyte. 


The walking of a drunken man, stumble. 


Swat, sw 


eatin'. Did sweat, sweating. 




" He gies mony a stoyte, but never a tumble." 




"They swat like ponies when they speel 




Scots Saying. 




Up braes, or when they gallop." Ramsay. 


Strack. 


Did strike. 


Swatch. 


A sample. 




" He had the same sword in keeping that strak 




" A swatch — a pattern, or piece for a sample." 




the field o' Flodden." Pitscottie. 




Sinclair. 


Strae. 


Straw ; to die a fair strae death, to die in bed. 


Swats. 


Drink, good ale, new ale or wort. 




" And out he drew his gude brown sword 




" Nor kept dow'd tip within her waas 




And straket it on the strae." Old Ballad. 




But reamin' swats." Ramsay. 


Struik. 


To stroke ; straiket, stroked. 


Sweer. 


Lazy, averse ; dead-sweer, extremely averse. 




" That straykes thir wenches hedis them to 




" Deferred hopes needna make me dead sweer." 




please." G. Douglas. 




Rutherford. 


Strappan, 


strappin'. Tall, handsome, vigorous. 


Swoor. 


Swore, did swear. 




" The English minister proposed to hire a 


Swinge. 


To beat, to whip. 




band of strapping Elliotts." Scott. 




" Swynget and faught full sturdeley." Barbour. 


Strath. 


Low alluvial land, a holm. 


Swinke. 


To labour hard. 




" A strath is a flat piece of arable land lying 




" To swinke and sweat withouten meat or wage." 




along the side or sides of some capital 




Henry sone. 




river." Burt. 


Swirl. 


A curve, an eddying blast or pool, a knot in 


Sir aught. 


Straight. 




wood. 




" Hand of woman or of man either will never 




" The swelland swirl uphesit us to heauen." 




straught him." Scott. 




Douglas. 


Streek. 


Stretched, to stretch. 


Swirlie. 


Knaggy, full of knots. 




" Nane o't she wyled but forward on did streek." 




" He taks a swirlie auld moss aik, 




Ross. 




For some black gruesome carlin." Burns. 


Striddle. 


To straddle. 


Swith. 


Get away. 




" Lads like to striddle to the soun' o' the fiddle." 




" Swith roast a hen an' fry some chickens." 




Scots Rhyme. 




Ramsay. 


Stroan. 


To spout. 


Swither. 


To hesitate in choice, an irresolute wavering in 




"An' stroaned on stanes and hillocks wi' him." 




choice. 




Burns. 


Syebow. 


A thick-necked onion. 


Stroup., 


The spout. 




" Wi' syebows, an' rifarts, and carlins," 




" O haste ye an' come to our gate en' 




Scots Song. 




And sowther the stroup o' my lady's pan." 


Syne. 


Since, ago, then. 


Studdie. 


The anvil. 
4 Item, three iron studdies and ane cruke studdie." 




" The meal was dear short syne." Scots Song. 




Inventory. 




T 


Stumpie. 


Diminutive of stump ; a grub pen. 








" And down gade stumpie in the ink." Burns. 


Tuckets. 


Broad-headed nails for the heels of shoes. 


Strunt. 


Spirituous liquor of any kind ; to walk sturdily, 




" Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets." 




to be affronted. 




Burns, 




•' Gif ony wayward lassie tak' the strunt." 


Tae. 


A toe ; three-taed; having three prongs. 




Scots Poem. 




" Owre mony masters, quo' the toad to the 


Stuff. 


Corn or pulse of any kind. 




harrows, when every tae gic 1 him a tig." 




" And snodly cleaned the stuff." Turrets. 




Scott. 



794 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Tale. To take; takin', taking. 

" They tak the horse then by the head." 

Scots Song. 
Tamtallan. The name of an old castle or fortress, on the 

coast of East Lothian. 
Tangle. A sea-weed, used as salad. 

" Scraped haddocks, wilks, dulse, and tangle." 
Scots Song. 
Tap. The top. 

" I'll tak my tap in my lap and rin." Scott. 
Tapetless. Heedless, foolish. 

" That she grew tapetless and swarft therewith." 
Ross. 
Targe. Targe them tightly, cross question them severely. 

Tairge. Target. 

Tarrow, tarrow't. To murmur at one's allowance ; mur- 
mured. 
" A tarrowing bairn was never fat." 

Scots Proverb. 
Tarry-breeks. A sailor. 

"Tarry breeks are toomwhen tartan trews are 
fou." Scots Proverb. 

Tassie. A small measure for liquor. 

" Here's my Jean's health in the siller lipt 
tassie." Scots Song. 

Tauld, or tald. Told. 

" I trow anither tale she tauld." Scots Song. 
Taupie. A foolish, thoughtless young person. 

" Porrige," quoth Hab, " ye senseless taupie." 
Ramsay. 
Tauted, or Tautie. Slatted together (spoken of hair and 
wool). 
"He had an ill faur't tautie face." 

Tannahill. 
Tawie. That allows itself peaceably to be handled (spoken 

of a cow, horse, &c). 

" He fund when a fiel' he was tawie an' tame." 
Picken. 
Teat. A small quantity. 

"And we'll get teats o' woo." Scots Song. 
Tedding. Spreading after the mower. 
Teethless bawtie. Toothless cur. 

" When our dog Bawtie barks, fast to the door 
I rin." Scots Song. 

Teethless gab. A mouth wanting the teeth, an expression of 
scorn. 

" While ae gab's teething, anither's g.owing 
teethless." Scots Proverb. 

Ten-hours-bite. A slight feed to the horse while in the yoke 
in the forenoon. 
" Or dealing through amang the naigs, 

Their ten-hours-bite." Burns. 

Tent. A field pulpit, heed, caution ; to take heed. 

" Dawnus, son Turnus, in the nynte tak tent." 
G. Douglas. 
Tentie. Heedful, cautious. 

"Be wyse and tentie in thy governing." 

Maitland Poems. 
Tentless. Heedless, cai-eless; 

" She that fa's owre a strae 's a tentless taupie." 
Scots Proverb. 
Teugh. Tough. 

" Wi' aureate leuis, and flexibil twistis teuch." 
Douglas. 
Thack. Thatch ; thack an' rape, clothing and necessaries ; 
alluding to the covering of a corn rick. 
" Some grathis first the thack and rufe of tree. 



Thae, thir. These. 

Thairms. Small guts, fiddle strings. 

" He that has a wide thairm has never a lang 

arm." 
" For while I kittle hair on thairms." Burns. 
Thankit. Thanked. 

" He first said bethankit an' syne he drank it." 
Scots Proverb. 
Theekit. Thatch 'd. 

" With lede the south yele thekyd alsua." 

Wyntown. 
Thegither. Together. 

" Gin we be seen thegither in the mirk." 

Ross. 
ThemseV. Themselves. 

" Them that tent nae themsel' will tent nae 
body else." Scots Proverb. 

Thick. Intimate, familiar. 

*' Nae twa were ever seen mair thick." 

Davidson. 

<&= 



Thiggi 



Crowding, make a noise ; a seeker of alms. 
" Thiggers are those who beg in a genteel way." 
Mactaggart. 
Thir. These. 

" To thir twa wardanys athis swar." Barbour. 
Thirl, thirled. To thrill, thrilled, vibrated. 

" An elbuck dirle will lang play thirl." 

Scots Proverb. 
Thole. To suffer, to endure. 

" Quhat danger is he suld thole on land and see." 
Douglas. 
Thoive. A thaw, to thaw. 

" Dighted his face, his handies thow'd." 

G. Douglas. 
Thowless. Slack, lazy. 

" He was thowless and had in wown." 

Wyntown-. 
Thrang. Throng, busy, a crowd. 

"A thoughtless bodie's aye thrang." 

Scots Proverb. 
Thrapple. Throat, windpipe. 

" Till thropil and wesand gade in two." 

Barbour. 
Thraw. To sprain, to twist, to contradict. 

" Thraw the wand while it's green." 

Scots Proverb. 
Thrawin'. Twisting, &c. 

" Alecto hir thrawin visage did away." 

Gawin Douglas. 
Thrawn. Sprained, twisted, contradicted, contradiction. 
" Thraw the widdie whan the wood's green." 
Scots Proverb. 
Threap. To maintain by dint of assertion. 

" 'Bout once threap when he and I fell out." 
Ross. 
Threshin'. Thrashing; threshiri-tree, a flail. 
Threteen. Thirteen. 
Thristle. Thistle. 

"Bot thrissil, nettil, brier, and thorne." 



Through. To go on with, to make out. 

" Hey ca' through ca' through." Scots Song. 
Throu'ther. Pell-mell, confusedly (through-ither). 

" And see throwither warpled were that she." 

Ross. 

Thrum. Sound of a spinning wheel in motion, the thread 

remaining at the end of a web. 

" He's no gude weaver that leaves lang thrums." 

Scots Proverb. 

Thud. To make a loud intermittent noise. 

" Throw cluds so, he thuds so." Montgomery. 
Thummart. Foumart, pole-cat. 

" May the foumart lay his crawin." 

Scots Song. 
Thumpit. Thumped. 

" When pulpit thumpers did express." 

Meston. 
ThyseV. Thyself. 

" Mind thysel' — the warld will mind the lave " 
Scots Proverb. 
TilVt. To it. 

" Till't they gade ye see on a braw simmer 
morning." Scott. 

Timmer. Timber. 

" Timmeris for helmis war the tane." 

Barbour. 
Tine, or tyne. To lose ; tint, lost ; tint the gate, lost the 
way, 

" Micht he do ocht but tyne him as it was." 
Blind Harry. 
Tinkler, A tinker. 

" It canna be warse that's no worth a tinkler's 
curse." Scots Proverb. 

Tip. A ram. 

" Young Colin plodded wi' his strayed tips." 
Davidson. 
Tippence. Two-pence, money. 

" Wae to him that lippens to others for tippence." 
Scots Proverb. 
Tirl, tirlin', tirlet. To make a slight noise, to uncover; un- 
covering. 

" When the wind blaws loud and tirls our 
strae." Scots Song. 

" And aff his coat they tirlet by the croun." 
Scots Poem. 
Tither. The other. 

" An' the tae fat boutcher fryed the tither." 
Jacobite Relics. 



GLOSSARY. 



795 



Tittle., tittlin*. To whisper, to prate idly ; whispering. 

" My old and great acquaintances at the court 
of France tittled in the Queen's ear." 

Melvil. 

" Here sits a raw o' tittlin jades." Burns. 

Tocher. Marriage portion ; tocher bands, marriage bonds. 

" She need na mind a clochar wha has a rich 

tocher.'' Scots Proverb. 

Tod. A fox. " Tod V thefauld," fox in the fold. 

" Birds hae their nests, and tods hae thair 
den." Lyndsay. 

Toddle, toddlin'. To totter, like the walk of a child; — 
toddlen-dow, toddlen dove. 
" Toddling burns that smoothly play." 

Fergusson. 
Too-fa'. "Too fa' o' the nicht," when twilight darkens 

into night ; a building added, a lean-to. 
Toom. Empty. 

" Of toom dominion on the plenteous main." 
Ramsay. 
Toop. A ram. 

" My poor toop lamb, my son an' heir." Burns. 
Toss. A toast. 

"An' a' forbye my bonnie sel', 
The toss o' Ecclefechan." 
Tosie. Warm and ruddy with warmth, good-looking, 

intoxicating. 

" And brought them wealth of meat and tosie 
drink." Hamilton. 

Toun. A hamlet, a farm house. 

" Will ye ca' in by our toun, as ye gae to the 
faul.'" " Scote Song. 

Tout. The blast of a horn or trumpet, to blow a horn 

or trumpet. 
" O ladv, I heard a wee horn tout." 

Old Ballad. 
Touzles, touzling. Romping ; ruffling the clothes. 

" Whilk touzles a' their tap, and gars them 
shak wi' fear." Fergusson. 

Tow. A rope. 

" His towes I find hae been sae fine." 

Scots Poem. 
Towmond. A twelvemonth. 

" To this towmond I'se indent." Ramsay. 
Towzie. Rough, shaggy. 

" He's an auld tawtie touzie beast." 

Scots Song. 
Toy. A very old fashion of female head-dress. 

" My grannie's joy is her grannie's toy." 

Scots Saying. 
Toyte. To totter like old age. 

" He's auld and feckless, an' a' he dow do is 
to toyte about." Scots Song. 

Trams. Barrow-trams, the handles of a barrow. 

" We'll batter it wi' a barrow tram." 

Dunbar. 
Transmugrijied. Transmigrated, mttamorphosed. 

" It has undergone a great transmogrifi- 
cation." Gait. 
Trashtrie. Trash, rubbish. 

" Wi' sauce, ragouts, and such like trashtrie." 
Burns. 
Trews. Trousers. 

Trickle. Full of tricks. 

"Atrickie chap's easiest tricket." 

Scots Saying. 
Trig. Spruce, neat. 

" Full taicht and trig socht blet and to their 
dammes." Douglas. 

Trimly. Cleverly, excellently, in a seemly manner. 
"An trimly other try me conceits." 

Scots Poem. 
Trinle, trintle. The wheel of a barrow, to roll. 

"An' my auld mither burnt the trinle." 

Burns. 
Trinklin. Trickling. 

" Lyke to the trinklin black stems of pik." 

G. Douglas. 
Troggers, troggin. Wandering merchants, goods to truck 
or dispose of. 

" The second are those called troggers, who 
carry on a species of traffic." 

Sinclair. 
Trow. To believe, to trust to. 

"And gif that ye will trow to me." Barbour. 
Trowth. Truth, a petty oath. 

" And trowth had in swylk fantasic." 

Wyntown. 



Trystc, trysts. To make an appointment ; appointments, 
love meetings, cattle shows. 
" Was at that tryste that ilke day." Wyntown. 
Try't. Tried. 

Tumbler-wheels. The wheels of a kind of low cart. 

" She can digest the wheels o' tumbler cars 

like Willie Stalker's mare." Scots Saying. 

Tug. Raw hide, of which in old time plough traces 

were frequently made. 
Tug or tow. Either in leather or rope. 

" As e'er in tug or tow was traced." 

Burns. 
Tulzie. A quarrel, to quarrel, to fight. 

" Sevin' sum that the tulzie maid." 

K. James. 
Twa. Two ; twa-fauld, two fold. 

" They made a paction 'tween them twa." 

K. James V. 
Twa three. A few. 

" In twa three words I'll gie ye my opinion." 
Scots Poem. 
Twad. It would. 

Twal. Twelve ; twal pennie worth, a small quantity, a 

pennyworth. — N. B. One penny English is 
twelve pence Scotch. 
" In twal year throw his douchty dede." 

Barbour. 
Twin. To pirt. 

" He'll no twin wi' his gear." Old Ballad. 

Twistle. Twisting, the art of making a rope. 

"I'll twissle yere thrapple in a jiffy." 

Scots Story, 
Tyke. A dog. 

" Thocht he dow not to leid a tyk." 

Dunbar. 
Tysday. Tuesday. 

" Saw ye ought o' the rinaway bride 
Should been married ou tysday 'teen. 

Scots So?ig. 

u 

Unback'd filly. A young mare hitherto unsaddled. 
" But take it like the unbacked filly, 

Proud o' her speed." Burns. 

Unco. Strange, uncouth, very, very great, prodigious. 

" Ye've lain in an unco bed, and wi' an unco 
man." Scots Song. 

Uncos. News. 

" Sae tell's the uncos that ye've heard or 
seen." Morison. 

Unfauld. Unfold. 

"The news grow cauld that slow tongues un- 
fauld." Scots Proverb. 
Unkenn'd. Unknown. 

" An unkenn'd sea has ay anunkenn'd shore." 
Scots Proverb. 
Unsicker. Uncertain, wavering, unsecure. 

" Unsicker, unstable, quo' the wave to the 
cable." Scots Provei-b. 

Unskaithed. Undamaged, unhurt. 
Upo\ Upon. 

Unweeting. Unwittingly, unknowing. 
Urchin. A hedge-hog. 



Vap'rin. Vapouring. 

" In wrath she was sae vap'rin." Burns 

Vauntie. Joyous, delight which cannot contain itself. 

" 'Tis daffin to be vaunty." Old Song. 

Vera. Very. 

" Other fowk are well faured, but ye're no sae 
vera." Scots Saying. 

Virl. A ring round a column, &c 

" Of plumb-tree made, with ivory virles 
round." Ramsay. 

Vogic. Vain. 

" And vogie that 1 ca' my ain." Ross. 



w 



Wa'. Wall ; wa's, walls. 

" The lady look'd over the castle wa 5 ', 
Cried wha maks a' this din?" Scots Ballad. 



790 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



Wabster. A weaver. 

" Find me ane wabster that is leill." 

Lyndsay. 
Wad. Would, to bet, a bet, a pledge. 

Wadna. Would not. 

" What writer wadna gang as far as 
He could for bread." 

Fergusson. 
Wadset. Land on which money is lent ; a mortgage. 

" An' what's his lairdship; a mere wadset, no 
worth redeeming." 
Wae. Woe ; wuefu', sorrowful, wailing. 

" It was wae-days wi' Charlie." Scots Song. 
Wuefu' -ivoodie. Hangman's rope. 

" But weary-fa' the waefu'-woodie." Burns. 
Waesucks ! Wae's me ! Alas ! O the pity ! 

" Some that hae least to dree are loudest wi' 
wae's me !" Scots Proverb. 

Wa' -flower. Wall-flower. 

" Ye may fin' the smell " the wa'-flower for 
three miles frae the aV~ey tap when the 
win's in the west." Scots Story. 

Waft. Woof; the cross thread that goes from the shut- 

tle through the web. 

" True love's the waft o' life, but it whiles 
comes through a sorrowfu' shuttle." 

Scots Saying. 

Waifs an' crocks. Stray sheep and old ewes, past breeding. 
"And sittin down like sarye crokkis." 

Dunbar. 
Wair. To lay out, to expend. 

" Wi' ten pund Scots, on sarkin to ware." 

Scots Song. 
Wale, wal'd. Choice, to choose; chosen. 

" The wale o' our lasses is moorland Meg." 

Scots Song. 
Walie. Ample, large, jolly, also an interjection of dis- 

tress. 

" O waly, waly, up the bank." Scots Song. 
Wame, wamefu'. The belly ; a belly-full. 

" A rotten sod across his wame." Hogg. 

"Let ne'er a wamefu' be a missing." 

A. Scott. 
Wanchansie. Unlucky. 

" Wi' creels wanchansie heap'd wi' bread." 

Fergusson. 
Wanrest, wanrestfu' '. Restless, unrestful. 

" Quo' she, I wis I could your wanrest ken." 
i Ross. 

Wark. Work; 

" Rise early to their wark." Fergusson. 

Wark-lume. A tool to work with. 

"An' cause she soon that wark-lurre quit." 

Scots Poem. 
Warid's worm. A miser. 

" Some ca' him Haud-the-grip, and ithers the 
Warid's worm." Scots Story. 

WarV or warld. World. 

" Its ill to quarrel wi' a misrid warl'." 
Warlock. A wizard ; Warlock-knowe, a knoll where war- 
locks once held tryste. 

" Ye'll neither die for ~ere wit, nor be 
drowned for a warlock." 

Scots Proverb. 
Wurly. Worldly, eager in amassing wealth. 

" The warldly race may riches chase." 

Burns. 
Warran'. A warrant, to warrant. 

" Indeed, quo' she, I'se warran'." 

Scots Song. 
Warsle, warstle, warsl'd, or warstl'd. Wrestle, wrestling, 
struggling ; wrestled. 

" Quha with this warld dois warsell and 
stryfe." Dunbar. 

" We've foughten teugh and warsled sair." 

Scots Song. 
Warst. Worst. 

Wastrie. Prodigality. 

" A house in a hastrie is downright wastrie." 
Scots Proverb. 
Wat. Wet ; I wat — I wot — I know. 

" After their yokin — I wat weel." Fergusson. 
Wat. A man's upper'dress; a sort of mantle. 

" To make a wat to Johnnie of." Burns. 

Water brose. Brose made of meal and water simply, without 

the addition of milk, butter, &c. 

" Them that likes na water brose, will scunner 

at cauld steerie." Scots Proverb, 

® - - — 



Wattle. 



Wimble. 



Waught. 
Waukin. 



Waukit. 



A twig, a wand. 

" He cut a wand and gae her a wattlin." 

Scots Story. 
To swing, to reel. 
" He's grown sae wauf he scarce can wauble." 
Scots Saying. 
Draught. 

V /akin y, watching. 
" Yet weel I like to meet her 
At the wauking of the fauld.' 
Thickened as fullers do cloth. 
" Done, quo' Pate, and syne his erles 
Nailed the dysters wauket loof." 

A. Wilson. 
Waukrife. Not apt to sleep. 

" Thou art a gay and kindlie quean, 
But thou hast a waukrife rainnie." 

Scots Song. 
Waur, ivaur't. Worse, worsted. 

" And what the waur am I." Old Song. 

" Wad aiblins waur't thee at a brattle." Burns. 
Wean. A child. 

" Ilka year a dainty wean." Macneill. 

Wearie, or iveary. Mony a weary body, many a toilsome 

person. 
Weary-widdle. Toilsome contest of life. 

" This warl's a widdle, as weel as a riddle " 

Scots Proverb. 
Weason. Weasand, windpipe. 

" Weet your weason, or else it wil) geeson." 
Scots Saying. 
Weavin' the stocking. To knit stockings. See Stockin'. — 
Throwing the stockin'. 
" To ca' the crack an' weave our stockin'." 

Burns 
Weeder-clips. instrument for removing weeds, 

" I turned the weeder-clips aside." Burns. 
Little ; wee things, little ones ; wee bits, a small 
matter. 
" Oh ! wee, wee man, but ye be Strang." 

Scots Ballad 
Weil; weelfare, welfare 
" They're weel guidet that God guides." 

Scots Proverb 
Rain, wetness ; to wet. 
" Logan water's wide and deep, 
And I am laith to weet my feet.'' Scots Song. 
Fate. 
We shall. 

" We'se a' be fu' when the corn's i' the mow." 
Scots Song 
Wha, whase, who's. Who, whose, who's. 

" Ye wha hae sung o' Hallow fair." 

Fergusson. 
Whaizle. To wheeze. 

" Ye fuff and wheazle, like a hunted weasel." 
Scots Proverb. 
Whelped. 
A leathern thong, a piece of cheese, bread, &c. 

" Cut frae the new cheese a whang." James V. 
Where. Whare'er, where'er. 
" VVhare will our gude-man lie ?" Scots Song, 
What reck. Nevertheless. 

" And yet what reck he at Quebec." Burns 
To fly nimbly, to jerk ; penny-wheep, small 
beer. 
" He hated penny-wheep and water." 

ScoH Rhyme. 
The motion of a hare running, but not frightened : 
a lie. 

" He'll tell you a whid aboon what he's bid." 
Scots Saying. 
Whidden. Running as a hare, or coney. 

" The linnet's flittin frae cowe to cowe, 
The hare is whidden frae knowe to knowe." 
Scots Song. 
Whigmeleeries. Whims, fancies, crotchets. 
Whilk. Which. 

" Than whilk I trow." 
Whingin'. Crying, complaining, fretting. 

" Fears aye pingin and sorrows aye whingin." 
Scots Saying. 
Whirligigums. Useless ornaments, trifling appendages. 

The capitals which surmount the columns on 
the new bridge of Ayr. 
Whissle. A whistle, to whistle. 

"The shrill sound of a thin sword-blade in 
the act of striking." 



Wee. 



Weel. 



Weet. 



Weird. 

We'se. 



Whalpit. 
Whang. 



Whare. 



Wheep. 






GLOSSARY. 



797 



Wltisht. Silence ; to hold one's whisht, to be silent. 

" Whisht, gude wife, is this a day to be sing- 
ing your ranting fule sangs in." Scott. 
Whisk , whisket. To sweep — to lash. 

" He whisket it cross niy lips I trow, 
Which makes them baith sae mealy." 

Scots Song. 
Whisk-in' beard. A beard like the whiskers of a cat. 

" A whiskin beard about he" mou." Burns. 
Whitter. A hearty draught of liquor. 

" He's na flitter while the cog yields a whitter." 
Scots Saying. 
Whittle. A knife. _ 

" Pits ilk chiel's whittle i' the pye." 

Fergusson. 
Whunstane. A whinstone. 

" Be to the poor like ony whunstone." Burns. 
Whyles. Whiles, sometimes. 
Wi\ With. 

" How 's a' wi' ye, my sonsie dame." 

Scots Song. 
Wick. To strike a stone in an oblique direction— a term 

in curling. 

" Guard this in wick, else its a' day with the 
dinner and drink." 

Directions in Curling. 
Wicker. Willow (the smaller sort). 

Widdifu. Twisted like a withy — one who merits hanging. 
" Vain widdifou out of thy wit gane wild." 

Dunbar. 
Wiel. A small whirlpool. 

" An' in the wiel she- will drown me." 

Old Ballad. 
Wifie-wifikie. A diminutive, or endearing name, for wife. 

" There was a wee bit wifiekie, and she gaed 
to the fair." Geddes. 

Wight. Stout — enduring. 

" A nobell knight, 
Stout and manly, bauld and wycht." 

Wyntown. 
Willy art- glower. A bewildered, dismayed stare. 

" Whiles wandering, whiles dandering, 

Like royd and willyart rais." Burel. 

Wimple, wimplet. To meander — meandered — to enfold. 

" Wimplit and busket in ane bluidy bend." 

G. Douglas. 
Wimplin\ Waving — meandering. 

"Where wimpling waters make their way." 

Ramsay. 
Win', win'i, wind. To wind, to winnow; winded, as a bot- 
tom of yarn. 

"Weel win corn should be housed ere the 
morn." Scots Proverb. 

Win, wons. Live, dwells. 

" Where do ye win, gin ane may speer." 

Fergusson. 
Winnin' -thread. Putting thread into hanks. 

" Prudence should be winning when thrift is 
spinning." Scots Saying. 

Winna. Will not. 

" In troth I winna steer ye." Scots So?ig. 

Winnock, A window. 

" May gain a place in Fame's high winnock." 
Tannahill. 
Winsome. Hearty, vaunted, gay. 

" Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow." 

Hamilton. 
Winlle- A staggering motion ; to stagger, to reel. 

" He 11 wintle in a widdie as sure as I'm i' the 
body." Scots Saying. 

Wiss. To wish. 

" There was nae need o' her to wis to pit me 
daft." Gait. 

Withouten. Without. 
Wizened. Hide-bound, dried, shrunk. 

" He's wizened, but gere geisond." That is, 
he is dry, but you are drier. 
Winze. A curse, or imprecation. 

" He loot a winze and drew a straik." Burns. 
Wonner. A wonder, a contemptuous appellation. 

" Some are unlo'esome enough, but ye're a 
warl's wonner." 
Woo'. Wool. 

" Simmer it is coming in an we'll eet teats o' 
woo'." Scots Song. 

Woo. To court, to make love to. 

" Wooing at her, pu'in' at her." Scots Song. 



Woodie. A rope ; more properly, one of withs or willows. 

" He was missed by the water, but caught by 

the woodie." Scots Proverb. 

Wooer-babs. The garter knitted below the knee with a couple 

of loops. 
Wordy. Worthy. 

" He's weel wordy o' her, or the best o' a' 
her kin." Scots Song. 

Worset. Worsted. 

" Her braw new worset apron." Burns. 

Wow. An exclamation of pleasure or wonder. 

Wrack. To teaze, to vex. 

" I'll teaze him an' wrack him until I heart 
break him." Burns. 

Wud. Wild, mad ; wud-mad, distracted. 

" Ance wud, and aye waur." Sects Proverb. 
Wumble. A wimble. 

"To do sic a darke is like boring wi' a fipless 
wumble." Scots Saying. 

Wraith. A spirit, a ghost, an apparition exactly like a 
living person, whose appearance is said to 
forebode the person's approaching death; also 
wrath. 

" And in her sleep loud wraith in every place." 
Douglas. 
Wrang. Wrong, to wrong. 

" With rycht or wrang it hav wald thae." 

Barbour. 
Wreeth. A drifted heap of snow. 

" Ance she lay a week or langer, 
Underneath a wreeth o' snaw." Skinner. 
Wyle. To beguile,- 

Wyliecoat. A flannel vest. 

" The bride in wylie coat sae braw. 
Sat on her nether en'." 
Wyte. Blame, to blame. 

" Had I the wyte she bade me." Scots 



Ye. This pronoun is frequently used for thou. 

Year. Is used both for singular and plural years. 

Yearlings. Born in the same year, coevals. 

" Near yearlins wi' the sun your God." 

Ramsay. 
Yearns. Longs much. 

" He's aye in a yearn, yearn, or a girn, girn." 
Scots Saying. 
Yell. Barren, that gives no milk. 

" A yell sow was never gude to grices." 

Scots Proverb. 
Yerk, Yerkit. To lash, to jerk, jerket, lashed. 

" If I canna sew, quoth Wat, I can yerk." 

Scott. 
Yestreen. Yesternight. 

" Yestreen I saw the new moon 

Wi' the auld moon in her arm." 

Scots Ballad. 
Yett. A gate ; such as is usually at the entrance into a 

farm-yard, or field. 

" Thai wist not weill at what yett he ingaid." 
Blind Harry. 
Yeuks. Itches 

" I'll gar ye scart where it disna yeuk." 

Scots Saying. 
Yill. Ale. 

"Aye blithely, sir, an' drink his health too, 
when the yills gude." Scott. 

Yin. One. 

" Happy we've been, yin and a'." Burns. 

Yird, yirded. Earth, earthed ; buried. 

" Into great pitts eardet were." Barbour. 

Yokin'. Yoking. 

" Or haud the yokin' o' a plough." 

Jacobite Relics. 
Yont, ayont. Beyond. 

" The auld wife ayont the fire." Ross. 

Yirr. Lively. 

" You yirr and yowl, you bark, but dare na bite." 
Scots Saying. 
Yowe. An ewe. 

Yowie. Diminutive of Yowe. 

" The ewie an' the crookit horn, 
Sic a ewie ne'er was born." Skinner. 

Yule. Christmas. 

" And held his yhule in Aberdeen." Wyntcm* 



798 



POETICAL INDEX 



POEMS, BALLADS AND SONGS, 

IN THE ALPHABETICAL ORDER OF THE FIRST LINES. 



VERSES UNDER VIOLENT GRIEF. 

Accept the gift a friend sincere 245 

FAREWELL TO ST. JAMES'S LODGE. 
Adieu ! a heart warm fond adieu ! 354 

LINES AT KENMORE. 

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace 277 

WINDING NITH. 

Adown winding Nith I did wander 468 

THE LOTHIAN LASSIE. 
Ae day a braw wooer came down the lang glen 509 

TO JOHN RANKINE. 

Ae day, as Death, that gruesome carle 319 

AE FOND KISS. 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever 401 

MENIE. 

Again rejoicing nature sees 354 

VERSES TO MISS LOGAN. 
Again the silent wheels of time 268 

AULD FARMER'S SALUTATION. 

A guid new-year I wish thee, Maggie ! 175 

CHLORIS. 
Ah, Chloris ! since it may na be 422 

o, an' ye were dead, guidman. 

A Highland lad my love was born 181 

A CHARACTER. 
A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight 312 

TRAGIC FRAGMENT. 

All devil as I am, a damned wretch 318 

ODE TO RUIN. 
All hail ! inexorable lord ! 237 

HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER. 

Altho' my back be at the wa' 428 

MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY. 

Altho' my bed were in yon muir 343 

AMANG THE TREES. 
Amang the trees where humming bees 429 

LINES AT THE FALL OF FYERS. 

Among the heathy hills and rugged woods 277 

GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

A nee mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December 428 

EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest 327 

ANNA. 
Anna, thy charms my bosom fire , 426 



PACE 

O FOR ANE-AN'-TWENTY. 

An' O ! for ane-and-twenty, Tarn 403 

EPPIE ADAIR. 

An' O, my Eppie, my jewel, my Eppie ! 389 

THE ROSE BUD. 
A rose bud by my early walk 373 

ON THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON. 
As cauld a wind as ever blew 332 

DOWN THE BURN. 

As down the burn they took their way 473 

ON A HEN-PECK'D SQUIRE. 

As Father Adam first was fooled 3 

BONNIE PEG. 

As I came in by our gate end 367 

A VISION. 
As I stood by yon roofless tower 3 

ca' the eaves. 
As I gaed down the water side a 

THE MERRY PLOUGHMAN. 
As I was a wand'ring ae morning in Spring 405 

AS I WAS A WAND'RING. 
As I was a wand'ring ae midsummer e'ening 405 

o, mally's meek. 

As I was walking up the street 439 

ON LOVELY DAVIES. 

Ask why God made the gem so small 332 

DEATH OF POOR MA1LIE. 

As Mailie and her lambs thegither 166 

ON THE WOODS OF DRUMLANRIG. 
As on the banks o' wand'ring Nith 29«i 

TAM the chapman. 
As Tam the chapman on a day 327 

ON BACON. 

At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer 3 

LADY ON LIE. 
A' the lads o' Thornie bank 413 

EPISTLE TO CREECH. 
Auld chuckie Reekie's sair distrest 27J 

EPISTLE TO JAMES TAIT. 

Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner 248 

AWA', WHIGS. 
Awa', Whigs, awa' 3 

HEY FOR A LASS Wl' A TOCHER. 

Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms . 510 

ON A SCOTCH BARD. 
A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink 244 



POETICAL INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



799 



BANNOCKS O' BARLEY. 
Bannocks o' bear meal 427 

TO MISS CRUIKSHANKS. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay 249 

TO CLARINDA. 

Before I saw Clarinda's face 271 

MY NANNIE, 0. 

Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows 347 

BONNY TWEEDSIDE. 

Behold, my love, how green the groves 491 

BEHOLD THE HOUR. 

Behold the hour the boat arrive 472 

ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes 328 

CRAIGIE-BURN-WOOD. 

Beyond thee dearie, beyond thee dearie 395 

ON A COUNTRY LAIRD. 

Bless the Redeemer, Cardoness 336 

TO JOHN M e MURDO, ESQ. 

Blest be M c Murdo to his latest day ! 287 

BLYTHE WAS SHE. 

Blythe, blythe, and merry was she 372 

BLYTHE HAE I BEEN. 

Blythe hae I been on yon hill 46l 

BIRRS OF ABERFELDY. 

Bonny lassie, will ye go ? 36l 

BONNIE WEE THING. 

Bonny wee thing, cannie wee thing 400 

GALLA WATER. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla water 364 

ON LORD GALLOWAY. 

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway 336 

WINTER OF LIFE. 

But lately seen in gladsome green 437 

ON JESSY'S RECOVERY. 

But rarely seen since Nature's birth 338 

BY ALLAN STREAM. 

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove 467 

THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE. 
By yon castle wa', at the close of the day 397 



CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes 386 and 485 

CHLORIS ILL. 

Can I cease to care ? 503 

MY KATIE. 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie ? 496 

BONNIE PEG-A-RAMSAY. 

Cauld is the e'ening blast 439 

ON MISS BURNS. 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing 331 

TO CLARINDA. 

Clarinda, mistress of my soul 270 

ON HARRY ERSKINE. 

Collected Harry stood a wee « 77 

CHARLIE. 

Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er 373 

COME LET ME TAKE THEE. 

Come, let me take thee to my breast 469 

COME REDE ME, DAME. 

Come rede me, dame, come tell me, dame 395 

COMING THRO' THE RYE. 
Coming thro' the rye, poor body 419 



CONTENTED WI LITTLE. 
Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair 



TO MAP.Y. 

Could aught of song declare my pains 437 

ON FERGUSSON. 

Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd 271 

THE HEN-PECK'D HUSBAND. 
Curst be the man, the poorest wretch in life 331 

D 



Dear Peter, dear Peter . 



TO THE STAR. 



338 

203 
479 



TO JAMES SMITH. 

Dear Smith, the sleest, paukie thief 

DELUDED SWAIN. 

Deluded swain, the pleasure 

DEAN OF FACULTY. 

Dire was the hate at old Harlaw 269 

DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 436 

THE BRAES O' CUPAR. 
Donald Brodie met a lass 



413 

DUNCAN GRAY. 

Duncan Gray cam here to woo 449 

ODE TO MRS. OSWALD. 
Dweller in yon dungeon dark 283 

E 

ON A SUICIDE. 

Earth'd up here lies an imp of hell 337 

ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 261 

DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON. 
Expect na, Sir, in this narration 246 



TO CLARINDA. 
Fair empress of the Poet's soul 

DEVON BANKS. 
Fairest maid on Devon banks 



TO A HAGGIS. 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face 

TO MISS AINSLIE. 

Fair maid ye need not take the hint 

DELIA, AN ODE. 
Fair the face of Orient day 



SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES. 
Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame 



411 



TO MR. KENNEDY. 

Farewell, dear friend, may good luck hit you 327 

FAREWELL OLD SCOTIA. 

Farewell old Scotia's bleak domains 245 

SONG OF WAR. 

Farewell thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies. . 414 

ELIZA. 

Farewell thou stream that winding flows 4Q3 

macpherson's farewell. 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong 36] 

A mother's lament. 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped 280 

THE TOAST (jESSY LEWARS). 

Fill me with the rosy wine 337 

TO GRAHAM OF FINTRAY. 

Fintray, my stay in wordly strife 297 

WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T. 
First when Maggy was my care 382 



800 



THE WORKS 



PAGE 
AFTON WATER. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton ! among- thy green braes .... 415 
ELEGY ON 1788. 

For lords or kings I dinna mourn 282 

FORLORN MY LOVE. 

Forlorn my love, no comfort near 508 

CARRON SIDE. 

Frae the friends and land I love 394 

AN INVITATION. 

Friday first's the day appointed 335 

TO MR. MITCHELL. 

Friend of the Poet, tried, and leal 324 

ELIZA. 

From thee, Eliza, I must go 353 

iESOPUS TO MARIA. 

From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells 315 

HERON BALLADS. (il.) 

Fy, let's a' to Kircudbright 322 



G 



GUIDWIFE COUNT THE LAWIN . 

Gane is the day, and mirk's the night 396 

LASS O' ECCLEFECHAN. 

Gat ye me, O gat ye me 421 

TAM SAMSON (PER CONTRA). 

Go, fame, an' canter like a filly 230 

BONNIE MARY. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 379 

ON LIBERTY. 

Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live 334 

GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 

Green grow the rashes, O ! 349 

ADAM A 'S PRAYER. 

Gude pity me, because I'm little 195 

we're a' NODDIN. 

Guid e'en to you, kimmer 346 

A DREAM. 

Guid morning to your majesty ! 254 

TO J. LAPRAIK (HI.) 

Guid speed an' furder to you, Johnny 221 



H 



HAD I A CAVE. 
Had I a cave on some wild distant shore . 



467 
419 



HAD I THE WYTE. 

Had I the wyte, had I the wyte « 

ON PASTORAL POETRY. 

Hail, Poesie ! thou nymph reserv'd 3l6 

TO MAJOR LOGAN. 

Hail ! thairm-inspiring, rattlin' Willie ! 263 

TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY. 

Has auld Kirmarnock seen the deil ? 230 

TO A LOUSE. 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie ! 241 

MAXWELL OF TERRAUGHTY. 

Health to the Maxwell's vet'ran chief! 313 

TREE OF LIBERTY. 
Heard ye o' the tree of France 292 



ON CAPTAIN GROSE. 

Hear ! Land o' Cakes an' brither Scots 299 

ON A CELEBRATED LAWYER. 

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist ?j 

HEE BALOU. 
Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald 427 



OF BURNS. 

PAGE 
JUMPIN' JOHN. 

Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad 365 

JOHNNY PEEP. 

Here am I, Johnny Peep 331 

HAPPY FRIENDSHIP. 

Here around the ingle bleezing 392 

WANDERING WILLIE. 

Here awa', there awa', Wandering Willie 454 

ON GABRIEL RICHARDSON. 

Here brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct 336 

ON MR. BURTON. 

Here cursing, swearing Burton lies 333 

BANKS OF CREE. 

Here is the glen, and here's the bower 483 

AN HONEST FRIEND. 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend ! I 

ANE I LO'E DEAR. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear 512 

A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA.' 

Here's a health to them that's awa' 435 

LAGGAN BURN. 

Here's to thy health, my bonny lass 4 

HOLY WILLIE. 

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay 193 

ON THE MARQUIS. 

Here lies a mock Marquis whose titles were shamm'd. . 335 

ON THE POET'S DAUGHTER. 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose 336 

ON JOHN BUSHBY. 

Here lies John Bushby, honest man 337 

JOHN DOVE. 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon 328 

MARIA RIDDEL. 

Here lies now a prey to insulting neglect 315 

GRIZEL GRIM. 

Here lies wi' death auld Grizel Grim 3 

ON A SCHOOLMASTER. 
Here lie Willie Michie's banes 3 

ON A RULING ELDER. 
Here Souter Hood in death does sleep 328 

ON STIRLING PALACE. 
Here Stuarts once in glory reigned 330 

TO MISS GRAHAM. 
Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives 3 

HER FLOAVING LOCKS. 

Her flowing locks the raven's wing 350 

LINES TO JOHN RANKINE. 

He who of Rankine sang lies stiff and dead 337 

THE DUSTY MILLER. 

Hey the dusty Miller 3 

ROBERT BRUCE. 

His royal visage seam'd with many a scar 318 

ON W. CRUIKSHANKS. 

Honest Will's to Heaven gane 332 

ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWA'. 

How can my poor heart be glad 484 

MONODY ON MARIA RIDDEL. 
How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd 314 

HOW CRUEL THE PARENTS. 

How cruel are the parents 504 

LANG AND DREARY. 

How lang and dreary is the night 371 and 489 

DEVON BANKS. 
How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon . . 368 

ON OLD Q . 

How shall I sing Drumlanrie's Grace 2QI 



POETICAL INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



PAGE 
FRAGMENT TO FOX. 

How wisdom and folly meet, mis, and unite 283 

MY SPOUSE NANCY. 

Husband, husband, cease your strife 481 

A KISS. 
Humid seal of soft affections 326 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 

I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor 171 

FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT. 

I am a bard of no regard 183 

TO JOHN RANKINE. 

I I am a keeper of the law 243 

soldier's joy. 

I I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars 180 

i'm o'er young to marry yet. 

I am m^ Mammie's ae bairn 360 

THE WEARY PUND O' TOW. 

I bought my wife a stane o' lint 402 

TO CLARINDA. 

I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn 271 

GRAHAM OF FINTRAY (iV.) 

i I call no goddess to inspire my strains 312 

THE CARDIN O'T. 
. I coft a stane o' haslock woo' 422 



THOU ART SAE FAIR. 
I do confess thou art sae fair 



3Q8 

WHERE FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING. 

I dream'd I lay where flow'rs were springing 310 

ON A SCOLD. 

If you rattle along like your mistress's tongue 334 

THE BLUE-EYED LASS. 

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen 393 

EPISTLE TO WM. SIMPSON. 

I gat your letter, winsome Willie 219 

A WIFE O' MY AIN. 

I hae a wife o' my ain 403 

TO GAVIN HAMILTON. 

I hold it, sir, my bounden duty 251 

TO A FRIEND. 

I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend 240 

BONNY JEAN. 

I'll aye ca' in by yon town 424 

BONNIE PEGGY ALISON. 

I'll kiss thee yet, yet 349 

JOYFUL WIDOWER. 

I married with a scolding wife 359 

THE BRAES O' CUPAR. 

I met a lass, a bonny lass 413 

TO MRS. SCOTT OF WAUCHOPE. 

I mind it weel, in early date 272 

ON A WINDOW AT DUMFRIES. 

I murder hate, by field or flood 335 

THEN1EL MENZIE'S BONNY MARY. 

In coming by the brig o' Dye 368 

THE WOUNDED HARE. 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art 284 

BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. 

In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles .... 351 

INNOCENCE. 

Innocence looks gaily smiling on ... 336 

CREED OF POVERTY. 

In politics if thou wouldst mix 334 

ON ANDREW TURNER. 
In se'enteen hunder and forty- nine 331 



COUNTRIE LASSIE. 

In simmer when the hay was mawn 

TO HUGH PARKER. 

In this strange land, this uncouth clime , 

A TOAST. 
Instead of a song, boys, I'll give ycu a toast . . . 

PRUDENCE. 
In vaiia would prudence, with her decent sneer . . 

ON A LAP-DOG. 

In wood and wild ye warbling throng , 

SOLDIER LADDIE. 

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when 

THE WHISTLE. 
I sing of a whistle, a whistle of worth 



801 

PAGR 

. 407 

.. 282 

. 334 

• 71 



A BARD S EPITAPH. 

Is there a whim-inspired fool 

MY KATY. 
Is this thy plighted, fond regard ? 

FOR A' THAT AND a' THAT. 

Is there for honest poverty 

BONNY JEAN. 

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face 

THE FAREWELL. 

It was a' for our rightfu' king 

CHARMING CHLOE. 

It was the charming month of May 

THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 
It was upon a Lammas night 



307 
256 



399 



J 

JAMIE. 



Jamie, come try me 

JENNY M C CRAAV. 

Jenny M c Craw, she has ta'en to the heather 

THE PARTING KISS. 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss 

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 
John Anderson, my jo, John 

K 

ON MRS. KEMBLE. 

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 

CAPTAIN GROSE. 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 

THE ORDINATION. 

Kilmarnock wabsters fidge and claw 

TO ONE WHO HAD SENT A NEWSPAPER. 

Kind sir, I've read your paper through , 

ON ROBERT AIKEN. 
Know thou, O stranger to the fame 



ON A MAUCHLINE WAG. 

Lament him, Mauchline husbands a' 

POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose 

HEY, TUTTI TAITI. 

Landlady, count the lawin' 

THE DISCREET HINT. 

Lass, when j'Uuv mither is frae hame 

THE LINT WHITE LOCKS. 
Lassie wi' the lint white locks 



A BRAW WOOER. 
Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen 



333 

300 
200 
290 
327 

328 
167 
370 
2£I2 
492 
508 



802 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



PAGE 
POSTSCRIPT TO AUTHOR'S CRY AND PRAYER. 

Let half-starved slaves in warmer skies 228 

TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. (ill.) 

Late crippl'd of an arm and now a leg 311 

WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T. 

Let me ryke up to dight that liar 182 

LAURA. 

Let me wander where I will 481 

nature's LAW. 

Let other heroes boast their scars 252 

SCOTCH DRINK. 

Let other poets raise a fracas 224 

WOMAN. 

Let not woman e'er complain 489 

ON MISS BURNET. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 30S 

ON A COXCOMB. 

Light lay the earth on Billy's breast 329 

REPLY TO HAMILTON OF GLADSMUIR. 

Like .ZEsop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel 60 

ON DUNDAS OF ARNISTON. 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 26/ 

BEELZEBUB. 

Long life, my lord, and health be yours 305 

CHLORIS ILL. 

Long, long the night 503 

GRACE. 

Lord, we thank, an' thee adore 3.H8 

JEANNIE'S BOSOM. 

Louis, what reck I by thee 4 1 S 

HIGHLAND ROVER. 
Loud blaw the frosty breezes 366 

M 

YONDER POMP. 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion 504 

DR. MAXWELL. 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave 486 

ROARING OCEAN. 

Musing on the roaring ocean 3/2 

THE ROSLIN LANDLADY. 

My blessings on you, sonsy wife 332 

A MOTHER TO HER INFANT. 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie 334 

CLOUT THE CAUDRON. 

My bonny lass, I work in brass 182 

CHLORIS. 

My Chloris, mark how green the groves 491 

THE TOOTH-ACHE. 
My curse upon thy venom'd stang 283 

PLEASURE. 

My bottle is my holy-pool , 335 

MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 

My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O 341 

MY HARRY. 

My Harry was a gallant gay 375 

TO THE WEAVER'S GIN YE GO. 

My heart was ance as blythe as free 346 

COLONEL DE PEYSTER. 

My honoured Colonel, deep I feel 325 

TAM GLEN. 

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittle ! 394 

FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 

My heart is sair — I dare na tell 422 

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHIANDS. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here .... 384 



PAGB 

MY LADY'S GOWN. 

My lady's gown there's gairs upon't 426 

BRUAR WATER. 

My lord, I know your noble ear 275 

MY LOVE. 

My love she's but a lassie yet 379 ] 

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

My lov'd, my honour' d, much respected friend 233 1 

POSTCRIPT TO W. SIMPSON. 

My memory's no worth a preen . . 920 j 

MY PEGGY'S FACE. 
My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form , 428 

N 

THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 

Nae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair 344 

CURE FOR ALL CARE. 

No churchman am I for to rail and to write 352 

TO JOHN SYME, ESQ. 

No more of your guests, be they titled or not 333 1 

ON ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ. 

No more, ye warblers of the wood — no more 317 

ON FERGUSSON. 

No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay 613 j 

PROLOGUE DUMFRIES. 

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 287 

CASSILIS' BANKS. 

Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green 426 | 

O WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN. 

Now haply down yon gay green shaw 424 j 

MY NANNIE'S AAVA.' 

Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays 499 

ON A FAVORITE CHILD. 

Now health forsakes that angel face 316 

TO MR. KENNEDY. 

Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse 325 

LAMENT OF MARY. 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 3<)6 

LASSIE Wl' THE LINT WHITE LOCKS. 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea 492 

ELEGY ON ROBERT RUiSSEAUX. 

Now Robin lies in his last lair 247 

DAINTY DAVIE. 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers 469 

SPRING. 

Now Spring has clad the grove in green 506 

PEGGY. 

Now westlan' winds and slaught'ring guns 345 

LORD GALLOWAY. 
No Stewart art thou, Galloway 33« 

o 

THE TWA HERDS. 

O ! a' ye pious godly folks 19W 

MY WIFE SHE DANG ME. 

O aye my wife, she dang me 433 

YON ROSY BRIER. 

O bonny was yon rosy brier 58 

BATTLE OF SHERRA-MUIR. 

O cam ye here the fight to shun 390 

LABOUR LEA. 

O can ye labour lea, young man SS 

SONG BY GAVIN TURN BULL. 

O condescend, dear charming maid 4& 

TO J. M°MURDO, ESQ. 
O ! could I give thee India's wealth 887 



POETICAL INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



803 



ON A HEN-PECK'D SQUIRE. 
O death ! had'st thou but spar'd his life 329 

ON MATTHEW HENDERSON. 
O deatli ! thou tyrant fell and bloody 293 

LAMENT FOR MARY. 
O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain 

straying 388 

REMORSE. 

Of all the num'rous ills that hurt our peace 256 

OF a' THE AIRTS. 

Qf a* the airts the wind can blaw 381 

THE TOAD EATER. 

Jf lordly acquaintance you boast > 34 

LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN. 

O gat ye me, O gat ye me 421 

BROSE AND BUTTER. 
O gie my love brose, brose . . 387 

GUID ALE. 

O guid ale comes, and guid ale goes 381 

O GIN MY LOVE. 

O gin my love were yon red rose 462 

TO JOHN GOUDIE. 

O Goudie ! terror of the Whigs 215 

TO JOHN SYME. 

O, had the malt thy strength of mind 333 

ON MISS SCOTT. 

Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times 329 

THE EONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA', 

O, how can I be blythe and glad 397 

LOVELY DAVIES. 

O how shall I unskilfu' try 402 

THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie 438 

LOUD GREGORY. SECOND VERSION. 

Oh ! open the door, some pity to show 454 

ON A FAVOURITE CHILD. 

Oh, sweet be thy sleep, in the land of the grave 320 

KENMURE. 

O Kenmure's on and awa,' Willie ! 403 

MEG O' THE MILL. 

O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten 436 and 457 

LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT. 

O lassie, art thou bleeping yet 501 

LADY MARY ANN. 

O Lady Mary Ann looks o'er the castle wa' .r 410 

LAY THY LOOF IN MINE. 

O lay thy loof in mine, lassie 434 

ON MRS. R 'S BIRTH-DAY. 

Old Winter with his frosty beard 317 

MAUCHLINE BELLES. 

O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles 351 

BESS AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL. 

O leeze me on my spinning-wheel 406 

MY WEE THING. 

O leeze me, on my wee thing 448 

LOGAN BRAES. 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 46l 

POLLY STEWART. 

O lovely Polly Stewart ! 425 

THE POSIE. 

O luve will venture in 406 

MALLY. 

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet 439 

MARY MORISON. 

O Mary, at thy window be 453 

MIRK NIGHT O' DECEMBER. 
O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet 425 



THE RUINED MAID. 
O meikle do I rue, fause love 



PAGE 

.. 290 



MY TOCHER S THE JEWEL. 

O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty 

O MERRY HAE I BEEN. 

O merry hae I been teething a heckle 

LORD GREGORY. 

O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour 

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 
O mount and go 



A RED, RED ROSE. 
O my luve's like a red, red rose 



BLOOMING NELLY. 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day 

TO AN OLD SWEETHEART. 
Once fondly lov'd, and now remember'd dear.. 
CESSNOCK BANKS. 

On Cessnock banks there lives a lass 

a lassie dwells 



, 378 

, 26; 



A FRAGMENT. 

One night as I did wander 

ON A HEN-PECK'D SQUIRE. 

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell 

MY HANDSOME NELL. 

O, once I lov'd a bonny lass 

O PHILLY. 

O Philly, happy be that day 

POORTITH CAULD. 

O poortith cauld and restless love 

DESPONDENCY. 
Gppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care 
LUCKLESS FORTUNE. 

O raging fortune's withering blast 

ROARING WILLIE. 

O rattlin', roarin' Willie 

TO J. RANKINE. 

O rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine 

KIRK'S alarm. 

Orthodox, orthodox , 

SAE FAR AWA'. 

O sad and heavy should I part , 

BONNY LESLEY. 

O saw ye bonny Lesley 

MY PHELY. 

O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 

EPP1E M C NAB. 

O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 

THE WOOD-LARK. 

O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay 

O STEER HER UP. 

O steer her up and baud her gaun 

O TELL NA ME. 

O tell na me o' wind and rain 

CROWDIE. 
O that I had ne'er been married 



339 
495 
450 
232 



423 
446 
488 
399 
502 
432 



THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 

O this is no my ain lassie 

A PRAYER. 

O Thou dread Power, who reign'st above 

A PRAYER. 
O Thou great Being ! what Thou art - 

A GRACE. 
O Thou in whom we live and move 

A LAMENT. 
O thou pale orb that silent shines 

PSALM XC. 
O Thou, the first, the greatest Friend 



804 



THE WORKS 



C- 



OF BURNS. 

TAGS 

TO WM. TYTLER, ESQ. 

Revered Defender of beauteous Stuart 278 

THE CALF. 

Right, sir, your text I'll prove it true 202 

ROBIN. 
Robin sbure in hairst , 348 

s 

TO THE OWL. 

Sad bird of night, what sorrow calls thee forth 260 

ON JOHN M c LEOD, ESQ. 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page 267 

SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'. 

Sae flaxen were her ringlets 485 

ON JESSY LEWARS. 

Say, sages, what's the charm on earth 337 

THE WALLACE ODE. 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled 471 — 476 

ON THE EXCISE. 

Searching auld wive's barrels 332 

JOLLY MORTALS, FILL YOUR GLASSES. 

See ! the smoking bowl before us 183 

ON SENSIBILITY. 

Sensibility, how charming 319 

MY WIFE 'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 

She is a winsome wee thing 445 

SHE 'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 

She's fair and fause that causes my smart 417 

AULD LATNG SYNE. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot 474 

ON WILLIAM SMELLIE. 

Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came 329 

ON AVAT. 

Sic a reptile was Wat 332 

SIMMEB. 

Simmer's a pleasant time 3/7 

THE THBUSH. 

Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough 3l6 

THE INVENTORY. 

Sir, as your mandate did request 194 

TO MR. M C ADAM. 

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card 252 

AULD SIR SIMON. 

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou' ... 181 

THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. 

Slcep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature 490 

EVAN BANKS 
Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires 389 

DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. 
Some books are lies frae end to end 185 

SELKIRK GRACE. 
Some hae meat and canna eat 336 

TO LORD GALLOWAY. 

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway 336 

STAY, MY CHARMER. 

Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? 364 

STAY, MY WILLIE. 

Stay, my Willie— yet believe me 498 

ADDRESS (MISS FONTENELLE). 

Still anxious to secure your partial favor 320 

ON CAPTAIN HENDERSON. 
Stop, passenger ! my story's brief 994 

ON W . 

Scop, thief ! dame Nature cried to Death S?8 

BONNY CASTLE GORDON. 
Streams that glide in orient plains 3J5 



PAGE 

A PRAYER. 
O Thou unknown, Almighty cause 238 

HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 
O Thou ! wha in the Heavens dost dwell 192 

ADDRESS TO THE DIEL. 
O thou, whatever title suit thee 



172 

GRACE. 

O Thou, who kindly dost provide 332 

ON MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS. 

O thou, whom poesy abhors ! 331 

O, TIBBIE. 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day 341 

OUT OVER THE FORTH. 

Out over the Forth I look to the north 420 

AWA, WHIGS, AAV A ! 

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair 386 

AVAT YE AVHA'S IN YON TOAVN. 

O wat ye wha's in yon town 424 

MORAG. 

O wat ye wha that lo'es me 433 

MY MINNIE DID. 

O wat ye what my minnie did 430 

PARNASSUS' HILL. 

O, were I on Parnassus' hill ! 383 

O, AVERE MY LOVE. 

O, were my love yon lilac fair 383 

AVERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 

O wert thou in the cauld blast 433 

AVHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME. 

O wha is she that lo'es me 433 

rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

O wha my babie clouts will buy ? 345 

st. Stephen's. 

O wha will to St. Stephen's House 435 

BONNIE DUNDEE. 

O whare did ye get that hauver meal bannock ? 359 

MY COLLIER LADDIE. 

O whare live ye, my bonnie lass ? 404 

avhistle an' i'll come to ye, my lad. 

O whistle an' I'll come to ye, my lad 360 and 468 

TIBBIE DUNBAR. 

O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar 375 

AVILLIE BREAV'D A PECK O' MAUT. 

O W 7 illie brew'd a peck o' maut 391 

AVHY SHOULD I REPINE. 

O why the deuce should I repine 348 

THE UNCO GUID. 

O ye wha are sae guid yoursel' 228 

ON THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. 
O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains 326 



ON PEG NICHOLSON. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare 293 

MARY ! 
Powers celestial ! whose protection 356 



R 



THE REPROOF. 

Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name 330 

RAVING WINDS. 

; Raving winds around her blowing 371 

ON AV . 

i Rest gently, turf, upon his breast 772 



A- 



POETICAL INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



805 



PAGE 
CRAIGIE-BURN-WOOD. 

' Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-bum-wood 395 

ANOTHER VERSION. 
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn 500 

SWEETEST MAY. 
Sweetest May, let love inspire thee 348 

ON A POSTHUMOUS CHILD. 
' Sweet fiow'ret, pledge o' meikle love 249 

MISS FONTENELLE. 
Sweet naivete of feature 32 J 



JESSY LEWARS. 
Talk not to me of savages 337 

TAM SAMSON. 
Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies 230 

THE PARSON'S LOOKS. 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

THE DEUKS DANG O'ER MY DADDIE. 

The bairns got out wi' an unco shout 416 

THE EAGLE 

The black-headed eagle 338 

THE BLUDE RED ROSE. 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw 3/3 

THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw 426 

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen 38/ 

CATS LIKE KITCHEN. 

The cats like kitchen 34/ 

THE COOPER O' CUDDIE 

The cooper o' Cuddie cam here awa' 421 

THE BLISSFUL DAY. 

The day returns, my bosom burns 378 

THE EXCISEMAN 

The De'il cam fiddling thro' the town 416 

ON CAPTAIN GROSE. 
The Devil got notice that Grose was a dying 332 

LIBERTY. 

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among 317 

TO A GENTLEMAN OFFENDED. 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's way 320 

THE BANKS OF AYR. 

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast 358 

OLD WISDOM. 
The grey-'beard, old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures 335 

HUNTING SONG. 

The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn . . 351 

THE LEA-RIG. 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun 444 

CALEDONIA. 
Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon . . 503 

THE INVITATION. 

The king's most humble servant, I 334 

ELECTION BALLAD. 

The laddies by the banks of Nith 297 

ON SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 

The lamp of day with ill-presaging glare 281 

THE LAST BRAW BRIDAL. 

The last braw bridal that I was at 431 

THE LAZY MIST. 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill 380 

THE LASS OF INVERNESS. 
The lovely lass of Inverness 417 



PAGE 
FIRST PSALM. 

The man in life wherever plac'd 236 

NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 

The noble Maxwells and the powers 405 

THE PLOUGHMAN. 
The ploughman he's a bonny lad 369 

ON GAVIN HAMILTON. 
The poor man weeps— here Gavin sleeps 327 

THE PIPER. 

There came a piper out o' Fife 431 

AULD ROB MORRIS. 
There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen 449 

NEIL GOW'S LAMENT. 
There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity 384 

GALLA WATER. 

There's braw braw lads on Yarrow braes 451 

ON A GOBLET. 

There's death in the cup, sae beware ! 333 

NEAVS, LASSES, NEWS. 

There's news, lasses, news . . . . 360 

THE CARLE OF KELLY-BURN. 

There liv'd a carle on Kelly-burn braes 412 

KATHERINE JAFFRAY. 

There liv'd a lass in yonder dale 354 

DUNCAN DAVISON. 

There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg 367 

A BONNY LASS. 

There was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie bonnie lass 439 

ROBIN. 

There was a lad was born in Kyle 350 

BONNIE JEAN. 

There was a lass and she was fair 463 

SCROGGAM. 

There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen 359 

CALEDONIA. 

There was once a day, but old Time then was young ... 434 

FIVE CARLINS. 

There were five carlins in the south 2 

JOHN BARLEYCORN. 

There were three kings into the east 342 

BRIGS OF AYR. 

The simple bard, rough at the rustic plough 264 

THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning . . 414 

BONNY BELL. 

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing 415 

THE LEAGUE AND COVENANT. 

The solemn League and Covenant 134 

THE VISION. 

The sun had clos'd the winter day 205 

THE TAILOR. 

The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a' 376 

THE TEARS I SHED. 

The tears I shed must ever fall 579 

THE BANKS OF NITH. 

The Tnames flows proudly to the sea 393 

TITHER MORN. 

The tither morn, when I forlorn 401 

THE WEARY FUND ; TOW. 

The weary pund, the weary pund 402 

LAMENT FOR GLENCAIRN. 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills 309 

THE WINTER IT IS PAST. 
The winter it is past, and the simmer's come at last. . .. 410 

AV1NTER. 
The wintry west extends his blast lOfc 



806 



THE WORKS OF BURNS. 



PAGE 

strathallan's lament. 
Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling ! 364 

LOVELY NANCY. 

Thine am I, my faithful fair 480 

TO JESSY LEWARS. 

Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair 325 

NEW YEAR'S DAY. 

lais day, Time winds the exhausted chain 289 

ON LORD DAER. 

This wot ye all whom it concerns 262 

MY JEAN. 
Tho' cruel fate should bid us part 350 

TO MY BED. 

Thou bed, in which I first began 293 

TO MRS. C. 

Thou flattering mark of friendship ^ind 325 

FICKLE FORTUNE. 

Though fickle fortune has deceived me 318 

FOR A' THAT. 

Though women's minds, like winter winds 3/1 

JAMIE. 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie ! 47 1 

TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Thou ling'ring star with less'ning ray 388 

INDEPENDENCE. 
Thou of an independent mind 321 

THE NIGHTINGALE. 

Thou sweetest minstrel of the grove 480 

TO AN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD. 

Thou's welcome, wean ! mischanter fa' me 243 

frtar's carse hermitage. 

Thou whom chance may hither lead 2/8-9 

SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD. 

Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st 310 

BOOK- WORMS. 

Through and through the inspired leaves 134 

TO CHLORIS. 

'Tis friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend 321 

TO RIDDEL. 

To Riddel, much lamented man 334 

LOV'D NITH. 

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains 427 

YOUNG JESSIE. 

True-hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow .... 455 

FAIR ELIZA. 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza 408 

THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

'Twas even —the dewy fields were green 357 

THE TWA DOGS. 

'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle 257 

HERON BALLADS. (iV.) 

'Twas in the seventeen hundred year 324 

HER BONNIE BLUE E'E. 

'Twas na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin 504 

THE VOWELS. 
'Twas where the birch and sounding thong are ply'd . . 318 

u 

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

Up in the morning's no for me 365 

THE HOLY FAIR. 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn 195 

HALLOWE'EN. 

Upon that night, when fairies light 209 

THE CARLES O' DYSART. 
Up wi' the Carles 0' Dysart 416 



w 



WAE IS MY HEART. 

Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e 428 

WRITTEN ON A BANK NOTE. 

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf 254 

ON HIS HORSE BEING IMPOUNDED. 

Was e'er puir poet sae befitted 327 

DUNCAN GRAY. 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray 369 

CARRON. 

We cam' na here to view your warks 329 

THE MOUNTAIN DAISY. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower 239 

TO A MOUSE. 

Wee sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie 223 

AVILLIE GRAY. 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet 381 

MY BOWER DOOR. 
Wha is that at my bower door ? 399 

BATTLE O KILLIECRANKIE. 

Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 393 

TO A TAILOR. 

What ails ye now, ye lousy b h 253 

WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO ? 

What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie 400 

ON SEEING LORD GALLOWAY'S SEAT. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair ? 336 

SCOTS PROLOGUE. 

What needs this din about the toun o' Lon'on 288 

FROM A TAILOR. 

What waefu' news is this I hear 253 

MY HOGGIE. 
What will I do gin my hoggie die ? 365 

HERON BALLADS. (ill.) 

Wha will buy my troggin 323 

A WINTER NIGHT. 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure 177 

PROLOGUE WOODS. 

When by a gen'rous public's kind acclaim 272 

TAM O' SHANTER. 

When chapman billies leave the street 300 

MAN WAS MADE 10 MOURN. 

When chill November's surly blast 213 

. HIGHLAND WELCOME. 

When death's dark stream I ferry o'er 329 

SHELA^H O'NEIL. 

When first I began for to sigh and to woo her 367 

MAUCHLINE LADY. 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle 344 

COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 396 

THE AMERICAN WAR. 

When Guildford good our pilot stood 268 

THE HAPPY DAYS. 

When I think on the happy days 34S 

THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME. 

When Januar' wind was blawing cauld 422 

JOLLY BEGGARS. 

When lyart leaves bestrew the yird 179 

TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. (i.) 

When Nature her great master-piece design'd 280 

MY AIN KIND DEARIE, O. 
■When o'er the hill the eastern star 444 



POETICAL INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



807 



PAGE 
ROSY MAY. 

When rosy May conies in wi' flowers 377 

THE POOR AND HONEST SODGER. 

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn 456 

FAIR JENNY. 
Where are the joys I have met in the morning 478 

WINTER'S STORMS. 

When, braving angry winter's storms 374 

THE GALLANT WEAVER. 

Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea 416 

TO THE REV. JOHN M C MATH. 

While at the stook the shearers cow'r 222 

TO J. LAPRA1K. (i.) 

While briers and woodbines budding green 215 

THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. 

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things 314 

PHILLIS THE FAIR. 

While larks with little wing 466 

TO J. LAPRAIK. (il.) 

While new-ca'd k\'e rowte at the stake 218 

SHADE OF THOMSON. 

While virgin Spring by Eden's flood 310 

EPISTLE TO DAVIE. (i.) 

While winds frae aff Ben Lomond blaw lC8 

ON INCIVILITY, AT INVERARY. 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here 331 

ON WEE JOHNNY. 
Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know 327 

HERMIT OF ABEEFELDY. 
Whoe'er thou art these lines now reading 275 

HERON BALLADS. (i.) 

Whom will you send to London town 321 

ON DEATH. 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene 238 

TO CHLORIS. 

Why, why, tell thy lover 510 

WATER FOWL. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake 276 

WILLIE CHALMERS. 

Wi' braw new branks in meikle pride 250 

WILLIE WASTLE. 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed 410 

MARY CAMPBELL. 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary 445 

MY DEARIE. 

Wilt thou be my dearie ? 482 

TO JOHN TAYLOR. 

With Pegasus upon a day 306 

TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 
Wow, but your letter maae me vauntie ! 205 



BANKS O' DOON. — SECOND VERSION. 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 409 

HIGHLAND MARY. 

Ye banks and braes and streams around 446 

BANKS O' DOON. FIRST VERSION. 

Ye flowery banks o' bonny Doon 409 

BONNIE ANN. 

Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right 377 

YE HAE LIEN A' WRANG. 

Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie 371 

LINCLUDEN CASTLE. 

Ye holy walls, that still sublime 291 

ON A NATIONAL THANKSGIVING. 

Ye hypocrites ! are these your pranks ? 335 

author's cry and prayer. 

Ye Irish lords, ye knights and squires 226 

YE JACOBITES. 

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear 408 

ON W. NICOL. 

Ye maggots, feast on Willie's brain 620 

ON EXCISEMEN 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 335 

SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 

Ye sons of old Kiilie, assembled by Willie 353 

GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA. 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine 430 

LOYAL NATIVES. 

Ye true loyal natives, attend to my song 337 

YOUNG JAMIE. 

Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain 420 

YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Young Jockey was the blythest lad 391 

YOUNG PEGGY. 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass 352 

DAMON AND SYLVIA. 

Yon wand'ring rill, that marks the hill 36l 

WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 

Yon wild mossy mountains, sae lofty and wide 398 

WELCOME TO DUMOURIER. 

You're welcome to despots, Dumourier 438 

ON WILLIE STEWART. 

You're welcome, Willie Stewart 134 

TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL. 
Your news and review, sir, I've read through and 

through, sir 280 

ANSWER TO AN INVITATION. 
Yours this moment I unseal 334 



GENERAL INDEX. 



A 

Abhotsford, Towers ot, 56 

Aberdeen, called by the Poet, a lazy 
town, 68 

Aberfeldv, Birks of, described in rhvuie, 
65— Song of, 361 

Abergeldie, Birks of, Ancient song of, 
361 

A bottle and an honest friend, 338 

Absence, a song, by Dr. Blacklock, 560 

Adair, Dr., his Excursion with the 
Poet, 61-2 

Adam A 's Prayer, 1Q5 

Ae day a braw wooer cam down the 
lang glen, Song of, note 509 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever, Song 
of, 401 

Afton Water, Banks of. 37— Song of. 415 

Ah, Chloris, Song of, 422 

Aiken, Andrew, his friendship for 
Burns, and the Maybole youth, 9 — 
Epistle to, 241 

Aiken, Robert, always welcome, 21 — his 
eloquence, 193 — Dedication of the 
Cotter's Saturday Night to, 233 — let- 
ters to, 595-7 — epitaph on, 327 

Aikin's, Dr., his Collection of Songs read 
by Burns with delight, 42 — Professor 
Wilson's reply to, n. 407 

Ainslie, Hugh, Verses on the anniver- 
sary of Burns, by, 159 

Ainslie, Miss, elegant compliment paid 
to, 53. 57 

Ainslie, Robert, his intimacy with 
Burns, 44 — his Border Tour with the 
Poet, 53 — description of his family, — 
— his sober tea-drinking, and charm- 
ing stroll with the bard, 69 — humor- 
ous Epistle to, 621. 627 — letteis to, 
635. 645. 651-2-3. 668. 677- 682. 711. 
725 — his testimony in favour of the 
Poet, n. 725 — notice of, by James 
Hogg, n, 726 

Airds, Laird of, in Galloway, 532 — Song 
in honour of his daughter, 533 

Ale, The Poet's praise of, n. 665 

Alexander, Miss, of Ballochmyle, her 
scene with the Poet, 38. 60 1 — her fa- 
mily, 357, n— letter to, 601 

Alison, Bonnie Peggie, Remarks on, 72 
— song of, 349 

Alison, Rev. Arch , Letter to, 703 — his 
Essays on Taste, n. 703 

Allan, David, his picture of " John 
Anderson, my jo," 466 — " The Cot- 
ter's Saturday Night," 482-3 — a man 
of very great genius, 722 — Notice of, 
by Allan Cunningham, n. 723 

Allan Stream, By, Song of, 467 
Water, Song of, 534 

Allardyce, Miss Jane, of Pittenween, 
heroine of the song, " What can a 
young lassie do wi' an auld man," 
n. 400 

Ailoway Miln, Burns's first school, 3 

Kirk, description of, n. 301 

Three Witch stories re- 
lating to, 715-16 



Alnwick Castle, Burns at, 57 

Amang the trees, where humming bees, 

Song of, 429 
A man's a man for a' that, n. 500 
American War, Disapproval of the, by 

Burns, 50 
American War, a Fragment, 263 
Anderson, Dr. James, Editor of " The 

Bee," Letter to, 697 
Anderson. Miss, the heroine of " The 

Lass of Patie's Mill," 528 
Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, 426 

of the gowden locks, 430 

Annan-dale, Bess of, 295 

River, a beautiful stream, 468 

Annie, one of the Poet's heroines, 12 

Where will bonnie, lie ? n. 502 

— Ramsay's version, 577 

Argyle, Duke of, his song of " Ban- 
nocks o' Barley," n. 427 — Anecdotes 
of, at Sheriff-muir, 580 

Arr.eour, Jean, her first acquaintance 
with Burns, 24-5 — the Poet's attach- 
ment to her, 31 — courtship with her, 
33 — her application to the " gallant 
weaver," ib. — her affecting scene 
with Burns, 35 — her family court 
his society, 59— her intimacy with 
Burns renewed, 60— her re-marriage, 
78-9, and n. 645— "The Mauchline 
lady" of the song, 341 — song in allu- 
sion to her father's treatment, 397 — 
song in honour of, 424 

Armour, James, Mauchline, his anger 
towards his daughter, 33 — letter 
to, 747 

As I cam down by yon castle wa', 578 — 

As I was a wand ring ae midsummer 
e'enin', 405 

Athol, Duke and Duchess of, Visit to, 
at Blair, 65— their attention to the 
Poet, 66. 629 

Auld and new light factions, 220 

chuckie Reekie, 273 

Daddie, Burns's Parish Pastor, 

666, n. 

Guid-man, Wit and humour of 

the, 496 

lang syne, recommended as a ly- 

ric of other days, 86, — ancient 
version, 474, 475 — English ver- 
sion of, 574 

Mare Maggie, The auld Farmer's 

address to, 175 

Rev. Mr., his dissolution of 

Burns's marriage, n. 666 

Robin Gray, Song of, 569 

Austin, Dr., his song, " For lack of 

gold," 555 
Autumn, the Poet's propitious season 

for verse, 107 
Awa', Whigs, awa' ! Song of, 386 
Aye waukin' O, Song of, 377 
Ayr, the native county of Burns,, 1 

Brigs of, a poem, 264 

Charter of, n. 206 

The auld and new Brigs of, n. 

264 
Aytoun, Sir Robert, Song by, 308 



B 

Bachelor's Club, Rules and regulation! 
of, 145 — of Mauchline, 192 

Bacon, the landlord at Brownhill, 287 
— epigram on, 328 

Baillie, Miss Lesley, her visit to the 
Poet, 103 — song in honour of, 446 — 
the Poet almost in love with her, 717 

Baillie, Miss, " Lady Grizell," her pa- 
thetic ballad of, 114— fragment of a 
song, 551 

Baillie, The Misses, elegant compli- 
ment to, 654 

Baird, Rev. G., Letter to and from, 704 
and n. — solicits help in aiding the fa- 
mily of Michael Biuce, ib. 

Ballads, the ancient, noble sublimity 
of, 15 

Ballant}me, John, " The Brigs of Ayr" 
inscribed to him, 264 — notice of, 603, 
n.— letters to, 596. 603-5-6. 610 

Ballochmyle, Lass of, Song of, 357 — no- 
tice of, n. 

Braes of, 357— Song of, 387 

Ballochniel, Kirkoswald, Residence at, 7 

Bank-note, Lines written on a, 254 

Banks of Ayr, The bonnie, Song of, 
358 — circumstances under which it 
was composed, 43. 358 

Banks of Cree, Song of, 483 

of the Devon, Song of, 363 

of Doon, Songs of, 409 

of Forth, Song of, 541 

of Nith, Song of, 393 

Bank-Vennel, Dumfries, the residence 

of the Poet, 118 

Bannockburn, Burns at, 64. 628 

Heroic address of Bruce 

at,- 471-6 

Bannocks of Barley, Song of, 427 — an- 
cient version of, n. ib. 

Barskimming, seat of Lord Glenlee, 
n. 206 

Mill, scene at, 214 

Beattie, Dr., Saying of, 443— his Essay 
on Music, 451-2 — his additional 
verse to Meikle's song, 535 

Bed, my, Verses to, 293 

Beds of sweet roses, Song of, 520 

Beelzebub, Address of, 305 

Beggar's Saturday Night, 27 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive, 472 

Benson, Miss, Letter to, 723 

Bess and her spinning- wheel, Song of,406 

Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought, 18 

the Gawkie, Song of, 519 

Beugo, the engraver, Letter to, 658 
Bide ye yet, beautiful song of, 547 
"iiggar, Misses, the daughters of the 

Pastor of Ballochniel, 7 

Birks of Aberfeldy, Song of, 36l 

■ Abergeldie, n. 36l 

Black-bonnet, a church elder or dea- 
con, 196 

Blacklock, Dr., his letter to Dr. Lawrie, 
39 and 602 n. — songs by 550-5-7. 560 
562-6-8. 571— letter to, 663— Epistle 
to and from, 285, 286— notice of, ib. 



GENERAL INDEX. 



809 



Blacksmith, Letter from a, in illustra- 
tion of a scene in the " Holy Fair," 
199 

Blair, Dr. Hugh, his critical scene with 
the Poet, 50 — Burns's blunder at his 
table, ib. — Remarks on the Doctor's 
advice, 53. 77 — Letter to and from, 6l6 

Blair, Nellv, the heroine of " Handsome 
Nell," 340 

Blair of Athole, Visit to, 65 

Sir James Hunter, On the death 

of, 281 

Blaithrie o't, The, Song of, 530 
Blane, John, his account of the Poet's 
attachment to Bliss Armour, 31 — his 
description of the stable loft in which 
many of Burns's finest poems were 
composed, ib. — his recollection of the 
incident of "The Mouse," 224 
Blithesome bridal, The, Song of, 538 
Bloomfield, the Poet, his letter to the 
Earl of Buchan, respecting Burns, 
n. 721 
Blue-eyed lass, Song of, 393 
Blue-gowns, Notice of, n. 242 
Blythe, blythe and merry was she, Song 

of, 3/2 
Blythe hae I been on yon hill, 46l 
Bonnie Ann, Beware of, Song of, 377 

Bell, Song of, 415 

■ Brucket Lassie, Song of, 540 

Castle Gordon, Song of, 375 

Jean (M'Murdo), Songin honour 

of, 463 

Lad, that's far awa', Song of, 397 

Lesley, Songs in honour of, 446. 

461 

Peg-a-Ramsay, Song of, 439 

; — wee thing, cannie wee thing, 400 

Border Tour, Burns's, 53. 57 
Boswell, James, of Auchinleck, n. 226 
Bowmaker, Dr., notice of, 53 
Braving angry winter's storm, Song of, 

374 
Breadalbane, Earl of, President of the 

Highland Society, Address to, 305 6 
Bridal, The last braw, a Fragment, 431 

o't, The, Song of, 571 

Brigs of Ayr, a picture of old times and 
new, 48 — poem of, 264 

Brodie, Donald, met a lass, Song of, 413 

Broughty Castle, a fine ruin on the 
banks of the Tay, 68 

Brow, the Poet's residence at, 122 

Brown, Agnes, the mother of Burns, 1 
— her rectitude of heart, 4 — her joy on 
her son's return to Mossgiel, 58— hei 
death, 143 

Brown, Gilbert, the Poet's maternal 
grandfather, 6 

Brown, Richard, Irvine, Burns's friend 
ship for him, 16— Letters to, 639. 642 
644-5-7- 675. 683 

Brown, Samuel, the Poet's maternal 
uncle, notice of, 6 — letter to, 675 

Brownhill, Inn at, a favourite restim 
place, 287 

Bruar Water, Humble petition of, 6 
275 

Bruce, Michael, Contemplated new edi 
tion of his Poems, 704, and n. 

Bruce, Robert, Grave of, 62— Popular 
story of, 96 — Drama of, 104 — Ances- 
tors of, n. 209 — portrait of, 318 — Ad- 
dress at Bannockburn, 4J1-6 

Bruce, Mrs., of Clackmannan, Visit to, 
62 — her toast after dinner, ib. 

Bryce, David, Letters to, 34. 596. 599 

Brydges, Sir Egerton, Ids interview 
with the Poet, 84 — his opinion of 
" Tarn o' Shanter," 95 

Brydone, the traveller, his reception of 
Burns, 54 

Buchan Bullers, The, Account of, 298 

Buchan, Earl of, his invitation to the 
Poet, 46. 99. 310. n.— Letttrs to and 
from, 610. 709 and n. 730— Burns's 
Address to him, 108 



Buchanites, The, Notice of, 520. 594 

Burn, Blink o'er the, sweet Bettie, 538 

The Minstrel, Song of, 5G4-5 

— — R., Architect, his account for 
erecting the headstone over the grave 
of Fergusson, 713 

Burness, James, the Poet's cousin, Let- 
ters to, 590. 593-4. 600. 670— Dying 
request to, 745 — his kindness, ib. n. 
— his letter to the Poet's widow, n. 
745 

Burness, William, the father of Burns, 1. 
588 n. — his fine example, 2 — his farm 
unproductive, 10 — his illness and 
death, 11, 593 — picture of his house- 
hold in the " Cotter's Saturday 
Night," 30 — passage in the "Min- 
strel" applied to him, 43 — his Epi- 
taph, 326— the Poet's letter to, 5SS 

Burnet, The fair, 13. 48— Poetical com- 
pliment to, 26l — do. in prose, 99. 605 — 
anecdote of, n. 261 — elegy on, 308. 703 

Burns, Captain William Nicol, the 
Poet's son, the possessor of his fa- 
ther's picture by Nasmyth, 61 0, n. 

Burns, Elizabeth, his illegitimate 
daughter, 243 

Burns, Fanny, the Poet's cousin, praise 
of, 670 and n. 

Burns, Gilbert, 2 — Murdoch's descrip- 
tion of him, 9 — his touching allusion 
to the Poet, 10— his account of his 
brother's particular jealousy, 13 — 
notice of, 143 — his letter on Educa- 
tion, 146 — his account of poor Mai- 
lie, 167 — of the Epistle to Davie, 170 — 
Letters to and from, 629. 667, n. 687. 
744 — Lockhart's remarks on his cor- 
respondence, 630— the Poet declines 
becoming security for him on a large 
scale, 644 

Burns, Miss, The celebrated, Lines 
written under her picture, 331 — No- 
tice of, 690 and n. 

Burns, Mrs., Song composed in com- 
pliment to her, during the honey- 
moon, 86 — her description of the ter- 
rible brushing given by the Poet to 
one of his songs, 98 — her recollec- 
tions of "Tam o' Shanter," 305 — Song 
in honour of, 403 — Letters to and 
from, 744. 746, n. — Notice of, ib. n. 
— her remarkable dream, ib. n. — 
anecdote of, ib. n. — her illness and 
death, 747, n. 

Burns, Robert, His Birth and Pa- 
rentage, 1 
Education, 2 
Secret school of study, 4 
His first love, 5 

His residence at Kirkosvvald, 6 
At Ballochneil, 7 

Boyish conceit, his Maybole friend, 8 
His Fair fillette, ib. 
His preceptor, Murdoch, 9 
He complains of wanting an aim. ib. 
His situation and feelings described 

in a letter to his father, 10 
Death of his father, 11 
His early verses, 12 
J*is best season for devotion, 13 
F ; s mode of composition, 14 
His passions, ib. 
As an observing farmer, 15 
His friendship for Richard Brown, 15 
His farm at Mossgiel, 17 
His Mauchline club, 18 
His Address to his Illegitimate 

Child, ib. 
His desire for distinction, 19 
His drunken rants, ib. 
His satiric attacks, 20 
His person and manners, 21 
His early companions, 22 
He alters his name, 23 
His epistolary style, 24 
His Address to the Deil, 25 
Halloween, ib. 



Death and Dr. Hornbook, 26 

Scotch drink, 26 

Jolly Beggars, ib. 

Mountain Daisy, 27 

Man was made to mourn, 28 

His vision, ib. 

Cotter's Saturday Night, 29 

His Highland Mary, 30 

His Bonny Jean, 31 

His farming establishment, 32 

Courtship with Jean Armour, 33 

His daughter Elizabeth, 34 

His indignation against Armour, 596 

Affecting anecdote, 35 

First appearance of his Poems, 36 

His friendship for Mrs. Dunlop, 37 

Scene with Miss Alexander, 38 

His journey to Edinburgh, 39 

His first appearance there, 40 

His manners, character, and con- 
duct, 41 

His intimacy with Dugald Stewart, 42 

His habits of sobriety, ib. 

His conversational powers, 43 

Richmond's recollections of him, 44 

Sir Walter Scott's ditto, 45 

His high and dangerous elevation, 46 

His Address to the Noblemen and 
Gentlemen of Scotland, 47 

Appearance of the second Edition of 
his poems, 48 

Profits of, 614 and n. 667 

Anecdotes, 49 

A critical scene, 50 

Edinburgh lawyers, 51 

Reception of his poetry, 52 

His Border Tour, 53 

A love adventure, 54 

Visit to Dryburgh Abbey, 55 

His journal, 56 

His jaunt to England, 57 

His return to Mossgiel, 58 

His first Highland Tour, 59 

His Highland jinks, 60 

Burning of his marriage lines, 6l 

Second Highland Tour, ib. 

Visit to Harvieston, 62 

His friendship for Charlotte Hamil- 
ton, 63 

Third and last Highland Tour, 63. 
630 

Visit to Bannockburn, 64 

the Duke of Athole, 65 

Mrs. Rose, of Kilravock, 67 

the Duke of Gordon, ib. 

His renewed visit to Edinburgh, 69 
Dangerous accident, ib. 
Intimacy with Clarinda, JO 
Contributes to "The Museum," 71 
His ode to Prince Charles, 73 
Erects a monument to Fergusson. ib. 
His accounts with Creech, 74 and 647 
His pride, 75 

Excise appointment, ib. 

Sketches of character, 76 

Lord Glencairn and Dr. Blair, 77 

His marriage, 78. 651-6-8 

Removal to EllislaVid, 79 

His want of prudence, 80 

He rebuilds his dwelling-house, 81 

Reflections on his marriage, ib. 

His increasing cares, 83 

Sketch by Sir Egerton Brydges, 84 

His appeal in favour of the House of 
Stuart, 85 

Picture of his mind and feelings in 
1789, 87 

His favourite walks, 88 

His management of a Parochial Li- 
brary, 89 

His appointment to an Excise Divi« 
sion, 90 

Anecdotes, ib. 

His " Wounded Hare," 91 

His " Mary in Heaven," 92 

His Perambulations, 93 

His "Tam o' Shanter," 94 

His " Whistle," y6 



I 810 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Burns (Continued) 
Adventure with Ramsay of Oehter- 

tyre, 96 
His song of " Ae fond kiss," 97 
His " Lament for Glencairn," 98 

Queen Mary, 99 

Visited by two Englishmen, 100 
His final visit to Edinburgh, ib. 
Anecdotes of, ib. 

His heroic War Song, 101 

His removal to Dumfries, 102 

His intercourse with George Thom- 
son, 103 

His "Vision of Liberty," 104 

His defence against the Board of 
Excise, 105 

His Indiscretions, 106 

His Nithsdale Beauties, 107 

Galloway adventure, 108 

His Election ballads, 109 

His wit, 111 

His " Lass of Craigie-burn-wood," 
112 

His Chloris, 113 

His jealousy of men of rank, 114 

His dislike of soldiers, 115 

His cutting irony to Nicol, 116 

His monody on Maria Riddel, 117 

His removal to Mill-hill-brae, 118 

His grief for the death of Glendin- 
ning, 119 

His meeting with Mrs. Hyslop, 120 

His Illness, 121 

His residence at Brow, 122 

Affecting interview with Mrs. Rid- 
del, 123 

His dying request to Thomson, 124 

His return from Brow, 125 

His Death, 126 

His interment, ib. 

Personal character, by a Lady, 127 

strength, 130 

His demeanour to ladies, 131 

Political heresies, 132 

Anecdotes of, ib. 

Modes of study and habits, 133 

Anecdotes of, 134 

As a Poet, 135 

His Nationality, 136 

His best poems, 137 

His excellence, by T. Carlyle, 138 

by Byron, 139 

His Lyrics, 140 

His want of chivalry, 141 

His Prose, 142 

His widow and children, ib. 

His brother Gilbert, 143 

Poem to his memory, 144 

Appendix to His Life, 145 

Remarks on the last three years of his 
life, by Gray, 149 

Phrenological Developement of, 151 

His Cranium, 152 

Telford's poem addressed to, 154 

Roscoe's do., 156 

Campbell's do., 157 

Wordsworth to his sons, 158 

Coleridge's Lines, ib. 

Montgomery's do., ib. 

The Ettrick Shepherd's do., 15g 

On his anniversary, by Hugh Ains- 
lie, ib. 

Verses to his memorv by Halleck, 160 

by Mercer, l6l 

by Mrs. Richardson, ib. 

by E. Rushton, 162 

Sonnet to his Shade by Charlotte 
Smith, 163 

Verses by T. H., ib. 

His anniversary, by D. Vedder, ib. 

His Preface to the First Edition of 
his Poems, 164 

Dedication to the Second Edition, 
165 

His Poems, 166—326 

His verses to a Scotch bard, 244 

— written under violent grief, 



Burns (Continued) 

His Farewell, ib. 

His Elegy, 247 

His Epitaph, 256 

His Monument in Alloway Kirk- 
yard, n. 302 

Lines on his horse being impounded, 
327 

His Postscripts, 228 

Epigrams, &c, 326—338 

Epitaph on his daughter, 336 

Songs and Ballads, 339 — 439 

His Lament, "My Mary's no more," 
388 

His Punch-bowl, 392 

Songs, and Correspondence with G. 
Thomson, 440—517 

Remarks on Scottish Song, 5)8 — 580 

Ayr-shire Ballads, 581-4 

General Correspondence, 585 — 7-17 

Poems in memory of, 514 

His letter to Ty tier of Woodhouselee, 
581 

His complimentary letter to Mrs. 
Graham, of Fintray, 587 

His favourite Authors. 589 

Utopian thoughts, 614 

Profits of his authorship, ib. n. 

His letter to a Lady — allusion to her 
piano-forte, 620 

His sore warfare in this world, 621 

His celebrated letter to Dr. Moore, 
622 

Declines becoming security for Gil- 
bert on a large scale, 644 

Circumstances which led to a perma- 
nent union with his Jean, 645, n. 

Anecdote of, at Glasgow, 647, n - 

Miers's profile of, 653 and n. 

His Observations on Scottish Songs, 
473 

Thanks to George Thomson for Al- 
lan's picture, 505 

His Preface to the second volume of 
"The Museum," 547 

His additional stanzas to the pathetic 
ballad of " Hughie Graham," 5/6 

His amended story of "As I cam 
down by yon castle wa' ! ' ' 578 

His elegant compliment to the Misses 
Bailey, 654 

His filial and fraternal claims, 655 
and n. 

Anecdote of Mrs. Miller, touching 
one of his songs, 657 

His criticism on the Address to Loch- 
lomond, a poem, 660-1 

Recollections of, by Mr. Tenant, of 
Ayr, n. 665 

His belief in the immortality of the 
soul, 666 

His thoughts turned on the Drama, 
693 

His national prejudices, ib. 

His supporters, 707 

His gratitude to the noble house of 
Glencairn, 710 

Compliment of Colonel Fullarton to 
his general talents, 711, n. 

His interest in the fate of the lovely 
Miss Davies, 712 

His ironical epistle to Nicol for send- 
ing him good advice, 714 

His three Witch stories, relating to 
Alloway Kirk, 715-16 

His favourite quotations from Thom- 
son's Dramas, 720 

His delight at receiving a family 
piece of the descendants of Sir 
William Wallace, 722 

His description of his armorial bear- 
ings and seal, ib. 

His celebrated defence of his politi- 
cal conduct, in his letter to Erskine 
of Mar, 74 

Spunkie, his tutelary genius, 725 

His anxiety respecting his fame, 
732 



Burtts ("Continued) 

His ironical Address to Pitt, in the 
cause of the Scotch Distillers, 740 
His letter to the Dumfries magis- 
trates, relative to the education of 
his sons, 742 
His" Monument, Maria Riddel's 

exertions to procure, 742-3, n. 
Anecdote of, whilst at Brow, 744 
His Common-place Books, 748 — 

753, n. 
Assignment of his Works, 754 
Burns, Robert, jun., the eldest son of 

the Poet, Song by, 746, n. 
Bums, William, the brother of the Poet, 
Letter to, 673 — notice of, 696 and n. 
— his death, n. ib. 
Burnside, Rev. Mr., and Mrs., 58 
Burto-n, Epitaph on, 333 
Bushby, John, of Tinwald Downs, 
Satire against, 111 — Lamentation of, 
324 — Epitaph on, 337 and n. 
Byron, Lord, his opinion of the Poet, 
136 — contrasted with Burns, 139— his 
opinion of "Tam o' Shanter," 304 



Csesar, one of the heroes in the "Twa 

Dogs," 257 
Caledonia, Brave, Song of, 434. 503 
Caledonian Hunt, their patronage of 

Burns, 40. 603 — the Poet's address to 

them, 47 — Dedication to, 165 
Calf, The, Poem of, 202 
Campbell, Mary, Burns's Highland 

Mary, story of, 30. 388— Songs ad- 
dressed to, 385. 445 
Campbell, Lords Frederick and Islay, 

227 and n. 
Campbell, Thomas, his Ode to the me- 
mory of Burr>i, 157 — praise of his 

writings, 269 — of Tam 0' Shanter, 

304 
Campbells, The, Loudoun branch of, 

described in "The Vision," 207 
Can I cease to care ? Song of, 503 
Candlish, James, Letters to and from, 

612. 619 and n. — his superabundant 

modesty, 654 
Canongate, Kirk Session of, Sederunt, 

613 
Captain's Lady, The, Song of, 381 
Captive Ribband, a song generally at- 
tributed to Burns, 570 
Caidin o't, The, Song of, 422 
Carfrae, Rev. P., Letter to and from, 

671 n. 
Carfrae, Mrs., Burns's landlady in 

Edinburgh, 40 
Carlisle, City of, Visit to, 57- 327 
Carlyle, Thomas, his character of the 

Poet, 138— Criticisms by, 168. 175-8. 

339 
Carrick Coast, a famous smuggling 

place, 6 
Carron Foundry, Burns at the gates of, 

59. 61 
Carron Side, The air of, 394-5 
Works at Stirling, Lines on 

being refused admittance to, 329 
Cassilis, Earl of, his lady carried off by 

Sir John Faw, 559 
Cassilis Downan's dance, 209 
Cassilis Banks, Song of, 426 
Castle Cawdor, Visit to, where Macbeth 

murdered Duncan, 66 
Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Songs of, 

386. 485 
Catrine, The woods of, 37 — Seat of 

Dugald Stewart, n. 206 
Cauld kail in Aberdeen, Song of, 554 
Caudron, Clout the, Song of, 182 
Cease, cease, my dear friend, to explore, 

Song of, 568 
Cessnock Banks, Heroine of, 30— Song 

of, 355 — improved version, 356 
Chalmers, Margaret, " The fairest maid 



GENERAL INDEX. 



811 



on Devon banks," her winning 
graces, 73 — Songs in honour of, 428. 
513 — her destruction of the Poet's 
letters, n. 630 — her personal charms, 
641— Burns's Letters to, 63. 630-1-5- 
6-7. 642-7-8-9. 658 
Chalmers, Willie, Poem of, 250 

William, Ayr, Letter to, 604 

Chambers, Robert, his account of the 

Poet's early life, 6 — his description of 
Poosie Nancy's club, 179— of the au- 
mous dish, 180 — his anecdotes of 
Nanse Tinnock, 227, n. — his notice of 
Creech, 273, «.— his description of Al- 
loway Kirk, n. 301— his ridicule of the 
Scotch metaphysicians, n. 703 

Character, a, Sketch of, 312 

Charles Edward, Prince, celebration of 
his birth-day, 73 — Songs in honour of, 
366. 414— his heroic adventures, 409 

Charles II., Amour of, 423. 560 — his 
character for wit and libertinism, 567 

Chatham, Earl of, Auld Bosconnock, 
227 

Cherrytrees, Lady, and her daughter, 
Anecdotes of, 470. 579 

Chevalier's, Lament, Song of, 414 

Child, a favourite, On the illness of, 31 6 

On the death of, 320 

Chisholm, Bishop of Dumblane, Anec- 
dote of, 521 

Chloe, The youthful charming, 492 

Chloris, Burns's visit to, 113. 491 — 
Verses to, 321 — Songs in honour of, 
422. 485. 490, 491. 503-7-8. 510 

Chronicle, Morning, Letter to the 
Editor of, 738 

Clarinda, Burns's acquaintance with, 
70 and n. 640 — the Poet's farewell to, 
97 — Songs inspired by, 401. 425. 428. 
472. 480, 499— Verses to, 270-1— No- 
tice of, n. ib. — extract from Burns's 
letter to, respecting his autobiogra- 
phy, 627, n. — letter to M n, 

contained in the Correspondence, 634 
— the Poet's letters to, under the sig- 
nature of Sylvander, 755 to 768 — her 
song of "Love and Friendship," 757 
— Recent account of, 7S8, n. 

Clarke, J., Edinburgh, Letter to, 716 

of Moffat, Schoolmaster, perse- 
cution of, 708 

Clarke, Samuel, jun., Dumfries, Letter 
to, 735 

Clarke, Schoolmaster, Forfar, Letter 
to, 743 

Clarke, Stephen, Anecdotes of, 409. 493 

— Songs composed at his request, 428. 
488 — odd note of, 465 

Clarkson, Dr., his anecdote of Burns, 

n. 274, 
Clergy, The, far above either the Poet's 

praise or censure ! 654 
Clergyman, A Covenanting, Anecdote 

of, 558 
Clout the Cauldron, Ancient song of, 521 
Cochrane, Jane, heroine of the " Collier 

Laddie," 405 n. 
Cock up your beaver, Song of, 396 
Ccelia, Fair, Allan Ramsay's song of, 

378 
Coil, Auld King, 257 
Coila, the old, inspiring, dearest nymph 

of the Poet, 107- 458. 469 
Coilus, King of the Picts, n. 206 
Coldstream Bridge, Scene at, 53 
Colean, Cove of, a noted cavern, 209 
Coleridge, S. T., his lines on Burns, 158 
Collier Laddie, The, Song of, 404— 

Ancient version of, n. ib. 
Collier's " Bonnie lassie," Song of, 536 
Come, let me take thee to my breast, 

Song of, 469 
Come, rede me, dame, Song of, 395 
Coming thro' the braes o' Cupar, 413 

rye, Song of, 419 

Comyn's Castle, Description of, n. 394 
Conjugal love, not adapted for poesy, 492 



Conjugal state, scale of good wifeship, 
718 

Constable, Lady Winifred Maxwell, 
Letters to, 635. 699— her present of a 
valuable snuff-box to the Poet, 99 
and n. 306— notice of her family, n. 
700 

Cooper, The, o' Cuddie, Song of, 421 

Cope, Johnnie, Satirical song of, 568 

Coquet Island, visited by, 57 

Cordwainer's March, air of, 435 

Corn rigs are bonnie, Song of, 546 

Cottages, Smoking, Burns's delight in, 
236 

Cotter's Saturday Night, — stanza on 
love — passage which suggested it, 14 
—origin of, 29— the poem of, 233 

Country Lassie, The, Song of, 407 

Cowper, the Poet, the pains he took to 
understand Burns, 219 — " The 
Task," a glorious poem, 319, n.— his 
translation of Homer's famous "Ces- 
tus of Venus," 707, n. 

Coxcomb, a noted, Epitaph on, 329 

Craig, Miss, her attention to the Poet 
while in a dying state, 123 

Craigdarroch, Laird of, a man of 
worth, 654 

Craigie-burn-wood, Song of, 395. 500 

Craik, Miss, Letter to, and notice of, 
726 and n. 

Cranstoun, Miss, her song of genius, 
"The tears I shed must ever fall," 
578 

Crawford of Doonside, 2 

Auchnames, Notice of, 531 

his song of "Tweedside," 532 — "Al- 
lan Water," 534 — " The Bush aboon 
Traquhair," 541 — "My dearie, if 
thou die," 543 

Crawford, William, his song of "Down 
the Burn, Davie," 538 

Cree, Banks of, Song of, 483 

Creech, Wm., the Publisher, notice of, 40 
— his story, illustrative of drunken- 
ness in Scotland, 51 — a keen frosty 
letter to him, 73 — his reply, 649 — 
epistle to, 273 — letters to, 274. 676 

Creehope Linn, Visit to, 63 

Crochallan Fencibles, their howff in 
the Anchor close, 44 

Cromek, H., his remark on an expres- 
sion of the Poet, 523 — Murdoch's 
letter to, n. 696 

Cromleck's Lilt, affecting ballad of, 
542 

Cruikshanks, Miss, Lines to, 249 — song 
in honour of, 374 

Cruikshanks, William, Edinburgh, the 
Poet's visit to, 69 — epitaph on, 332 
—letters to, 620. 644. 655— notice of, 
675 and n. 

Culloden Moor, Visit to, 67 

Culzean Castle, Curious tapestry in, 
550 

Cunningham, Alexander, the friend of 
the Poet, 44 — his unfortunate story, 
107. 467 — song addressed to him, 506 — 
his faithless fair one, 517 — remedy for 
a certain species of indigestion, 654 
— Letters to and from, 691-2, n. 697. 
701 and n. 706-8. 717. 722. 732. 
and 744 
Cunningham, the Player, Anecdotes 

and Notice of, 530 
Cunningham, Allan, his Life of the 
Poet, 1 to 142 — his first meeting 
with Burns, 80 — his verses in honour 
of the Poet, 144 — his additional 
verses to an old song, 544 
Cunningham, Lady Elizabeth, Letters 

to, 310. 709 
Cumberland, Duke of, Song by Smol- 
let, on the infamous depredations of, 
551 
Cupid's Whirligig, Passage from, 349 
Cure for all care, Song of, 352 
Curling, Game of, described, 205, n. 



Currie, Dr., his defence of " The Lass 
of Ballochmyle," 33 — his criticism 
on "The Twa Dogs," 260— his eu- 
logium on ancient song, 158— his re- 
marks on the Poet's Letters, 587-8, 
n. 662 — his interview with the Poet, 
770, n. 

Currie, John, Carse-mill, Notice of, 
665 and n. 



D 



Daer, Lord, Burns's introduction to, 

37 — lines on meeting with, 262 
Dalrymple of Orangefield, 44. 603— 

Letters to, 635 
Dalrymple, Dr. William, Anecdote of, 

n. 188. 191 
Dalswinton, Lands of, 58 
Dalzell, Alexander, Finlayston, Letter 

to, 706 and n. 
Damon and Sylvia, Song of, 36l 
Daunton me, To, Song of, 373 

it Jacobite song of, 



373, and 560 
Davies, The charming, lovely, Lines 

on, 97. 332. 401-2.— Letters to, 664. 

711— her unhappy story, 711, n.— 

verses on her unfortunate attachment, 

ib. 
Davie, Dainty, Song of, 469— remarks 

on, 579 
Day, returns, my bosom burns, Sone 

of, 378 
Dean of Faculty, a ballad, 269 
Death and Dr. Hornbook, described, 25 

■ ■ Poem of, 125 

Death and dying Words of Poor Mailie, 

14.— origin of, 23— Poem of, 166 
Death of a favourite Child, On the, 

320 
Death, Song of, a heroic Ode, 414 
December, Gloomy, Song of, 428 
Dedication, Poetical, to Gavin Hamil- 
ton, 246 
Deil, The, Burns's Address to, 25 
Deil's, awa' wi' th' Exciseman, Song 

of, 417 
Delany, Captain, his cruel treatment 

of Miss Davies, 711, n. 
Delia, an Ode, 287 
Deluded Swain, the pleasure, Song of, 

4/9 
Democracy of Burns, 104 
Dempster, George, of Dunnichen, a 

true-blue Scot, 227 
De Peyster, Colonel, Verses to, 121. 

325 
Despondency, an Ode, 232 
Deuks, dang o'er my Daddie, Song 

of, 416 
Devon Banks, Fairest Maid of, 63 

Song of, 368. 513 

Dewar, Jessie, Anecdote of, 517 

Discreet hint, The, 292 

Divinity, Polemical, 190 

Dogs, The Twa, a Poem, 257 

Don, Lady Harriet, an unpublished 

letter to, 93— Notice of, 7-27, n. 
Donald and Flora, fine ballad of, by 

Hector Macneil, 569 
Donald Brodie met a Lass, Song of, 

413 
Donocht-head, Praise of, 489 

Song of, ib. n. 

Doon, Auld Brig of, n. 303 

Petition of, n. 304 

Doon, Banks of, Song of, 409— found 

to be a defamatory libel ! 611 
Douglas, Dr., of Jamaica, to whose 

Estate Burns was appointed over- 
seer, 38 and 599 
Douglas, Tragedy of, taken from " Gil 

Morice," 563 




Dove, John, Mauchline, Epitaph on 



Dowie's, Johnnie, tavern, 44 
Down the Burn, Davie, Alteration in, 
466. 473 

Original song 



of, 537 

Dow's, John, Public-house, frequented 
by the Poet, 27 

Dramatic Interlude, A favourite, in the 
south-west parts of Scotland, 558 

Dream, The, Song of, 340 

Poem of, 254 

Author's Defence of, 48 

Drumlanrig Woods, On the destruction 
of, 290— visit to, 674 

Drummond, Jean, of Megginch, the 
heroine of the Song " For lack of 
gold," 555 

Dryburgh Abbey, Ruins of, 55 

Duan, a term of Ossian, n. 205 

Dudgeon, the Poet, Burns's opinion of, 
53— his song, 533 

Dumbarton Drums, Song of, 554 

Dumblane, Battle of, Anecdote of the 
Duke of Argyle at, 580 

Dumfries, Burns's removal to, 102 

folks, quite charmed with, 58 

Dumfries Magistrates, The Poet's letter 
to, relative to the education of his 
sons, 741 and n. 742 

Dumfries Theatre, Prologue spoken at, 
287— Scots ditto, 288 

Dumfries Volunteers, their appearance, 
118— Song of, 436 

Dumfries-shire Whigs, a remedy for 
their indigestion, 655 

Dumourier, General, Welcome to. 438 

Dunbar, Sweet Tibbie, Song of, 375 
— additional stanzas, ib. 

Dunbar, William, Esq., W. S., Edin- 
burgh, Song in honour of. 374 — Let- 
ters to, 612. 648. 688. 700. 739— 
remedy for his indigestion, 654 — No- 
tice of, 675, and n. 700 
Duncan Gray, notice of, 104 — Song 
of 369— ancient version, ib. n. — se- 
cond version, 449 — air of, 553 

Duncan Davison, Song of, 367 

Dr. Robert, Dundonald, notice 



of, n. 190 

William, Letter to Crawford 

Tait, recommending, 698 
Oundas, Lord President, Burns's La- 
mentation on his death, 49 — Elegy, 
267 
Dundee, stone of the gallant lord, 65 

. ■ Viscount, Anecdotes of, 393 

Bonnie, Song of, 359 — ancient 

version. 359, n. 
Dunfermline Abbey, Visit to, 62 
Dunlop, Miss Rachael, her painting 

of Coila, 208. 289 
Dunlop, Mrs., of Dunlop, her friend- 
ship for Burns, 37— her admiration of 
"The Cotter's Saturday Night," ib. 
— her present to the Poet on his mar- 
riage, 79 — verses on the birth of her 
Grandchild, 249 — her extraordinary 
history, n. ib. — New-year's-day, A 
sketch of her fire-side, 289— notice 
of, n. 598— the Poet's letters to, 598. 
606. 614. 616. 641. 646. 649. 6.50. 651. 
665-6-7. 660-2-4-6. 670-4-8 680-4-8. 
693-7-9- 702-7. 712. 716. 719. 721. 
734-7-9. 742, and 745. 
Dysart, the Carles o', Up wi', 416 

E 

Eagle, The black-headed, a fragment, 

338 
Eagle, The black, song by Dr. Fordyce, 

567 
Earnest cry and prayer, The Author's, 

described, 26 — poem of, 226 
Ecclefechan. The Lass of, Song of, 421 



Ecclefechan, wicked little Village of, 502 
Echo, Lap-dog, named, Epitaph on a, 

336 
Edinburgh, Burns's first appearance in, 
40 

Address to, 48. 26l 

— Gentry, their neglect of 

Fergusson, 220 
Lawyers of, 51 

Literati of, their patron- 
age of Burns, 77 

Tavern life in, 51 

Theatre, Burns's opinion 

of, 109 

Lines on, by Sir Walter 

Scott, 262 

. Flowers of, Song of, 523 

Education of the Peasantry of Scot- 
land, 3— by Gilbert Burns, 146 

Eglinton, Earl of, his patronage of 
Burns, 40— letter to, 605 

Egotisms, The Poet's, from his own 
sensations, 750 

Elder, a celebrated Ruling, Epitaph on, 
328 

Election ballads, 109. 295-9- 321-4 

Elegy on the year 1788, 282 

Elgin Cathedral, the noblest in Scot- 
land, Visit to, 67 

Eliza, Burns's, notice of, 30, and 591, n. 
—letters to, 591-3 

Eliza, Song of, 353 

Fair, Song of, 408 

Elizabeth, Burns's illegitimate daugh- 
ter, 34, 243 

Elliott, Dr., a climate-beaten veteran 
in the medical line, 55 

Elliott, General, Lord Heathfield, his 
defence of Gibraltar, n. 180 

EHisland, its beautiful situation, 79 — 
the Poet's Farm at, 647. 688 and n. 
—social communications at, 658 

Elphinstone's Translations of Martial, 
Epigram on, 331, 758 

Ennui, best antidote against, in rainy 
weather, 659 

Epigrams, epitaphs, &c. 326—338 

Epitaph on a Friend, 327 

on W , 333— do. 769 

on one nick-named " The 

Marquis," 335 

Eppie Adair, Song of, 389 

M^Nab, Song of, 399 

Errol, Lord, his notice of Burns, 56 

Erskine, Hon. A., his postscript, 452 — 
his declining health, 463 

Erskine, Hon. Henry, a patron of 
Burns, 44— his portrait, 77— his cele- 
brated whiskey cause, n. 225 

Erskine, Lady, of Kinnoul, her con- 
versation with James I., relative to 
Sir William Wallace, 734, n. 

Erskine, Lord, a spunkie Nor'land bil- 
lie, 227 

Erskine of Mar, manly and eloquent 
letter to, 124, 724 

Esther, a remarkable woman for re- 
citing poetry, 55 

Ettrick Shepherd, his story illustrative 
of drunkenness in Scotland, 50 — his 
verses in memory of Burns, 159— 
his illustration of the word " Spair- 
ges," 172 — his praise of "the Holy 
Fair," 199 — his additional verse to 
" Peggy," 522 

Evan Banks, Song of, 389 

Ewe-bughts, Marion, beauties of the 
song, 445. 544 

Ewie wi' the crooked Horn, 574 

Excise, The, Burns's Commission in, 
75 — his appointment to, 90-8 — In- 
quisition of the Board, 104 — lines on 
being appointed to, 332 — letter of 
instructions, 725, n. — lines on being 
censured by, n. ib. 
Excise Commissioners, their refusal to 
grant the Poet his full salary while 
dying, 744 and n. 



Excisemen, Lines on, ridiculing, 335 
Extempore lines, pinned to a Lady's 
Coach, 334 



Faa, Johnny, the Gypsie Laddie, po- 
pular tale of, 559 
Fairest of the fair, Dr. Percy's song 

of, 529 
Falconer, Author of the " Shipwreck," 

notice of, 689 and n. 
Farewell, The Poet's, 245 

to the Brethren of Tarbolton 

Lodge, 354 
Farewell, The, song of, 431— ancient 

version of, n. 432 
Farewell thou stream that winding 

flows, 493 
Farmer's, Auld, Address to his mare, 32. 

175 
Fee him, father, Tune of, 474 
Ferguson, of Doonholm, 2 

= Sir Adam, of Kilkerran. 227 

Alexander, Esq., of Craig- 

darroch, champion for the " Whis- 
tle," 308 
Ferguson, Mrs., of Craigdarroch, A 
Mother's Lament, composed for, 208 
and n. 
Fergusson, Dr. Adam, a patron of 

Burns, 44 
Fergusson, the Poet, his " Farmer's 
Ingle," the poem which started the 
idea of " The Cotter's Saturday 
Night," 29, n. 233—" Caller Water," 
the model of " Scotch Drink," 226— 
Burns at his lowly grave, 40— the 
model of Burns, 45— memorial to, 7a 
613 — his stanzas of " Leith Races," 
199— Verses wi.tten under his por. 
trait, 271 — his song of " My ain kind 
dearie, O," 536 — his "Young Da- 
mon," 558 — eulogium of, 679, n — 
his headstone, 612— letters respect- 
ing it, 612-13 and n. 713— inscription 
on the stone, 613 
Ferintosh, a synonyme for whiskey, n. 

225 
Fete Champgtre, The, Song of, 435 
Fiddler, The, Song of, 182 
Fife, and a' the lands about it, 550 
Findlater, Alexander, Collector of Ex- 
cise, his testimony of the Poet, 105 — 
his eulogy on the Board of Excise, 
725, n — letter to, 738 
Fisher, William, the Mauchline Elder, 
n. 189 — the hero of " Holy Willie's 
Prayer," 193 
Five Carlins, The, 109 —ballad of, 295 
Fleming, Agnes, one of the maidens o) 

Kyle, Burns's Nannie, 30. 347 
Flowing locks, Her, Song of, 350 
Folly, Lines on, 335 
Fontenelle, Miss, " The Rights of Wo- 
man," address spoken by, 314 — let- 
ters to, 314. 737 — Address spoken by, 
on her benefit night, 320 — Lines 
on seeing her in a favourite charac- 
ter, 321 
For a' that, and a' that, Songs of, 

183. 371. 499 
Forbes, of Culloden, his celebrated 

Whiskey cause, n. 225 
Fordvce, Dr.. his song of "The Black 

Eagle," 567 
Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 

Song of,- 508 
Forth, Banks of, Song of, 541 
For the sake of somebody, Song of, 422 
Fortune, Fickle, 318 

Luckless, Song of, 340 

Fox, Rt. Hon. C- J., Sketch inscribed 

to, 283— Additional lines, 284 
Frae the friends and lands I love, Song 

of, 394 
Fragments of Songs, 348. 350 



GENERAL INDEX. 



813 ! 



France, Revolution in, allusions to, 

483-4 
Franklin, Benjamin, his style not re- 
lished by the Poet, 42 
Fraser, Thomas, the hautboy player, 

460. 521 
Frederick, of Prussia, his taste in 

painting, 486 
Freedom, Lines on, 334 
Friar's-Carse, Family of, friendship for, 

85— contest for "The Whistle" at, 

96 
Friar's Carse Hermitage, Lines written 

in, 278-9 
Friend, honest, A bottle and an, 388 
Friendship, Happy, Song of, 392 
Frugality ! Apostrophe to, 673 
Fullarton, Colonel, described in "The 

Vision," 206— letter to, 710— notice 

of, 711, n. 
Fuseli, the painter, Anecdote of, 233 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae, Song 

of, 524 
Fyers, Fall of, near Loch-ness, Lines 

written at, 277 



Gaberlunzie Man, Song by Jas. V., 565 

Galla Water, Song of, 364— second ver- 
sion, 451— ancient version, ib. 

Galloway, Drunken wife of, Song of, 562 

Galloway, Earl of, Satirical squibs 
against, 111. 336 

Galfoway Tam, Song of, 577 

Gard'ner, The, wi' his paidle, Song of, 
377 

Gardeners, The, march of, 378 

Garrick, David, his scurvy treatment of 
poor Cunningham the Player, 531 

Geddes, Bishop, Letter to, 669 — notice 
of, ib. n. 

Geddes, Jenny, the Poet's mare, 59 — 
notice of the old woman, of that 
name, 618 — an adventure with, 60 

Gentle swain, Specimen of the song, 
529 

Geordie's Byre, Muckin' o', Song of, 546 

George III., Poetical compliment to, 
254 

George IV., Burns's prophecy respect- 
ing him, while Prince of Wales, 48. 
255 

Gibraltar, Siege of, n. 1 80 

Gibson, Agnes, the alias of Poosie 
Nansie, 27 

Gibson, Janet, the Racer Jess of " The 
Holy Fair," 196 

Gilchrist, of Stamford, his interesting 
communication to Sir Egerton 
Brydges. respecting " Tam o' Shan- 
ter," 716 n. 

Gil Morice, The plaintive ballad of, ob- 
servations on, 563 

Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie, Song of, 
524 

Girvan, River, horridly prosaic name 
of, 445 

Glenae, Auld, Tune of, 558 

Glencairn, Countess of, Letter to, 727 

Earl of, his patronage, 39, 

40. 75. 706, n.— letters to, 610. 636. 
733 — his strictures, 49 — the Poet's 
gratitude to him, 77. 7 10 — Lament 
on his death, 98. 309— notice of his fa- 
mily, n. ib. 

Glencoe, Massacre of, Song on, 545 

Glendinning, Death of, 119— Effect on 
the mind of the Poet, ib. — Epitaph 
on a suicide of that name, 337 

Globe Tavern, Dumfries, Burns's howff, 
120 — Verses written at, 335 

Glover, Jean, her song of " O'er the 

Go fetch to me a pint of wine, Song of, 

379— ancient version, 380 
Gold, For lack of, Song bv Dr. Austin, 

£55 



Gordon, Castle, Bonny, Song of, 375 

Gordon, Duchess of, her patronage of 
Burns, 40. 47 — her opinion of the 
Poet, 41. 45 — Duke and Duchess's 
kind reception of the Poet, 67 

Gordon, Duke of, his song of " Cauld 
kail in Aberdeen," 554 

Goudie of Kilmarnock, Epistle to, 
20. 215 

Gow, Neil, Description of, in prose and 
verse, 65 

Grace before dinner, 332 

Grace, The Selkirk, 336 

after dinner, 338 

Another, ib. 

Gracie, James, Esq., Letter to, 746 
Graham, Daft Davie, Anecdote of, 417 
Graham, Miss Jenny, of Dumfries, her 
beautiful song, "Bide ye yet," notice 
and anecdote of, 547 
Graham, Hughie, Ballad of, 575 
Graham, Robert, of Fintray, Poem 
to, 85— Election Ballad to, 110— First 
Epistle to, 280— Second Epistle to, 
297— Third Epistle to, 311, with va- 
riations, n. — Fourth Epistle to, 312 
—letters to, 655. 683— his kind inter- 
position in favour of the Poet, 725, n. 
Graham, Miss, Poetical Address to, 483 
Graham, Mrs., of Fintray, Letters to, 

587. 700 
Grahame, Douglas, the original of "Tam 

o' Shanter," n. 301 
Grahame, James, the Poet, his opinion 
of the "Letters to Clarinda," 71 — 
his drama of Queen Mary, 289 
Gramachree, Irish song of, 535 
Grant, Mrs., of Laggan, her Verses to 

the memory of Burns, 770 
Gray's Elegy, Burns's defence of, 49 — 

his observation to Palgrave, 76 

Gray, James, his professional acquaint- 
ance with the Poet, 120 — his obser- 
vations on the last three years of the 
Poet's life, 149— notice of, by Hogg,ib. 
Green grow the Rashes, a tribute to 
the maidens of Kyle, 30 — Song of, 
349 — ancient version, ib. 
Gregory, Lord, Song of, 453— Wolcot's 
version, ib. — second version, 454 — 
ancient version, 519 
Gregory, Dr., his criticism on the 
" Wounded Hare," 285. 669. 675, n. 
Grieve, William, his family circle, 56 
Grim, Grizzel, Epitaph on, 333 
Grose, Captain, his visit to Friar's- 
Carse, 94 — his Peregrinations, 289 — 
notice of, n. ib.— Lines to, 300 — epi- 
gram on, 332 — letters to, 714, 715 — 
his obligations to the Poet, 714. n. 
Guid e'en to you, kirnmer, Song of, 346 
Guidwife of Wauchope House, notice 
of, 55— poetical epistles to and from, 
273 
Guidwife, count the lawin', Song of, 
396. 576 

H 

Had I a cave on some wild distant 
shore, Song of, 467 

Had I the wyte she bade me, Song of, 
419 

Haggis, Scotch, Address to, 176, — corn- 
composition of, n. ib. — one of the most 
savoury dishes in Scottish cookery, 
177 — Gait's anecdote of, ib. 

Hall, Sir James, of Douglas, and his 
lady, 56 

Halleck, of New York, Verses in me- 
mory of Burns, 160 

Halloween described, 25. 209- 212— 

Poem of, 208 

Hamilton, Gavin, the friend of Burns, 
always welcome, 21 — his wit, 189 — 
account of, 190. 603 — his offence to 
the Kirk, n. 193— his wager with the 
Poet, 202— described in verse, 222— 



poetical dedication to, 246— his de- 
scent, 247 — epistle to, recommending 
a boy, 251— Nature's Law, a poem, 
inscribed to, 252 — epitaph on, 327— 
the Poet's letters to, 603-5. 6ll. 628. 
640. 699 

Hamilton, Wm., of Bangour, his song 
of " The Poor Shepherd," 426. 552— 
oensured by Dr. Johnson, ib. — his 
song of " Strephon," 557 

James, Grocer, Glasgow, let- 
ter to, 67^ — notice of, n. ib. 

Hamilton, Janet, Specimen of her po- 
etry, 527 

Hamilton, Charlotte, her charms des- 
cribed, 61-3. 73. 368. 629 

Hannibal's Life, the first of two books 
the Poet took most delight in, 3 

Hanover, House of, 409 

Stem, lines restored, 278 

Happy days, Song of, 348 

Friendship, Song of, 392 

Marriage," song of, by Edward 

Moore, 527 

Hare, a wounded, Verses on seeing one 
limp by, 284, and 675 — Dr. Gre- 
gory's criticism on. 285 

Harvieston, The Poet's visit to, 6l 

Hastie, Archibald, Esq., M.P., the wor- 
thy possessor of the Poet's marble 
punch-bowl, 392, 

Hastings, Warren, his triumph, 290, n. 

Haugh, Mrs., of Dumfries, her testi- 
mony regarding the Poet, 132 

Havannah, Capture of, n. 180 

Hay, Charles, Esq., Advocate, Lette? 
to, 637 

Hay's, John, "Bonnie Lassie," Spe- 
cimen of, 539 

Hazlitt, William, his criticism on 
"The Cotter's Saturday Night," 
233, «.— "The Twa Dogs," 259 

Hee Balou, Song of, 427 

Helen, Fair, of Kirkconnel, Romantic 
song of, 465 

Hemans, Mrs., Lines by, n. 234 

Henderson, Captain Matthew, Elegy 
on, 100. 293.— his Epitaph, 294— 
notice of, 696, n. 705 

Hen-peck'd Country Squire, a, Epitaph 
on, 329 

Hen-peck'd Husband, The, Verses on 
331 

Herds, The Twa, poem of, 190 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 
Song of, 435 

Here's to thy health, my bonnie Lass, 
431 

Hermit, The, a poem written in the 
Wood of Aberfeldy, 275 

Heron, his description of Burns's 
poems, 36 — his opinion of the Poet, 
44. 52— of Dr. Blacklock, 286— his 
death, ib. 

Heron of Kerroughtree, Election bal- 
lads, 111. 321-4— letter to, 739 

Heron, Lady Elizabeth, heroine of the 
" Banks of Cree," 112, 483 

He stole my tender heart away, speci- 
men of the song, 529 

Hey, the Dusty Miller, 367 

for a lass wi' a tocher, 510 

Tuttie Taitie,— air of, 370. 471-2. 

555-6. — ancient version, ib. 
Hewit, Richard, an amanuensis of Dr. 

Blacklock, notice of, 520 and n. 
Highland Laddie, The auld, 528 
• Lassie, Song of, 344 

Laddie, Bonnie, 426 — Loyal 

song of, 523 

Rover, The Young, 366 

Harry, Song of, 375— ancient 

version, 376, n. 

Tour, Burns's First, 59 — se- 

cond, 61— third, 63 

high jinks, 60 

Mary, Song of, 103, 446— 

notice of, 447, »• 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Highland Society, Address of Beel- 
zebub to the President, 305 

Welcome, The, 329 

Widow's Lament, Song of, 



- Character, or Garb of Old 
Gaul, 564 
Queen, and King, Specimens 
of songs, 518 



Highlander, A musical, his statement 
respecting Gaelic and Highland 
songs, 467 

Highlander's Prayer at Sheriff-muir, 
.529 

Highlandman, John, My gallant braw, 
Song of, 467 

Hill, Peter, Bookseller, Edinburgh, 
Letters to, 654. 660. 673. 689. 692. 
701. 713— notice of, 617, n. 

Hinches, Lieutenant, his " Farewell to 
his Sweetheart," n. 418 

Hogg. James, his description of drunk- 
enness in Scotland, 51— his anecdote 
of Burns, 274 — his remark on the 
queer old song of "Duncan Gray," 
553, n. — his castigation of Ritson, 
556 — his anecdote of Sir George 
Murray, 559 

Hoggie, My, Song of, 365 

Holy Fair, The, notice of, 20 — poem of, 
195 — sternly censured by a clergyman, 
49— Dr. Blair's alteration of a word 
in, 50— illustration of a scene in, 199 

HolyTuilzie, notice of, 20— Poem of, 190 

Holy Willie's Prayer, notice of, 20. — 
Poem of, 192.— described by a Mauch- 
line mason, 21 — origin of, n. 192 — 
jeu d'esprit relating to, n. 192 — epi- 
taph on, 193 

Hood, a gentleman who accompanied 
the Poet to England, 57 

Hood, Souter, a celebrated ruling elder, 
epitaph on, 328 

Hooly and fairly, Song of, 562 

Hornbook, Dr., Death and, 185— hero 
of the poem, n. ib. 

How cruel are the parents, Song of, 504 

How lang and dreary is the night, Song 
of, 371 — second version, 489. 

Hoy, James, Librarian at Gordon Cas- 
tle, Letters to and from, 68. 631-2-3. 
—notice of, 633, n. 

Hughie Graham, Patriotic ballad of, 
with additional stanzas by Burns, 
575 

Human life, The grand end of, 750 

Humphrey, James, a noisy polemic, 
Epitaph on, 328 

Hunter, John, of Bar-mill, the luckless 
hero of the song, " I had a horse, 
and I had nae mair," 561 

Hunting song, 351 

Hutchison, Dr. Copland, his recol- 
lections of the Poet, 120 

Hypocrisy, To unmask, a favourite pur- 
suit of the Poet, 229 

Hyslop, Mrs., her meeting with Burns, 



Ideal loveliness, in his solitary wander- 
ings, 107 

I do confess thou art sae fair, Seng 
of, 398 

I had a horse, and I had nae mair, Ca- 
pital comic song of, 56 1 

I hae a wife o' my ain, Song of, 403 

I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 424 

Illness of a Favourite Child, Lines on 
316. 

I'm o'er young to marry yet, Song of, 
360 

Independence, Altar to, poetical in- 
scription for, 321 

Indigestion, Horrors of, 654 
! Innocence, Lines on, 336 



Inventory, The, described, 32. — Poem 
of, 194 

Inverary, Lines on, 60 — the Poet's vi- 
sits to, 331 

Inverleithing, 56 

Inverness, the classical Capital of the 
Eastern Highlands, stay at, 67 

" The lovely Lass o'," 417 

Invitation, Poetical reply to an, 334 

Another, ib. 

to a Masonic Anniversary, 



Irish song of Gramachree, 535 
Irving, Dr., his praise of " The Cot- 
ter's Saturday Night," 236 



Jacobites, Ye, by name, Song of, 408 
James V., a poet, warrior and musi- 
cian, his song of "The Gaberlunzie 
Man," 566 
Jamie, come try me, Song of, with va- 
riations, 379 

comes hame, There'll never be 

peace till, 397 

Gay, notice of the song of, 524 

thou hast left me ever, 474 

Young, pride of a' the plain, 

Song of, 420 

Jean, Bonnie, Burns's courtship with 
his, 31 — original stanza in honour of, 
173— Song of, 350— Sonss in praise 
of, 399- 418. 424 

Jeannie's bosom, Song of, 418 

Jedburgh, Romantic situation of, 54 — 

Magistrates of, present the 

freedom of the town to Burns, 55 

Jeffrey, Francis, Lord, his praise of 
"The Holy Fair," &c. 200— "The 
Mouse," 224 — "The Cotter's Sa- 
turday Night," 236 — his remarks on 
Burns's Correspondence, 585-8, 11. 

Jeffrey, Jean, the "blue-eyed Lass" of 
the song, 91 — notice of her family, 
393 

Jenny, Fair, Song of, 478 

McCraw, a fragment, 431 

Jessie, Young, Song of, 455 

Jessy — Here's a health to ane I lo'e 

dear, 512 
Jinglan Johnnie, Song of, 528 
Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 413 
Jockey, Young, Song of, 391 

My dear, Song of, 524 

John Anderson, my jo, Song of, 385 — 
additional verses, ib. — ancient ver- 
sion, ib. 

John Barleycorn, Ballad of, 342 

Johnnie's grey breeks, Ancient version 
of, 526 

John o' Badenyon', Song of, 572 

Johnson, Dr., his interview with Dr. 
Blacklock, 286 — singular anecdote of, 
330 

Johnson, James, Publisher of "The 
Museum," assistance rendered him, 
619. 632-3— his terms, 632 — letters 
to, 663-6. 734 and 743. 

Johnson's "Musical Museum," Con- 
tributions to, 71. 86 — the Poet's pre- 
face to the second volume, 547 

Johnston of Westerhall, Sir James, 109 

Johnstone of Hilton, Miss Lucy, Song 
in honour of, 424 

Jolly Beggars, The, described, 26— 
criticisms on, 184 — Poem of, 179 — 
scene of, n. ib. 

Jolly Mortals, fill your glasses, Song 
of, 183 

Joyful Widower, The, Song of, 359 

Jumping John, Song of, 385 

Junius, his style, Burns a great ad- 
mirer of, 42 



K 

K , Lord, Anecdote of, 243 

Kate of Aberdeen, Song of, 531 
Katherine Jaffray, Song of, 354 

Ogie, Air of, 448 

Katy, My, Canst thou leave me thus ? 

496 
Keith— Marischall, Noble family of, 1 
Kellyburn Braes, The carle of, Song of, 

412 — additional verses to, 413 
Kemble, Mrs., Lines on, 333 
Ker, a member of the Farmer's Club 

of Kelsoe, 55 — accompanies the Poet 

in his jaunt to England, 57 
Kenmore, Inn at, Lines written over 

the mantel piece, 65, 277 
Kenmure, Viscount, Song in honour 

of, 403— his gallantry, 404 
Kennedy, Jean, the " Kirkton Jean" of 

Burns, 6 
John, his description of an 

interview with Burns and Jean Ar- 
mour, 35— Poetical invitation to, 325. 

— epitaph on, 327 — a farewell to, ib. 

—letters to, 595. 600 
Bliss of Dalgarroch, 97 — af- 
fecting anecdote of, 410 — letter to, 

726 
Key, Jane, heiress of Edinbelly, forced 

by Rob Roy, 582 
Keys, Black/in music, Story of, 493 
Killie, Sons of old, Song of, 353 
Killiecrankie, Battle of, Song of, 393 
Kilmarnock, Description of, 200, n. 
— Lodge, Masonic, repu- 
tation of, 353 
Kilravock Castle, Wild scenery and 

grandeur of, 643 
Kinnoul, Lady, her conversation with 

James I. relative to Wallace and 

Bruce, 734, n. 
Kirkoswald School, Burns's residence 

at, 6 — great fair, 8 — Fair Lass of, 12 
Kirkpatrick, Rev. Mr., Reproof of his 

sermon against the House of Stuart, 

85 
Kirk's alarm, Poem of, 187 
Kirk wad let me be, Old song of, 558 
Kiss, Verses to a, 326 
Knowledge, Diffusion of, a favourite 

object with Burns, 89 
Kyle, the native district of Burns, 6. 

257, n. 

Rustic damsels of, 12 

People of, 16 

Muse of, 28 

Maidens of, 30 



Laddie, lie near me, Song of, 566 
Ladyman, a traveller, his interview 

with the Poet, n. 328 
Lady Mary Ann, Song of, 410 
■ -Ancient ballad of, 

(Craigston's growing), 411, n. 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, Song ol, 

413 — additional verses, 414 
Ladv's Pocket-book, Lines written in, 

334 
tongue, Extempore lines on .'*, 

334 
Lament on a friend's amour, 331 

■ The, Story of, 232 

of Mary, Queen of Scots, 306 

of the Ruined maid, 29O 

The Poet's, when about to 

leave Scotland, " My Mary's no 

more !" 388 
Lamington, Kirk of, Lines on, 332 
Landseer, Thomas, his explanatory 

notes to the "Address to the Deil," 

172 
Landladv, count the lawin, Song of, 

370 



GENERAL INDEX. 



815 



Lap-dog, named '-Echo," Epitaph 
on, 336 

Lapraik, John, a brother poet, 22. 217 
— Burns's epistle to him, 24. 215 — his 
reply, 217 — his " Deil's answer," 174 
second epistle to, 218 — third epistle 
to, 221 — his song addressed to his 
" sweet wife," 563 

Lass o' Ballochmyle, Song of, 357 — 
found to be a defamatory libel ! 611 

o' Livingston, Song of, 525 

o' Patie's mill, Song of, 527 

that made the bed to me, Song of, 

422 and 560 

Lassie wi' the lint white locks. 492 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the 
Jang glen, Song of, 508 

Last time I came o'er the moor, Song 
of, 526 

Laura, Song of, by G. Turnbull, 481 

Laurie, Rev. Dr., Dr. Blacklock's let- 
ter to him respecting the Poet, 39 
and 602 — Prayer for his family, 251 — 
letter to, 601 

Rev. G., Letters to and from, 

608 and n. — notice of, n. 

• Miss, compliment paid her, 

609 

Law, Faculty of, their clients have 
much to digest ! 654 

Lazy mist, Song of, 380 

Leader-haughs and Yarrow, The old 
song of, 564 

Lea-rig, Song of, 444 

•Ancient version of, 



Leith, a delicious ride from, 605 

Lesley, Bonny, Songs in honour of, 
446. 461 

Let not woman e'er complain, Song of, 
489 

Lewars, Jessie, the friend of the Bard, 
118. 122— Lines to, 325 — verses to, 
337 — "The Toast," addressed to, ib. 
— epitaph on, ib. — lines on her reco- 
very, 338 — song in honour of, 512 

John, his letter to James Bur- 



ness, communicating the death of 
the Poet, 745, n. 

Lewie Gordon, Air of, 472 

Song of, 544 

Liberty, a fragment, 317 

Tree of, poem of, 292 

Life and Age of Man, The favourite 
ballad of, sung by the mother of 
Bums, 4. 28. 214. 657, the original of 
" Man is made to mourn" 

Lincluden Abbey, Ruins of, 104. 291— 
lines on a walk among, 3l6 and n. — 
— Vision of Liberty, evoked among, 
313 

Lindsay, Miss Isabella, the Poet's ad- 
miration of her, 54-5 

Rev. Mr., the hero of the 

ballad of " Maggie Lauder, 200 n. 

•Ladv Ann of Balcarras, her 



song of " Auld Robin Gray, 569 

Lines sent to a gentleman whom the 
Poet had offended, 320 

written in a lady's pocket-book, 

334 

pinned to a Lady's coach, ib. 

on the occasion of a Naval Vic- 
tory, 335 

on Folly, written on a window 

of the Globe tavern, 335 

Linlithgow, Old Royal Palace of, 64 

Literary Scoldings and Hints, n. 319 

Little, Janet, Letter and poetical epis- 
tle from, 680, n. 

Lochlea, farm of, leased by Burns's fa- 
ther, 2. 187 

Lochlomond, Address to, criticism on 
the poem, 660 

Lochmaben, the residence of Robert 
Bruce, n. 295 

Lochroyan, Lass of, an old ballad, no- 

- tice of, 452 — two. stanzas of, 453. 
6*0 



Lockhart, J. G., his defence of the 
"Lass o' Ballochmyle," 38— interest- 
ing letter of Sir Walter Scott to, re- 
specting the Poet, 45 — his description 
of the Poet among the Literati of 
Edinburgh, 51 — of his reconciliation 
with Jean Armour, 59— his remarks 
on Bannockburn, 64 — on Lord Dun- 
dee's stone, 65, n. — on the irascible 
pedant Nicol, 68 — on the Poet's lin- 
gering stay in Edinburgh, 70— on his 
accounts with Creech, 7 4 — on his 
jealousy of men of high station, 77 — 
on his Letters to Mrs. Dunlop, 87 — 
on his perambulations in Dumfries- 
shire, 93 — his anecdotes of the Poet, 
100 — his remarks on the stately Tory- 
ism in Dumfries, 114 — his eloquent 
eulogium on the Poet's works, 144 — 
his history of " The Kirk's Alarm," 
189 — his remarks on "The Poet's 
Welcome," 244 — on his general Cor- 
respondence, 586 — on the Letters of 
Gilbert Burns with the Poet, 630— 
his national song of " The broad 
swords of Old Scotland," 772 

-George, Merchant, Glasgow, 



Letter to, 653 
Logan Braes, Song of, 46l — Mayne's 

version, ib. 
Logan, Major, Laird of Afton, stanza 

to, in "The Kirk's Alarm," 189 — 

poetical epistle to, 2o3 — letter to, 679 

Miss Susan, Verses to, 268 

Lorimer, Jean, " The Lass of Craigie- 

burn-wood," her levity, 97 — Songs in 

honour of, 395. 422. 450. 485-8 
Lothian Lassie, The ballad to the tune 

of, 508-9 
Lounger, The, the periodical work 

which first recommended Burns to 

public notice, 45. 604 
Louse, The, Poem of, 241 — author's 

defence, 48 
Love adventure, A, 54 
Love, Illicit, 16 

is the cause of my mourning, 549 

Music, and Poetry, their con- 
nexion, 748 

Lowe of Airds, notice of his song of 

" Mary's Dream," 532 
Loyal Natives, The true, Lines on, 337 
Luath, one of the heroes of " The 

Twa Dogs," 257 
Luckless Fortune, Song of, 340 
Lumsdale, Harry, the hero of " High- 
land Harry," 376, 11. 

M 

M'Adam, Mr., Poetical epistle to, 252 

M'Auley, Mr., Dumbarton, Letter to, 
67Q 

M'Creddie, John, The supposed author 
of "The Owl," 260 

M'Culloch, David, of Ardwell, his anec- 
dote of Burns, 114— letter to, 733 

M'Diarmid, Mr., his record of the 
Poet's family, 143 

M'Gill, Rev. Dr., the thunder of the 
Kirk directed against him, 91. 189 — 
his heretical book ! 683 

M'Gregor of Ruara, his Lament, 37 1 

M'Kenzie, Dr., of Irvine, an early com- 
panion of the Poet, 22 — letter to, 603 
notice of, ib. n. 

Henry, his patronage of the 

Poet, 41-5-6— Remarks by, 205— Ju- 
venile compositions of, 563 — his com- 
pliment to Miss Laurie, 609 — letter 
from, to Burns, 694, n. — the Poet in 
raptures with his " Mirror," " Loun- 
ger," and " Man of Feeling," 694 

M'Kinlay, Rev. Mr., of Kilmarnock, 
the horo of "The Ordination," 202 

M'Lehose, Mrs. (Clarinda), Lines to, 71 

BI'Leod, Miss Isabella, of Rasay, Song 
on, 371 



M'Leod, John, Esq., Verses on the 
death of, 267 

M'Math, Rev. John, epistle to, 21 — 
222-3 

M'Millan's " Peggy," Song of, 344, ru 

M'Murdo, Jean, the heroine of the 
song, "Bonnie Jean," 107 

John, his taste in appreci- 
ating the merits of the Poet, 92— 
verses to, 287— letters to, 677. 696. 



Mrs., Drumlanrig, Letter 

to, 674 
Phiilis, another of the Poet's 

heroines, Song in honour of, 466 
M'Neil, Hector, his fine ballad of 

" Donald and Flora," 569 
M'Pherson, his translation of Homer's 

famous " Cestus of Venus," 707> n - 
M'Pherson's Farewell, Song of, 361-2 
Lament, 362 — the original 

song, ib. — notice of, 362, n. 363 
M'Whinnie, Mr., Ayr, Letter to, 595 



Maggie by the banks of Nith, 295 

Lauder, Inquiry respecting, 533 

, My, Ancient song of, 522 

Maid, The ruined, her lament, 290 

The, that tends the goats, Song, 

372 
Mailie, Poor, Death and dying words 
of, 166 

Elegy of, 167 

Maine, John, author of the " Siller 

Gun," notice of, 661 
Maimed soldier and his doxy, charac- 
ters of, in " The Jolly Beggars," 27 
Malcolm, Sir John, Old song of, n. 300 
Man, naturally a kind, benevolent ani- 
mal, 653 
Man was made to mourn, Poem of, 213 

— origin of, 214 
Mar, Earl of, at the battle of Sheriff- 

muir, 580 
Marie, The Queen's, Ballad of, 689 
Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, 

Song of, 504 
Marquis, The, Epitaph on a person 

nick-named, 335 
Marriage, On, variance of the Kirk of 

Scotland, with the civil law, 11. 666 
Martin, John, the distinguished painter, 

560, n. 
Mary, Song addressed to, 437 
Mary Campbell, Burns's " Highland 

Mary," notice of, 30. 388. 447 
Mary, Queen of Scots, the room where 
she was born, 64— Drama of, 289 — 
Lament of, 306 
Mary in Heaven, Lyric of. 92. 388 

Prayer for, 356 

Mary's dream, Lowe's beautiful song 

of, 533 
Mashlum bannocks, description of, n. 227 
Masonic Anniversary, Invitation to, 335 
Masterton, Allan, his air of " Strath- 
allan's Lament," 72 — a steadfast 
friend of the Poet, 377 
Ann, the heroine of " Bon- 
nie Ann," 377 
Mauchline, Description of, 195 

Ale and maidens, 27 

Belles, Songs of, 31. 351 

— ■ Club, notice of, 18 

Inn-keeper, anecdote of, n. 



- Jean, Burns's, 28 

- Lady, Song of, 344 



Maxwell, Dr., his death-bed scene with 

the Poet, 125 
■ Lady Winifred, her present of 

a valuable snuff-box, 99 
of Terraughty, Verses on his 

birth-day, 313— notice of, n. ib.— his 

testimony of Burns, 133 

• Provost, Lochmaben, Letter 



to, 685 



taph on, 336 



Sir David, of Cardoness, Epi 



816 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Maxwells, The noble, Song of, 405 
Maybole youth, Burns's early friend, 6 

— anecdote of, 8 — his farewell of the 

Poet, 9 — his friendship slighted, 

ib. n. 
May eve, or Kate of Aberdeen, Song 

of, 530 
Mayne, John, his poem of Halloween, 

212— his song of "Logan Braes," 

46l — notice of, 60" 1, n. 
Meg o' the Mill, Song of, 436— second 

version, 457 
Melville, Lord, his neglect of Burns, 

n. 86. 741 
Menie, Song of, 354 
Mercer, Andrew, his Ode to the memory 

of the Poet, 161 
Merry Andrew, character of, in "The 

Jolly Beggars," 27 
Michie, Willie, Epitaph on, 331 
Mickle, William Julius, Notice of, 

534 — his memorable ballad, ib. 
Miller, Captain, of Dalswinton, Letter 

to, 477 

James, Edinburgh, his air of 

the " Banks o' Doon," 409 

Janet, Song in honour of, 482 

Mrs., Anecdote of, 657 

of Dalswinton, his reception of 

the Bard, 58. 82. 604 — his agreement 
with him, 80— letter to, 723— his grief 
on the death of the Poet, n. ib. 

— Peter, jun., of Dalswinton, Let- 
ter to, 735 — his sympathy for the 
Poet, n. ib. 

Rev. Mr., of Kilmaurs, notice 

of, n. 197 

The Dusty, Song of, 367 

Mill hole-brae, Dumfries, the residence 
of the Poet, 118 

Mill, mill, O, The, Song of, 552 

Mirk night o' December, Song of, 425 

Mitchell, Collector of Excise, Poem ad- 
dressed to, 324— letter to 

Mitchell, Dr. Andrew, Monkton, one of 
the heroes of "The Kirk's Alarm," 
Character of, n. 188 

Moffat, Inn at, Lines written there, 332 

Monboddo, Lord, his splendid suppers, 
notice of, 309, n. 

Monkland Friendly Society, order for 
books, 674 — notice of, ib. n. 

Monody on a lady famed for her ca- 
price, 314 

Montagu, Mrs. Basil, her interview 
with Burns, 135 

Montgomery, Captain, of Coilsfield, 
notice of, n. 266 — his affair of crirn. 
con., 6ll 

Colonel Hugh, Earl of 

Eglinton, notice of, 226 

James, his Verses to the 

memory of Burns, 158 

Montgomery's Peggy, Songs in honour 
of, 343-5-9- 352 

Montrose, finely situated, handsome 
town of, Visit to, 68 

— Duke of, the Laird o' Gra- 
ham, stanza in allusion to, 227 

Moodie, Rev. Mr., of Riccarton, one of 
the heroes of "The Twa Herds," 
191— and " Holy Fair," 196 

Moore, Dr., Letters to and from, 607. 
609 and n. 615. 622 (autobiography) 
667. 672 and n. 695. 704 and re.— bio- 
graphical notice of, 607-8, n. 

• Edward, his Song of " Happy 

marriage," 527 

Moore, Sir John, The heroic, glimpse 
of the household in which he was 
born, 609-10 n. 
More, Hannah, Lines on presenting a 

lady with a work of, 325 
Morehead, or Muirhead, Rev. James, 
of Urr, his Song of " Bess the Gaw- 
kie," 519 
Morison, Mary, Song in honour of, 30. 
453 



Blorison, the Mauchline Cabinet-maker, 
Letter to, 659 

Morton, Miss, one of " The Mauch- 
line Belles," her frankness, 31 

Mossgiel, Burns's farm of, near Mauch- 
line, 11. 194. 205, n. 

its situation described, 17. 32 

The Poet's return to, 58 

Mother's, A Lament, for the death of 
her son, 280 

Motherwell, his remark on an assertion 
of the Poet, 519, n. 

Mount Oliphant, farm of, leased by 
William Burness, 2 

Mountain daisy, The Poem of— how 
composed, 27 — stanzas to, 239 

Mouse, The, poem of, 223 — how com- 
posed, 27 

Muir, Robert, Kilmarnock, Letters to, 
595, 600-2-4. 628. 646— notice of, 595. 
11. 604, n. 

Murdoch, John, Burns's Preceptor, 3 — 
his excellent instructions, ib. — his 
description of the Poet and his bro- 
ther Gilbert, 9— notice of, 589, n.— 
letters to and from, 589. 695-6, n. 

Rev. Mr., of Maclennan, spe- 
cimen of a Song by, 553 

Murray, Euphemia, of Montrose, Song 
in honour of, 372 

Murray, the gallant Sir George, Anec- 
dote of, 559 

Murray, Sir William, of Ochtertyre, 
Visit to, 276, n. 

Musical Museum, contributions to, 71 

Musing on the roaring ocean, Song of, 
372 

Muthie, its famous caverns, and wild 
romantic coast, 68 

Mylne, poor, poems of, Burns's advice 
regarding their publication, 671 

My ain kind dearie, O, 444 — Fergus- 
son's song of, 536 

bonnie Laddie 's lang o' growin', 

ancient Ballad of, 411, n. 

bonnie Mary, Song of, 379 

Chloris, mark how green the 

groves, Song of, 491 

Collier Laddie, 404 — ancient ver- 
sion, n. ib. 

dearie, if thou die, Song of, 543 

Father was a farmer, Song of, 341 

handsome Nell, Song of, 339 — 

the Poet's criticism on, 340 

Harry was a gallant gay, 375 

heart was ance as blythe and free, 

Song of, 346 

heart's in the Highlands, 384— an- 
cient Song of, ib. n. 

Highland Lassie, Song of, 344 

Hoggie, 365 — anecdote of, ib. 

Jean, Ramsay's Song of, 350 

jo, Janet, Song of, 549 

lady's gown, there's gairs upon it, 

Song of, 429 

love she's but a lassie yet, Song 

of, with variations, 379 

Nannie, Song of, 347 — ancient ver- 
sion, n. ib. 

Sodger Laddie, ancient Song of, 

576 

Tocher's the jewel, Song of, 396 

— remarks on the tune, 576 

Wife's a winsome wee thing, 445 

— stanza by Thomson, 448 

N 

Nancy, Luckie, Allan Ramsay's Song 

of, 580 

My lovely, Song of, 480 

My spouse, Song of, 481 

Nancy's Ghost, Song of, 562 

Nannie, a farmer's daughter, one of 

" The Maidens of Kyle," 30 

Song in honour of, 399 

O my, Song of, 347 



Nannie's awa', My, Song of, 499 
Nasmvth's picture of Burns, 45. 

610, n. 
National Songs, Heroic, of the Poet, 

118. 411. 414. 434. 436. 456. 471 
Nature's Law, Poem of, 252 
Naval Victory, Lines on the occasion 

of a, national thanksgiving for, 335 
Neilson, Mrs., Burns's "Fair Filette," 

Peggy Thomson, his passion for, 8 
Nell, My handsome, Song of, 339 
Nelly, Blooming, Song of, 378 
New and Old Light Factions, descrip- 

of, 19 
Newcastle, Burns's dinner in, 57 
Newspaper, Lines to one who had sent 

a, 293 
New-year's-day, a Sketch, 289 
Nicol, Rev. T., Inverleithing, his song 
of "Muckino' Geordie's byre," 546 

William, the obstinate son of 

Latin prose, Anathemas against 
him, 631 

William, Master of the High 

School, Edinburgh, his intimacy 
with Burns, 44. 52. 62— his High- 
land Tour with him, 64 — his foaming 
passion at the apparent neglect of 
Burns, 67, — Burns's irony towards 
him, 116 — song in honour of his 
house-heating, 92. 392 — letters to, 
617-8. 620. 690. 714 
Neil, Tom, of facetious fame, notice 

of, 561 
Nightingale, The singing of, 458— song 

of, 481 
Nith, Banks of, Laddies by, 297 — song 
of, 393 

Loved, To thee, Song of, 427 

winding, Adown, 468 

Nithsdale, Burns's appearance in, 79 

— Farmer, condition of, 94 

Nithsdale's welcome hame, 405 
Nithside Beauties, Burns's, 107 
Niven, John, the young bedfellow of 

the Poet at Ballochniel, 7 
Nollekins, the Sculptor, Anecdote of, 

n. 492 
Northern Lass, Ancient Song of, 350 
Northumberland Maxim, touching the 

hungry Scotch ! 57 
Now Spring has clad the grove in 
green, 506 

o 

Oatmeal, the staple of a poor Scots- 
man's life, 588, n. 

Ochtertyre, Hills of, a wild scene 
among, 276 

O'er the hills and far away, Songof,397 

O'er the water to Charlie, Song of, 373 

Of a' theairts the wind can blaw, Song 
of, 381 

Old and New Light Factions, descrip- 
tion of, 19 

On a bank of flowers, Song of, 378 

O'Neil, Shelah, Song of, 367 

On the seas and far awa', Song of, 484 

Ordination, The, described, 20— poem 
of, 200 

Ossian, The Poet an admirer of, 458 

Oswald, Mrs., of Auchencruive, Ode to 
her memory, 283 — notice of, 672 

Mrs. junr., Song in honour of, 

424— notice of, 425 

the Music Composer, notice 

of, 519, n. 

Out over the Forth, Song of, 420 

Owl, The, Address to, 260 
SONGS. 

O aye, my wife she dang me, 432 — an- 
cient version, n. ib. 
O bonny was yon rosy brier, 507 
O can ye labour lea, young man, 382 
O condescend, dear, charming maid 
by Gavin Turnbull, 480 



GENERAL INDEX. 



817 



O'er the moor amang the heather, 578 

O for ane-and-twenty, Tarn, 403 

O gie my love brose, brose, 387 

O, gin my love were yon red rose, 462 

O, guid ale comes, and guid ale goes, 

381 
Oh, ono chrio ! 545 

O, Kenmure's on and awa', Willie, 403 
O, Lady Mary Ann, 410 — ancient bal- 
lad of (Craigton's growing), 411 
O lay thy loof in mine, lass, 434 
O let me in this ae night, 501 — ancient 

version, ib. 
O, lovely Polly Stewart ! 425 
O luve will venture in, 406— ancient 

version, n. ib. 
O May, thy morn was ne'er so sweet, 

425 
O, Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 439 
O merry hae I been teething a heckle, 

387 
O, my luve's like a red, red rose, 418 — 

ancient version, n. ib. 
O mount and go, mount and make you 

ready, 381 
O Phifly, happy be that day, 495 
O poortith cauid, and restless love, 450 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 48^ 
O steer her up, and haud her gaun, 432 
O tell na me o' wind and rain, 501 
O this is no my ain lassie, 506 

■ house, 566 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 341 
O that I had ne'er been married 345 
O wat ye what my Minnie did, 430 
O were I on Parnassus' hill ! 383 
O were my love yon lilac fair, ib. 
O wert thou in the cauld blast, 433 
O wha is she that loes me, ib. 
O where wad bonnie Annie lie ? 577 
O whistle and I'll come to you, my 

lad, 360— second version of, 468 
O why the deuce should I repine ? 348 
O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 391 
-sequel to do. n. ib. 



Panmure, Lord, his kindness to the 
Poet's Widow, 127 

Park, Andrew, his song for the anniver- 
sary of the Poet, 771 

Parker, Hugh, Poetical epistle to, 282 

William, Kilmarnock, his sub- 
scription for Burns's Poems, 35 

Parson's looks, The, Epigram on, 334 

Pastoral verse, Examples of, 496 

Paternoster Row Booksellers, Anecdote 
of, 690, n. 

Patison, Bookseller, Paislev, Letter 
to, 617 

Paton, Elizabeth, the mother of "Son- 
sie, smirking, dear-bought Bess," 
34. 243, n. 

Peace and Plenty, the deities which the 
Poet adored, 335 

Peebles, Dr. William, the " Poet Wil- 
lie" of " The Kirk's Alarm," his 
centenary sermon, n. 187-8. 197 

Peep, Johnny, Lines by the Poet in the 
character of, 331 

Peg-a- Ramsay, Bonny, Song of, 439 

Peg, Bonnie, Song of, 367 

Peg Nicholson, a good bay mare, elegy 
on, 293— death of, 690 

Peggy, M'Millan's, Song of, n. 34 

Peggy, Mv, Saw ye nae, ancient song 
of, 522 

Peggy, the sister of a Carrick farmer, 
and one of the "Maidens of Kyle," 30 

Montgomery's, Songs in honour 

of, 343-5-9- 352 

Peggy's face, My, Song of, 428 

Percy, Dr., his song, " Fairest of the 
fair," the most beautiful baliad in 
the English language, 520 



Perry, of the Morning Chronicle, his 
sympathy for the Poet, 735 and n. — 
letter to, and notice of, 738 and n- 

Peyster, De, Colonel, Poem on Life, 
addressed to, 325 

Phillis the fair, Song of, 466 

Phillips, Ambrose, his translation from 
Sappho, 534 

Pigmy-scraper, The, described, 27. 183 

Pindar, Peter, his very name an acqui- 
sition to Thomson's Melodies, 452 

Pinkerton, John, consigned to dam- 
nation by Ritson, 487. 569, n. 

Pitt Administration, their neglect of 
Burns, 131 

Right Hon. William, n. 227— Ad- 
dress of the Scotch distillers to, 740 

Player's Benefit, a, Letter to a lady in 
favour of, 729 

Pleasure, a wanton Trout, 335 

Pleyel, the composei - , his engagement 
with Thomson, 442-3 — his sympho- 
nies, &c, 455. 460 

Poughman, Up wi' the, Song of, 369 — 
ancient version, 370 

The merry, Lines on, 405 

Poetry, Pastoral, Poem on, 316 
Poet's, The, Welcome to his illegiti- 
mate child, 243 

Poets, Lives of the, a rueful narrative, 
727 

Poland, the tack of, by whom held, 
290 n. 

Polwart on the Green, notice and song 
of, 548 

Poor and honest sodger, The, song of, 
457 

Poor man's porridge, 225 

Poosie Nansie's Club, the scene of 
"The Jolly Beggars," 27 — Cham- 
bers's description of, 179i n. 

Pope, Alexander, his translation of 
Homer's " Cestus of Venus," 707, n. 

Posie, The, Song of, 406— original ver- 
sion, n. 407 

Posthumous Child, a, On the birth of 
249 

Poverty, Eloquent apostrophe to, 701 

Visions of, 99. 637 

The creed of, 334 

Prayer, A, for Mary, 356 

left at Dr. Lawrie's, in the room 

where the Author slept, 251 

and Stanzas on the prospect of 

death, 238 

under the pressure of violent 

anguish, 238 

Presbyterian place of worship, poor 

pimping business ! 64 
Kirk, Old Light version 

of, 215 
Pringle, Lucky, the landlady of a tavern 

in Edinburgh, frequented by Burns 

and Nicol, 44 
Prudence, I, dwell with Wisdom, 46. 

611 
Psalm, the first six verses of the First, 

236 — ancient version, ib. 
■ • Nineteenth, 237 — ancient 

version, ib. 
Publishing Poetrv, Burns's experience 

in, 671 
Purdie, Andrew, a relation of Jean 

Armour, 33 



Q 



Queen Charlotte, Poetica. compliment 
to, 255 

Mary , her four attendants, 689, n. 

Queensberry, Duke of, On the destruc- 
tion of Drumlanrig woods, the do- 
main of, 290 — stanzas on, 291 — bitter 
allusion to, 684, and n. 



R 

Rab the Ranter, Name of, why adopted 
by the Poet, 222 

Rabina, Fair, the original of " Fair 
Eliza," 408 

Rake-helly dogs, Advice to young, un- 
married, 677 

Ramsay, Allan, the model of Burns, 45— 
his song of "Fair Celia," 378 — his spi- 
rited imitation of the " Socrate" of 
Horace, 524 — his " Lass of Living- 
ston," 525 — his song of "The last 
time I came o'er the moor," 526 — his 
" Lass of Patie's Mill," 527—" O my 
bonnie Highland Lad," 529 — his 
''Tea-table Miscellany," 531 —Col- 
lier's "Bonny Lassie," 536 — Mary 
Scott, "The Flower of Yarrow," 537 
— "Waukingo' the fauld," 545 — his 
"Corn rigs are bonnie," 546 — " Pol- 
wart on the Green," 548— " My Jo, 
Janet," 549 — "Lucky Nansy," one 
of the happiest of all his songs, 580 
— " Bob o' Dumblane," modernized 
by, ib. 

Ramsay, David, of the " Edinburgh 
Courant," his bedaubing paragraphs, 
654 

of Ochtertyre, Burns's visifc 

to, 6l — adventure with, 96 

Rankine, John, one of the Poet's early 
companions, 22 — epistle to, 242 — 
anecdote of, n. ib. — his odd Dream, 
243 — verses to, ib. — Farewell lines 
to, 337 

Rantin' dog, the daddie o't, Song of, 
345 

Rattlin', roarin', Willie, Song of, 374 
— ancient version, ib. 

Raving winds around her blowing, Song 
of, 371 — the original melody of, ib. 

Recruiting Sergeant, a, anecdote of, 682 

Remorse, the most painful sentiment 
that can embitter the human bosom, 
748 

a Fragment, 256 

Revelations, reading of three verses 
of chap, vii., Noble enthusiasm in- 
spired by, 588 

Richardson, Gabriel, Epitaph on, 336 

Mrs. G. G., Lines to the 

memory of Burns. l6l 

Riches, encumbered with care, Song 
of, 555 

Richmond, John, a Writer's apprentice, 
with whom the Poet shared his bed, 
40 — his recollections of him, 44— no- 
tice of, n. 594— letters to, 594-9- 621, 
665 

Riddel, Capt., of Friar's Carse, his epi- 
taph, 118 — his description of the Poet, 
130 — lines written in his hermitage, 
279- 280 — verses to, on returning a 
newspaper, 280 — his contest for " The 
Whistle," 308 — sonnet on his death, 
317— notice of, ib. n. — his hospitable 
table, lines sent to a gentleman whom 
the Poet had offended at, 320 — Song 
in honour of his marriage, 378 — let- 
ters to and from, 681-2-6. n. 748 
Maria, of Woodleigh Park, sa- 
tirized by Burns, 117 — her affecting 
interview with the Poet, 123 — her 
character of the Poet, 127— Monody 
on, 314 — her inscription for a hermit- 
age, ib. — her verses on the fate of the 
Poet, ib.— her beautiful song, "To 
thee, lov'd Nith," 736, n. — JEsopus 
to, 315 — notice of, ib. — Impromptu 
on her birth- day, 317 — her song of 
"Stay my Willie," 498 — Song in 
honour of, 501 — her introduction to 
Smellie, 713 — letters to and from, 
729, 730-1, 742-3, n. 

Rigidly Righteous, The, Address to, 16, 
228 

3G 



! 81b 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Rigs o' Barley, Song of, 343 

llitson, his Collection of Scottish Songs, 
487 — his remarks on the air, " Hey, 
tuttie, taitie," 555 — his bantam-cock 
courage, 569, «■ 

Robertson, Captain, of Lude, supposed 
letter to, 729 

the historian, his opinion of 

the Poet, 130 

Robin, lively chant, called, 17- 350 

Gray, Auld, Song of, 569 

shure in hairst, Song of, 348 

Rob Roy, Song and notice of, 582 

Rodger, Hugh, the parish schoolmas- 
ter of Kirkoswald, notice of, 6 — his 
bigotry, 7 — anecdote of, ib. 

Rodney's Victory, in 1782, Toast in 
honour of 334 

Ronald, Lord, my son, Stray verse in 
the ballad of, 578 

Roscoe, William, his ode on the death 
of Burns, 156 

Rose, Mrs., of Kilravock, visit to, 67 — 
letters to and from, 643 

Rosebud, A, by my early walk, Song 
of, 373 

To the, Song of, by one John- 
son, a joiner of Belfast, 578 

Roslin Castle, Songs of, 520-1 

, Landlady at, Verses to, 332 

Ross, Alexander, of Lochlea, notice of, 
by the authoress of " Roy's wife of 
Aldivalloch," 570— his song of The 
Bridal o't, 571 

■ the Poet, his " Scota," the fore- 
runner of " Coila," 290 

Rothemurche's rant, beautiful air of, 
486 

Roxburgh Castle, Ruins of, visit to, 54 

Ruin, Ode to, 237 — when composed, 23b 

Ruisseaux, Robert, Elegy on his death, 
247 

Rushton, Edward, his Ode to the me- 
mory of the Poet, 162 

Russell, Rev. Mr., of Kilmarnock, one 
of the heroes of the " Twa Herds," 
190-1-8, n— notice of, ib. 

s 

Sae far awa', Song of, 423 

Sae merry as we twa hae been, Song 

of, 541 
Samson, Tarn, his elegy and epitaph, 

230— notice of, 231 
Sanquhar, noted for carpets and hose, 

n. 296 
Satan, Milton's, his desperate daring, 

619 
Saw ye Johnnie coming in ? quo' she, 

Song of, 521 
Scotch Bard, a, Verses on, 244 
drink, described, 26 — Poem of, 

224 
Scotch metaphysicians, their doctrines, 

703, n. 
, The, Sarcastic verses against, 

396 
Scotland, described, on her mountain 

throne, 51 — drunkenness in, ib. 
The Tears of, Smollet's song 

«>f, 551 — disadvantages of the Union 

v/ith, 412, n. 
Scotsmen, The, dying on a battle field, 

their Song of Death, 414 
Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 

Notice of, 108 — Ode of, 471— im- 
proved version, 476 
Scott, Mary, the flower of Yarrow, Song 

and notice of, 537 — Traditionary set 

of, n ib. 
■ Miss Jane, of Ecclefechan, Lines 

on, 329 — notice of, ib. n. 
Mrs., of Wauchope, notice of, 

37. 55— poetical epistles to and from, 

272:1 
Scott, Sir Walter, his recollections of 

Burns, 45— his remark on Bannock- 



burn, 97 — his account of the old Beg- 
gar, 168, n. — his criticism of The 
Jolly Beggars, 184 — his lines on Edin- 
burgh, 262— his opinion of Tam o' 
Shanter, 304 — his account of Mac- 
pherson, 362 — his remarks on the 
Union, n. 412— his notice of Mary 
Lilias Scott, 53], n. 537 — his correc- 
tion of Burns, 548 — " The dowie dens 
of Yarrow," escaped his notice, 582 — 
his remarks on Burns's Correspond- 
ence, 585 — on Burns's Scotch letter 
to Nicol, n. 618 

Scott, Sir William, author of "The 
blythesome bridal," 539 

Scottish airs, Origin of, difficult to 
trace, 493 

— Distillers, complaints of, 228 
Lordlings, conceited dignity 



of, 114 



- Muses, all Jacobites, 523 

Nobles, their neglect of 

Burns, 83 

Peasantry, Condition of, 424 

Representatives, The, 26 — 

earnest cry and prayer to, 226 
Songs, Old, their irregu- 
larity, 751 
Scroggam, Ancient song of, improved, 

359 
Selkirk, Lord, Burns's visit to, 109 — 
Grace, The, 336 



Semphill, Francis, of Belltrees, notice 
of his song, 543 

Sensibility, Verses on, 319 

Shanter, the farm of Douglas Grahame, 
whose character is delineated in 
"Tam o' Shanter," 301, n. 

Sharpe, Charles, of Hoddam, Letter to, 
687 — notice of the family, 687, »• 

Shaw, David, of Coylton, described, n. 
191 

Dr. Andrew, of Craigie, de- 
scribed, 71. 191 

■ Sir James, his kindness to the 

family of the Bard, 127 

Shelah O'Niel, Song of, 367 

Shenstone, the Poet, his cure for ennui, 
659 — his observation on love verses, 
749 

Shepherd, John, Muirkirk, n. 189 

Shepherd's, The Poor, mournful fate, 
Song of, 552 

preference, Song of, 571 

Sheriff-muir, Battle of, 390 — ancient 
version of, n. ib. 

She rose and let me in, Song of, 543 

She says she lo'es me best of a', Song 
of, 485 

She's fair and fause, Song of, 417 

Sic a wife as Willie had, Song of, 410 

Sidmouth, Viscount, his Verses in hon- 
our of Burns, 68 — his kindness to 
the Poet's eldest son, 127 

Sillar, David, one of the Poet's early 
companions, 22 — his sketch of the 
Poet, ib.— Burns's epistle to him, 168 
— his reply, 170 — Burns's second 
epistle, 171 — his visit to Mrs. Stewart 
of Stair, with the Poet, ib. — his reply 
to "The Calf," 202 

Simplicity confounded with vulgarity, 
443 

Simpson, William, Ochiltree, Epistle to, 
219— notice of, 221 

Sinclair, Sir John, Letter to, 686 — letter 
of Robert Riddel, Esq., to, respect- 
ing the Poet, 686, n. 

Skinner, Rev. John, of Linshart, his 
song of "Tune your fiddles," 562 — 
"John o' Badenyon," 572— " Tulloch- 
gorum," 573 — " Ewiewi' the crooked 
horn," 574 — letters to and from, 
632-3, n. 642 — his poetical compli- 
ment, 769 

Skirving, a farmer near Haddington, 
anecdote of, 548 — his song of " Tran- 
ent muir," ib. 



Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest 

creature ? Song of, 490 
Sloan, Thomas, Letters to and from, 

306, n. 709 
Smellie, William, Printer, Lines on, 329 
— letter to, and notice of, 713, and n. 
Smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, Song 

of, 415 
Smith, Charlotte, Sonnet to the shade 
of Burns, 163 — notice of her sonnets, 
695 and n. 

James, one of the Poet's early 

friends, 22 — notice of epistle to, 24 — 
his scene with Burns, at Poosie Nan- 
sie's, 27 — poetical epistle to, 203 — 
epitaph on, 328— notice of, 594 and n. 
letters to, 599- 618. 649 

— Rev. George, Galston, the hero 

of Irvine-side, 189 and n. 197 
Smollett, Tobias, his pathetic song of 
the "Tears of Scotland," 551— his 
ode to independence, 697 
Sodger, I'll go and be a, Song of, 348 

The poor and honest, Song of, 

456 
Soldier Laddie, The, song of, 181 

The maimed, described, 27. 180 

Soldiers, Burns's dislike of, 115 
Soldier's joy, The song of, 180 
Somebody, For the sake of, Song of, 

422 
Somerville, Dr., sadly addicted to pun- 
ning, 54 — notice of his family, 55 
Honest John, modest anec- 
dotes given to him, 654 
Song of Death, Heroic, 101. 414 
Sons of Old Killie, Song of, 353 
Sotheby, his translation of Homer' 

famous " Cestus of Venus," 7^7 
Soul's immortality, the Poet's belief 

in, 666 
Southland, Jennie, Specimen ot the 

song of, 576 
Staig, Jessie, Song in honour of, 455 
Star, London, letters to the editor, 

287. 661— Lines to, 338 
Stay, my Charmer, Song of, 364 

Willie, yet believe me, Mrs. 

Riddel's song of, 498 
Stenhouse, William, his correction of 

Burns, n. 543 
Steven, Rev. James, hero of "The 

Calf," poem addressed to, 202 
Stewart, Dugald, Professor, his patron- 
age of Burns, 37 — his description of 
his manners, character, and conduct, 
41— described in " The Vision," 206. 
n. 650— letters to, 650. 668— his lettei 
to Alison on the association of ideas, 
703, n. 

of Stair and Afton, Mrs., 

Burns's first and kindest patroness, 
13. 37. 171. 602, n.— a mother's la- 
ment for, 280 and n. — songs in hon- 
our of, 415. 425— letters to, 602 

Anna, of Afton, conversation 

with, 13 

Willie, Welcome to, 134 

Stirling Castle, Lines on viewing, 59. 

330 — the reproof on ditto, n. ib. 
St. John, The Divine Apostle, persecu- 
tion of, 604 
Stobie, a young expectant in the Excise, 

his kindness to the Poet, 122 

Stock and horn, description of, 497 — 

dissertation on, by Dr. Leyden, n. ib. 

Strange, Sir Robert, Adventure of, 470 

Strathallan, Viscount, his lament, 72. 

364 
Strathmore, The flower of, Song in 

honour of, 372 
Strephon and Lydia, Mr. Wallace's, 

Song of, 549 
Struthers, Rev. J., his sequel to " Willie 

brew'd a peck o' maut," 391, n. 
Stuart, House of, compared, 409 
Eulogium on the, 



<s£r 



Such a parcel of Rogues in a nation, 
Song of, 411 

Suicide, Epitaph on a, 337 

Sunday Afternoons, those precious 
breathing-times of the working peo- 
ple, 29 

Sutherland, the manager of the Dum- 
fries Theatre, Two Prologues spoken 
by, 287-8— letter to, 288— notice of, 
691 

Sweetest Mary, Song of, 348 

Sweetheart, An old, verses to, 267 

Syme, John, of Ryedale, his Galloway 
legend, 108— his excursion with the 
Poet, ib. — his story of the sword- 
cane, 116— lines on refusing to dine 
with him, 333— ditto with a present of 
porter, ib. — inscription on a Goblet, 
ib. — letter to, 731 — and notice of, n. 

Symon, Auld Sir, Song of, 181 



Tailor, A, Poetical Epistles to and from, 
253 

The, fell through the bed, 

thimbles an' a', Song of, 376 — ancient 
version of, n. ib. 

Tailors, Corporation of, air played by, 
376 

Tait, Crawford, Esq., Edinburgh, Letter 
to, 698 

Tait, James, of Glenconner, epistle to, 
248 — his visit to Dalswinton with the 
Poet, 645, n. 646 

Tak vour auld cloak about ye, Song of, 
556 

Tam Glen, Song of, 394 

Tam o' Shanter, noble tale of, 94. 300 
Traditions of, 9* 305. 715— original 
of, n. 301 

Tam Samson's Elegy, 230 — his epi- 
taph, ib. 

Tam the Chapman, Epitaph on, 327 

Tarbolton Club, first meeting of, 17 — 
rules and regulations of, 145 

— Lodge, fame of, 353 — farewell 

to the brethren, 354 

Tarry woo, modern version of, 535 

Taylor, Dr., of Norwich, alluded to in 
the " Epistle to Goudie," 215 

John, of Wanlockhead, verses 

to, 306 

Taymouth, described in rhyme, 65. 277 

Tears, The, I shed must ever fall, Miss 
Cranston's song of, 579 

Telford, Thomas, his epistle to Burns, 
154 

Tennant, John, of Ayr, his recollections 
of the Poet, 665, n. 

Tennant of Glenconner, his assistance 
to the Poet in the choice of a farm, 
80 — letters to, 665 — notice of, n. ib. 

Terraughty, Laird of, Maxwell's veteran 
chief, 117 

Terreagle's house, description of, 405 

Theniel Menzie's "Bonny Mary," 72. 
368 — old version, ib. 

There'll never be peace till Jamie's 
come hame, Song of, 397 

There's a youth in this city, Song of, 
384 

There's nae luck about the house, Song 
of, 534 

There was a bonnie lass, a sketch, 439 

Thomson, George, Autobiographical 
notice of, 440 — his letters to Burns, 
442- -513— =his taste disputed, 478 — 
pecuniary circumstances of his con- 
nexion with the Poet, 514 — Burns 's 
engagement with, 103. 442 — the 
Poet's dying request to him, 124. 513 

Peggy,Burns's"Fairfilette" 

of Kirkoswald, a. 344, n. — Song in 
honour of, 343 

the Poet, Burns almost in- 
spired sitting in his arm-chair, 54 — 



GENERAL INDEX. 

address to his shade, 310 — corona- 
tion of his bust,- 708-9, n. — his Dra- 
mas, favourite quotations from, 720 — 
his remarks — his glorious enthusi- 
asm, 773 
Thou art gane awa', specimen of a 

modernized version of the song, 5/9 
Thrush, Sonnet on hearing a, 316 
Tibbie, one of the " Maidens of Kyle," 
30 

I hae seen the day, Song of, 341 

Dunbar, sweet, Song of, 375— 

additional verses to, ib. 
Tinker, The sturdy, described, 27. 182 
Tinnock, Auld, Nanse, Anecdotes of, 
227 — howff of, ib. n. — her arm-chair, 
in which the Poet sat, 640 
Tither morn, The, Song of, 401 
Toast, The, in honour of Rodney's 

victory, 33 » 
To daunton me, Song of, 373 — ancient 

Jacobite Song of, ib. 
Todlen hame, the first bottle song ever 

composed, 571 
Tooth-ache, Address to the, 117- 283 
Tootie, Master, alias Laird M'Gaun, an 

auld sneck-drawer, 251 
Tories, Burns's feelings towards, J09. 

297, n. 
Toryism, Stately, in Dumfries, 114 
Tragic Fragment, 318 
Tranent-muir, Song of, two stanzas, 

548 
Traquhair, Bush aboon, Song of, 541 
Tree of Liberty, The, Poem of, 292 
Troggin, troggery, or hawker's ware, 

323 and n. 
Tullochgorum, the first of songs, 573 
Tulzie, Holy, The, Poem of, 190 
Turnbull, Gavin, Songs by, 480-1 
Turner, Andrew, Epigram on, 331 
Turnimspike, excellent song of, 528 
Twa dogs, The, Poem of, 257 
Twa herds, The, Poem of, 190 
'Twas na her bonnie e'e was my ruin, 

Song of, 504 
Tweedside, The original Song of, 531 

Crawford s beautiful Ballad 

of, 532 
Tweed, The banks of, Song of, 520 
Tytler, A. F., Esq., his criticism on 
'"Tam o' Shanter," 303, n. 702, n. — 
letters to and from, 702 and n. 710, n. 
— on the "Whistle," and "The La- 
ment for Glencairn," 710, n. 

Balloon, Notice of, 539 and n. 

— rhis song of " The bonnie Brucket 
Lassie," 540 — " The Young man's 
dream," 551 

William, Esq., of Woodhouse- 

lee, Poetical Address to, 278 — notice 
of his family, ib. n. — of his anecdotes, 
451-2 

u 

Unco guid, The, Address to, 228 

Up and waur them a', Jamie, an Elec- 
tion ballad, 297 

Up an' waur them a', Willie, starting 
verse of the song, 56 1 

Up in the morning early, Song of, 365 
— additional verses to, ib.— ancient 
song of, 366 

Up wi' the carles o' Dysart, Song of, 
416 



Vedder, David, his stanzas for the anni- 
versary of the Poet, 163 

Venus, The famous Cestus of, charm 
of, 707 — Homer's description of, — 
Translations by Pope, M'Pherson, 
Cowper, and Sotheby, 707, n. 

Vision of Liberty at Lincluden, magni- 
ficent lyric of, 104. 313 



819 



Vision of Mirza, The, in " The Spec- 
tator," glorious passage in, 666 

The, described, 28 — noble 

Poem of, 205 

Vowels, The, a Tale, 318— characteristic 
note to, 319 

Vulgarity and coarseness confounded 
with simplicity, 443 



w 



Wabster's grace, The, 7 53 
Wae is my heart, Song of, 428 
Walker, Professor, his sketch of the 
Poet, 22 — his powers in conversation, 
"43 — his anecdotes of the Poet, 50, 
250 — his entertainment at Athole- 
house for Nicol, 65 — picture of his 
two days' visit in November, 1795, 
120 — critique on the Poet's Corres- 
pondence, 586— letters to, and notice 
of, 629 

Rev. Robert, Burns's prefe- 



rence for his preaching, 50 
Thomas, Ochiltree, a Tailor, 

Epistles to and from, 253 
Wallace, Laird of Craigie, "the Chief 

on Sark," n. 206 
Adam, of Richardton, notice 

of, 206, n. 
Sir James Maxwell, notice of, 



Sir Thomas, father of Mrs. 

Dunlop, notice of, 37 

Robert, of Kelly, the repre- 
sentative of the family of Sir Wil- 
liam, 476-7 

- Sir William, The History of, 



one of the first books the Poet took 

most delight in, 3 — his country's 

saviour, 206 — his glorious sv tions, 

220. 476, n.~ lines on, 317— his sta- 
ture, 734, n. — anecdotes of his 

strength, ib. 
William, of Cairn-hill, his 

song of " Strephon and Lydia," 549 
Waly, waly, up yon bank, Song of, 553 
Wandering Willie, Song of, 454 
War, hatred of, Lines on the Poet's, 335 
Ware-horse, The original Song of, 

444, n, 
Warton, Thomas, his birth-day Ode, 

254, n. 
Wat, Epitaph on, 332 
Waterfowl, Lines on scaring some, in 

Loch-Turit, 276 
Wauchope-house, The gudewife of, 

poetical epistles to and from, 272 
Wauking o' the fauld, Ramsay's Song 

of, 545 
Waukrife minnie, a song attributed 

to Burns, 573 
Weary pund o' tow, The, Song of, 402 

— ancient version, n, ib. 
Weavers, To the, gin ye go, Song of, 

346 — their march, 416 
Weaver gallant, Song of, 416 
Wee Willie Gray, Song of, 381 
Were na my heart light, I wad die, 

Lady Grisel Baillie's pathetic ballad, 

550 
Wha is that at my bower door? Song 

of, 399 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld 

man ? Song of, 400 — ancient version, 

ib. n. 
When I upon thy bosom lean, Song by 

Lapraik, 563 
Whigs, Burns's feelings towards, 109. 

297, n. 
Whistle and I'll come to you, my lad, 

Song of, 360 
Whistle o'er the lave o't, Songs of, 182. 

Whistle. The, Poem of, 307— the story 
of, 96. 308 






820 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Whitefoord, Maria, Song in honour of, 
387 

■ Sir John, Bart., Lines to, 

310— letter from, ib. n. — letter to, 637 

Why, why tell thy lover, Song in ho- 
nour of Chloris, 510 

Widower, The joyful, Song of, 359 

Wife of Whittlecockpen, Specimen of 
the song, 414 

Williams, Helen Maria, features in her 
poetry, 609 — letters to and from, 638, 
n. 678-9, n. 

Williamson, Rev David, his singular 
amour with the daughter of Lady 
Cherrytrees, 579 

the actor, the hero of the 

epistle of iEsopus to Maria, 315 

William IV., Young Royal Tarry 
breeks, 255 

Willie bretv'd a peck o' rnaut, Song of, 
391 — interesting sequel to, n. ib. 

Willie's Mill, the scene of " Death and 
Doctor Hornbook," 26 

Whson 3 Jenny, the old woman whose 
collection of tales and songs cultivated 
the latent seeds of poesie in the mind 
of Burns, 4 

Wilson, John, the hero of "Death and 
Dr. Hornbook," 25, 185, n. 

Professor, his character of the 

Poet, 137 — Youthful aspirations, 273 
— his description of the scenery at the 
fall of Fyers, 277, n. — his comparison 
of Meleager with Burns, 407, »• — his 
feply to Dr. Aiken, ib. — his remarks 
on Burns's Correspondence, 586 



Wilson, Robert, the " Gallant Weaver," 
the Poet's jealousy of him, 33 

Wee Johnnie, the Kilmarnock 

Printer, 35 — he refuses to print a se- 
cond edition of Burns's Poems, 38 — 
epitaph on, 327 — anecdote of, ib. 

Wilt thou be my dearie ? Song of, 482 

Winter, a Dirge, 166 

Night, Poem, of, 177 

of Life, Song of, 437 

Season, Propitious to the 

muse of Burns, 104 
it is past, Song of, 419 

Wisdom dwelling with Prudence, 46 

Witch-knots, how operated on the 
fair sex, 173, n. 

Witch stories, Three, relating to Allo- 
way Kirk, 95. 715-16 

Wodrow, Dr. Peter, Notice of, 191, n. 

Wolfe, General, The battle field where 
he fell, 180, and n. 

Woman, The rights of, an ' occasional 
Address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle, 
314 

Women's minds, The song of, 371 

Wood, Alexander, Surgeon, one of the 
noblest of men, 49 

Woodhouselee, Lord, his enjoyment of 
" Tam o' Shanter," 95 

Woodlark, The, Address to, 502 

Woodleigh, Maria, satirized by Burns, 
117. 315, andn. 

Woods, the Player, Prologue spoken 
by, 272 

Wordsworth, William,— his praise of 
"The Mountain Daisy," 28 — his 



Address on visiting the grave of 
Burns, 158— -his remarks on the 
poetical character of Burns, 1/8 — 
his criticism on Death and Doctor 
Hornbook, 187 — on the Bard's epi- 
taph, 256 — on " Tain 0' Shanter," 
303 



Yarrow, The Dowie dens of, Ballad of ; 
581 

Ye Gods, was Strephon's picture blest, 
Hamilton of Bangour's Song of, 557 

Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, Song of, 
371 

Ye Jacobites by name, Song of, 408 

Yester, Lord, his song of " Tweed- 
side," 531, and n. 

Yon wild mossy mountains, Song of, 
398 

York, Duke of, Burns's prophecy re- 
specting him, 48. 255 

Young Damon, Song of, by Fergusson, 
558 

Friend, Epistle to a, 240 

Hyndhorn, Ballad of, 582— com- 
plete version of, 583-4 

Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 

Song of, 420 

Jessie, Song of, 455 

Man's dream, The, Song of, by 

Balloon Tytier, 551 

Young's Night Thoughts, glorious pas- 
sage in, 81 






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